Charlie and Kath: Stuck

The overwhelming scent of paint filled Charlie’s nostrils when he walked into the apartment. A canvas painted entirely sky blue lay drying on the kitchen table and in the living room, boxes were strewn about the floor and couch.

Katherine stood in front of her easel, wearing his old Clash t-shirt that was stained and ripped, twirling a stray hair that had fallen out of her messy bun around her finger. Her bottom lip pouted out just a bit while she figured out where to go from where she was.

“Stuck?” Charlie said grabbing a Coke out of the fridge. He popped the top and downed half the can.

“Not stuck,” Kath said detailing the reflected light on the water she was painting for the hundredth time. “Just…” she looked up, “yeah, I’m stuck. Dinner?”

“I’m on it,” Charlie pulled two small frozen lasagna’s out of the freezer and set the oven to preheat. He grabbed another soda out of the fridge and set it down on the coffee table for Kath when she pulled out of her art trance.

Kath’s art trances were like a sleepwalker’s dream. Never wake a sleep walker; never try to pull Kath out of her art trance. She doesn’t forget. Charlie made that mistake once, and never again.

Kath paced the floor, looked outside for inspiration and then flipped through the channels while Charlie watched, smiling. “I’ve never seen you like this before,” he said. “You’re so, on edge.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the first time I’ve ever been this close to a deadline without being done with my project.” Kath took off the Clash t-shirt and draped it over the back of the couch. She was wearing a blue tank top underneath despite the fact that it was freezing outside. She crawled up on Charlie and laid her head on his chest.

Charlie laid his chin on her head and breathed her in. She smelled like cinnamon and paint. It was a strange, but unusually calming scent. “What am I gonna do?” Kath said, almost helplessly. “I have to paint this stupid landscape before Friday and on top of that I have to make something out of all these boxes.”

“Does it have to be painted?” Charlie asked.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you go to Maymont Park? Take a few pictures? Then come home and paint.”

Kath looked up at him, startled. At first, he thought she would praise him for such a wonderful idea, but instead she looked appalled. “You mean, cheat?”

“That’s not cheating,” Charlie tried to explain, but Kath just cut him off.

“It is too!” She sat up and leaned back on the couch. “It’s one thing to take a picture of a friend and then one day down the road draw that picture, but it’s another to take a picture of something and then try to paint it!” Charlie couldn’t believe how passionate she was being about this. It was kind of a turn on. Her face was flushed and her eyes glared. “Not to mention the fact that it’s incredibly difficult. You can’t capture the beauty of something with a camera. You have to see it for yourself if you’re to paint it.”

When she was done, Charlie stared at her bewildered, and then the oven dinged. “I better go put the food in.”

--

The next day, Charlie came home to a living room still full of boxes and now the canvas that was drying on the kitchen table was a beautiful landscape of a lion fountain in the foreground, with stairs cascading down around it. In the background was a beautiful garden full of winter flowers. The sun was shining and reflecting off the water. It was Maymont Park. Lying next to it was a picture from which Kath had painted it from. Charlie smiled. She’d never admit it, but he’d won.

He walked into the bedroom to find her laying on her back with both arms crossed over her eyes. The curtains were shut and the room was dark except for the light entering from where Charlie had opened the door.

“Don’t say a word,” Kath warned holding up one finger. Charlie held back a laugh.

“I was just going to say that you did a good job. It’s beautiful.” He smiled, glad that she couldn’t see.

“Beautiful?” she sat up using her elbows as a rest. “It’s appalling. I feel so guilty, I feel like I can’t even turn it in.”

“Your professor won’t care.”

“But I will!” Kath groaned.

“Hey, how about if you let this go, we’ll go out for dinner.”

Kath sat up, “Chinese?”

“If you want.”

“Okay!” Kath shot off the bed and slipped into her coat. She ran past him, flying through the living room, knocking over boxes and throwing open the front door. “Are you coming?!” she cried.

He laughed, shook his head, and followed her out the door.