And The Whale

Chase growled at the picture that had appeared on the canvas, almost giving into his anger and chucking the thing out his window, only stopped by the cost of the glass he would've had to replace. He'd been struggling to paint anything since he'd run into Justine on the bridge. However, all his efforts had resulted in a complete failure in the two weeks since then.

Well, properly speaking, he had painted one thing several times over. The paintings were from different perspectives, angles and styles. However, no matter what he did he always ended up painting the exact same thing: a lone figure huddled against the rain, walking alone down a highway street.

He'd tried taking a break from his work. However, after an hour or so, his hands would begin to physically itch and bug him until he'd start again, only to paint Justine and grow more frustrated. He took a long at the striking blue eyes that were the centerpiece of his most recent painting. Objectively, he'd done a great job on capturing her look. The mix of scorn, anger and pain were perfectly reflected on her features.

Chase angrily snatched up his pocket knife and slashed an angry X through the canvas, distorting Justine's face and tossed it to the ground before reaching for the speakers that were playing music throughout his office. Snarling at his own inability to achieve his goals at that moment he turned up the music, hoping it would help snap him into a drawing mood.

However, as the last day of July began to draw to a close, he already knew it was a futile attempt that, at most, he would just end up getting a noise complaint from the neighbors downstairs. However, he did his best to push the thought out his head and started to paint a bright red and yellow backdrop, hoping the brighter color palette would help him snap out of this fixation.

However, the colors slowly turned into a sunset behind distant hills, which were overcome with rainclouds… a storm… and finally a lone figure who was clearly moments away from surrendering to her own darkness even the picture. Chase yelled aloud and threw the painting across his office, splattering paint across the floor and walls and he collapsed, leaning against wall and running his hands through his hair, not caring that he likely was getting paint there too.

It was then that his office door fully opened, startling him. He looked up and saw Frank and Chelsea looking down at him, a mixture of concern and fear on their faces as they saw the obsessive paintings and throughly trashed office.

"Oh…" said Chase, feeling the heat rising in his face. "Hey guys."

It was only then that he remembered he'd agreed to meet with Frank, Chelsea and their children for Nichole's eighth birthday. Frank whispered something that he couldn't hear to Chelsea, although it wasn't exactly hard to guess as to what he'd said. She turned and walked out of the office and Chase could hear her talking to her girls, helping them set things up and lay out presents. Chase hadn't forgotten about the party. He'd actually decorated the previous night and had made sure everything was ready, but somehow time had gotten away from him. With another pang of irritation he glanced at the smeared painting that lay slumped on its side at the far end of the room.

"Hey man," said Frank joining him on the floor. "What's all this about then?"

"I'm sorry," said Chase, trying to sound as though everything were normal, although he couldn't recall what on earth that should've sounded like. "Time just got away from me and the art's being… difficult right now."

"I can tell," said Frank, trying to laugh, but it came out as forced and false. "What's going on with this then?"

He picked up the canvas Chase had slashed through, and began trying to hold the pieces together to fully grasp the picture. Chase resisted the impulse to roll his eyes and stood up.

"Just a failed project," he said, brushing his clothes off, although he had no idea why, because they were all severely paint-stained anyway.

"I can see that," said Frank, glancing around. "I mean, who is she?"

"Just a girl."

"Right… so your girlfriend then?"

Chase felt a strange mix of anger and resentment at the word. Girlfriend. It wasn't that Frank had been out of line in asking, but the idea of him being romantically involved with Justine just didn't work. After all, she was a whore and a drug-user. Not that his life, or almost anyone's really, was a shining example of perfection. Just that, surely, if God had prepared someone for him it would be someone more… well, more.

"No," said Chase, standing up. "Not my girlfriend. Sorry I got wrapped up in all this, just let me shower real quick and we can get started."

Frank glanced nervously about the office and Chase tried to think of something to waylay the conversation that Frank clearly was trying to bring up.

"Look man, if you need some time…" Frank started.

"I don't," said Chase, a bit curtly. "I'm fine. I promise. Just need to wash this paint out of my hair, alright?"

"Alright man. I'll got give Chelsea a hand then."

Chase head into his shower and began to scrub himself vigorously before the water had even finished heating up, causing goosebumps to appear on his arms and body. He tried to clear his head as he washed the shampoo and partially dried paint flakes out of his hair. Everytime he closed his eyes beyond a blink, he saw a flash of blue eyes: their owner desperately hoping that he would reach out and save them, regardless of what she'd said.

He shook himself again, sending fleck of water and shampoo all over the curtain and walls. She'd denied his offer, so if she needed help, that was her problem. Right?

