Wake Me Up

In his apartment, there were stacks of notebooks lying randomly across the small living room.  Two paintings hung on one of the walls.  One was the famous picture titled “His Master’s Voice”.  The other was a large rectangular print of a small dirt road leading into a forest and overlooking a long deep valley.  It was by a German painter Aaron had never heard of.  He liked it because it reminded him of The Hobbit by Tolkien.

Upon entering, Kristy had asked if he had anything good to drink.  He mentioned some bourbon in one of the cupboards in the kitchen.  She found it and poured out two cups.

“Do you want blue or purple?”  She asked while holding them out.

“Um, blue.”  He reached out and took it.  Her fingers lightly grazed the edge of his hand.

She took a sip and flopped down on the old faded brown couch and said “Let’s get started.”  Aaron gently pulled the ottoman from a chair and positioned it in the middle of the dim room and then sat down.

“Warm up with some quick profile sketches,” she instructed while lying on her back.  He was amazed at how quickly he was able to sketch her.  It made him smile.  After he finished the sketch, they tried different positions.  One with her legs propped up on the top of the couch and her arms behind her head.  Another one of her balled up in the fetal position, and one with her sitting up with her legs crossed.  He felt like he was starting to get the hang of it.  He felt his eyes, mind, and hand were connected and his vision of her just slid down through his fingertips and on to the page.  The details of her eyes, nose, and mouth were still rugged, but the rest he had mastered.  He felt he could actually call it art now and perhaps himself an artist.  He could not wait till he was able to capture the easy look of her eyes or the delicate shape of her mouth.  He was drunk with love.


“I have to go to the bathroom!  Are you almost done?”  She pleaded.

“Just three more seconds.”  He said while frantically trying to get the curve of her inner thigh just right.

She counted out loud “One, two, three,” and then jumped up and ran to the bathroom.

He got up and went into the kitchen.  He poured the last of the bourbon into his cup, and was amazed at the amount they had drunk, but he still felt reasonably sober.  He wondered how she felt.  As he walked back into the living room, he noticed her empty cup sitting on the bare coffee table.  He poured half of his into hers and sat back down on the ottoman.  He looked at the empty couch and felt sad.  It was almost as if she had just been a dream or the ghost of a memory.

He picked up the last drawing he had done of her and held it up even with the couch.  He smiled.  “There she is,” he thought.  He heard the bathroom door slowly creak open.

“Okay.  Don’t freak out!”  He heard her shout from the bedroom.

“What do you mean?  Why would I freak out?”  His heart started thumping in his chest.

“I’m not saying till you promise not to freak out.”  She demanded.

“I’m starting to freak out!”  He cried.  A long moment of silence sat between them.  He stood up and debated whether to walk back there or not.

“Okay, I promise.” 

He could hear her footsteps on the cheap carpet and then she appeared in the kitchen with a huge quilt wrapped around her.  He was confused and stunned.  He wanted to speak but his tongue felt too sloppy to form words.  She walked into the living room and he saw her bare feet sticking out from under the quilt.

She peered at him and smiled like a little girl trying to be cute so she won’t get into trouble.  The quilt was old and falling apart.  It had a checkered pattern of different colors with a red, white, and green border.  He had forgotten about it.

“I think you’re ready for the next level,” she said slowly.

“The next level?”  He said while crashing down onto the ottoman.  “Huh?”

“I’m naked.”  Her tone was straight forward and there was no humor left in her eyes.  It was her serious side he was staring at now.  “I’m still wearing underwear, but that’s all.”  She looked at him as if waiting for a response.  She continued, “I use to model when I first came to school.  Did you know that?”  She spoke in a casual way, as if they were sitting under the poplar tree on campus.

Aaron wasn’t sure, but he thought his head was shaking no.

“It was amazing, I was afraid it would be humiliating or something, but it wasn’t at all.  The second everyone started to draw me, I became entranced.  I wasn’t standing there.  I wasn’t scared anymore.  I was looking at myself through their eyes.  I was art, not flesh and bone.  I was fantasy, not reality.”  She had relaxed her grip on the quilt and it had slipped down a little, revealing two creamy shoulders.

She turned and looked at him. Even though she was naked, he felt exposed.  He tried to think of something to say.

She smiled, a little embarrassed, and sat down on the couch.  “Okay, look away and I’ll tell you when I’m ready.  You okay?”

“Sure,” he muttered.  He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she said with a bit of a quiver in her voice.

He slowly lifted his head and opened his eyes.  She was lying on her back in the same position they had done a countless number of times, but this time was different. The light slid across her skin, producing faint shadows that dissolved into black, while her milky white chest slowly rose up and down with each gentle breath.

“Are you staring or drawing?”

“Drawing,” he said.