Even as he thought it, he was forcibly reminded that his offer for help as asking Justine if she was hungry… not exactly as stellar job on his part. But what was he supposed to do about it now? It wasn't like he knew where she stayed at, and driving around looking for a hooker likely meant an unpleasant chat with policemen.

Resigning himself to his own insecurity and feelings of inadequacy, Chase wrapped a towel around himself and took a minute to pray. He honestly wasn't even sure what it was he was praying for. It could've been guidance, help with Justine, the ability to forget her or none of the above. He waited for a moment, but no answer was forthcoming.

Sighing deeply, Chase walked to his dresser and put on a pair of loose cotton pants and a white polo that would help combat what heat of the day his air conditioner wasn't able to overcome.

After finger-brushing his hair he walked back out into the living room, where both Julia and Nichole looked up, bright smiles spreading across their faces as they walked up to him. Chase dropped to one knee and hugged them smiling at their eager faces.

"Hi uncle Chase," they said, almost in unison.

"I thought I might be seeing you two today," he said, exaggerating slightly. "Only because a little bird dropped these off this morning."

Opening the high cabinet he pulled out two stuffed animals: a unicorn and a Doberman dog for Julia and Nichole respectively. Julia's obsession with unicorns was relatively new, having only surfaced about four months ago according to Chelsea. However, Nichole's favorite animal had been the Doberman for as far back as Chase could remember. Thus, the stuffed animals made easy gifts, and would inevitably end up joining the ever-growing pile the girls were building on their beds.

They both cheered, hugging and animals and running about his living room, showing off their toys to Frank and Chelsea. Chase head into the living room a moment later with drinks and watched as Chelsea began filming the girls on her phone. Together the trio watched as Nichole unwrapped several toys and clothes, to the slight envy of her younger sister, although the unicorn helped curve some her temper.

"So," said Chelsea as Frank began the complicated process of freeing a doll from its packaging. "How have you been doing, Chase?"

"Overall things have been good," he said, taking a swig from his drink. "Had a… well, weird encounter lately, so that's been… distracting. All-in-all things have been really solid though. Art's been selling well and I've been enjoying myself. How about you guys?"

"Oh real well," she said, smiling. "Frank's got signed on with a new firm now, so he's pretty excited, and I have to say him being out of the public defender work is a relief. I swear I thought he was going to go crazy. Plus it comes with a good pay bump, which is nice."

"Yeah I'd imagine," said Chase, smiling softly. "So does that come with better hours too?"

"A little, still long ones though," she admitted. "Still, it's supposed to get better the longer he's there, so we'll see."

"Still," said Chase, looking at Frank. "Nice to be moving forward and all that."

"Oh no doubt."

They talked for a while after that, about their children and about the state of politics. The presidential candidates had been airing their commercials non-stop for the past couple months. Chase had avoided the worst of it by avoiding cable TV and YouTube ads. Still, he'd caught more than enough of the stuff to already grow tired of the process.

"Who you gonna be voting for?" asked Frank, bouncing Julia on his lap.

"Probably won't," said Chase, shrugging. "Doesn't really matter and everyone's just lying anyway."

Frank launched into a speech about responsibility to the political system and Chase half tuned him out. Frank was his best friend, but politics had always been an issue between them. The same week Frank had turned 18, he'd registered to vote and voted for every election and law he could. Chase hadn't registered even to that day, and often ignored politics for the most part.

"It's the only way things ever will change!" Frank was saying, dramatically pointing to nothing in particular.

Across the table, Chelsea silently mouthed the words I'm sorry to him. Chase merely smiled softly and winked when Frank wasn't looking. Eventually they ate dinner together and shared an elaborate cake that spent more time being photographed than actually being eaten.

Then they all embraced and everyone left with vague promises to "get together again sometime" knowing full well it would be Christmas at the earliest. The thing that stuck with him as he moved about his apartment, cleaning up paper plates and cups, was how quiet everything was. For three full seconds he stood there, listening to the irritation of a lack of life in his home. It had never bothered him before as much as it did right then.

Unable to find a solution to the emptiness, he cleaned. He swept and mopped the floors, vacuumed the carpet, emptied the trashcan and scrubbed his counter and table furiously. At the end he had a sparkling clean place that seemed, if possible, even more empty than it had beforehand.

Chase gritted his teeth and fought the urge to throw something again. He snatch his keys and wallet out of the bowl on the countertop and walked outside, getting in his car without the slightest clue of where he intended to go. He merely knew that he couldn't stay home.

He plugged in his phone, playing something melodic and slow that he couldn't name at that moment, and pulled out into the street. He had no idea where he meant to go or what he meant to do when he got there. All he knew was that he had to move. Moving was easy, moving was busy and it meant he didn't have to think.

If he was moving, he wasn't alone. At least he could convince himself he didn't feel that way.