He picked up his pencil, wondering how he could possibly draw the work of art lying on his couch. “Just start at the head and slowly work your way down,” he thought.

He started to draw, a little shaky at first, curving the pencil around until he got to the nose.  He carefully made a little bump.  The pencil slid across her mouth just as it had done time and time before.  It gently inched its way around and down the chin, then swooped its way across the neck to the collar bone.  He stopped, picked up his cup of bourbon, and took a big gulp.  It set his throat on fire, his eyes watered, and he broke the gentle mood with a harsh cough.

“What are you doing,” she asked while laughing.

“The bourbon burned my throat.” He said with a splintery voice.

He picked his pencil back up and retraced the bump of her collar bone and then moved down the chest, where he stopped at the breast.  He raised his head and studied the shape of it and how it ran up slightly above the chest and rounded out towards the nipple.  He looked back down and tried to start by retracing the chest, but his hands were slightly shaking.  He did his best and then looked back up at her.  He studied the downward curve of the bottom of her breast and how it leveled out slightly to form the smooth shape of her stomach.  He kept drawing and studying everything.  He marveled at the way the light slid around and over each curve. 

He continued down her waist and over her outstretched leg.  He had never drawn the naked foot before.  She had always worn socks or shoes.  He tried to make his way across the ankle and up to the toes, but the lines dissolved into careless mimicry.

“I need a break.” He said with a sigh of relief.  She folded the quilt back over her and sat up with a look of concern.

“Can I see,” she asked.

“It’s not much.  I’m in way over my head here.”  He handed her the drawing and walked into the kitchen.

“Wow, it’s a lot better than I thought it would be.  You should have seen the first nude I did.  It looked like the guy had tumors all over his body.”

“I’m making some tea, do you want some?”  He wanted to change the subject.  He felt his nerves twisting around.

“Oh, I’d love some.  Thanks.”  She laid the drawing down on the coffee table and slid back against the couch.

“Is something wrong?  Am I a bad person?”  She lowered her head, “Do you hate me?”

“No, of course not.  What does that even mean?”  He was leaning against the kitchen sink looking at her in the dull light.

“I do stuff like this sometimes.  I don’t mean this!” She paused and took a deep breath.  “It’s just that I wear my heart on my sleeve, I say and do what I feel.  I’ve lost a lot of friends by being too blunt or just outright weird.  I hope I didn’t do that tonight.”  She looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Of course not, Kristy.”  He smiled and was happy to see her eventually smile back.  He turned and pulled the boiling water off the stove, poured it into two cups and then carried them to the couch.

She dipped the teabag up and down in her cup until a little spilled down the side.  Afterwards, she lay back down with her knees up in the air making a tent out of the quilt and all he could see of her was her arms lying at her sides.

“Do you think Joel is in his apartment right now, high as a kite and staring at those dumb fish?”  She said from under a sea of quilt.

“I bet he is.  And I bet that sweet little girl is robbing him blind,” he said.

She stretched out and propped her feet on Aarons lap and said, “How about a foot massage.  Consider it my fee for modeling,” she said with a giggle.

“Okay.”

She stretched her arms back and let go of an enormous yawn.  She slowly closed her eyes. “Wake me up if I fall asleep,” she said with one eye open.  “I have to be at work early in the morning,” she said and then closed her eyes again.  “I should probably go ahead and leave now.”



As silence filled the room, Aaron reached down and picked up his tea.  He looked over at her while taking a sip.  He desperately wanted to draw her this way.  He wanted to capture the moment and be able to hold the picture up to the couch when everything felt empty.  The outline of her body under the quilt made him feel safe, but lonely.  He imagined holding her close with his arms wrapped around her warm skin, and then he became aware of her looking at him.

“What are you thinking about?”  She asked with a sleepy voice.  “Tell me.  You were thinking about something.” She rubbed her eyes and looked directly into his.

His eyes pulled away from hers and he felt like hot lead was pumping through his veins.  She was still looking at him when he glanced back over at her. “I was thinking,” his voice was shaky and small “what it would feel like to hold you.”  He immediately wished he could take it back.

“When I’m naked?”

“Well, no.  I mean,” he said with a smile.  His heart pounded like a hammer.

They sat in silence with delicate looks.

“Come here,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Come here.” She said a bit louder.

“Hold me,” she lifted the quilt, “get under with me.”

He lay down beside her as she turned over with her back to him.  She folded her arms over her breasts and laid her head back just under his chin.  He wrapped his arms around her and they lay there quietly.  The clock ticked from on top of the TV.

“She’s Heaven.  Each tick of the clock is a century come and gone and she is Heaven,” he thought.

She said softly, as if already tiptoeing into a dream, “Wake me up if I fall asleep?”

He smiled and then closed his eyes.