OniminO Blue

Becoming more and more disappointed with the underwhelming entrance into the world of art, Rowland still knew that this was only the beginning. Again it was a done and dusted situation, he expected boardroom meetings and paperwork, but instead it was a simple card placed neatly between the two of them which he took and gazed at upon swiping it from the table as they left.

"'Onimino'..?" Rowland read aloud, "What does it mean?"

"It could mean anything." Nick said whilst opening the car door,

"But it's how it makes you feel when you think about it and how you say it. When I made up that word I felt an emptiness...a sense of peace. Like still water under a blue sky. It was nothingness and it was everything..."

Nick stopped to think for a moment, then added as he started the car;

"It reminds me of an open mind. It's a richer shade of blue, oppose to a depressing gloom... It's a blue that rhymes with gold. I guess, that's why I picked the colour for a sort of theme for the place.", he finished off flaccidly as he drove off with Rowland in the car.

"Onimino blue, huh.", Rowland said as Nick looked at him and simply said:

"Exactly."

One glass was enough for Rowland, he felt that he was already finished, mostly putting the blame on the slow after burn of the "Bubbles" that he had tried the night before. Though the alcohol made him feel warm.

"So when do I get to see this place?", Rowland asked.

"Oh..?", Nick said in the mist of peacefully driving, showing surprise in response to Rowland's enthusiasm.

"Well, it's in Los Angeles."

"L. A.", Rowland echoed, "That's a long way from home.", he expected to be somewhere more local, he actually half expected Nick to drag him there right that moment.

Excited to be leaving this place, he figured he would work in terms of the exhibit's theme, Rowland's mind was racing with ideas.

But also figured he could make a trip out of it if Charlotte wasn't too busy.

He put a pin in that thought...

"Will there be any other artists at the exhibit?"

Nick shook his head no and and turned a corner.

"You're the first, one and only.", he said before stopped for a red light. The red light of the pedestrian crossing acted as a full stop to Rowland,

this made him feel special.

An all exclusive exhibition on his art, he was thrilled and he was also... on the verge of soiling his pants.

Rowland thought about how all the eyes that would be on him and his artwork and how this could also jeopardise what Rowland could only imagine, was Nick's reputation if he failed. It had occurred to him that Nick was putting as much faith in him as he was in Nick, amazed at how Nick was willing to put so much trust in him. Despite only having met.

'Oh my soul, this is happening...' he thought, as he realised that the excitement didn't come from any paperwork or formal introduction (apart from the exhibition). The adrenaline came from the process of work on paper and canvas that which will depict his heart to the world; and for them to judge whether to regard his said work as art, no less. An initiatory process built to break him through to the other side or to simply break him and watch him fold.

But Rowland knew that that was for him, and only him to decide the outcome. All the more reason why he felt that pressure was applied. But he couldn't afford to feel it, he couldn't even afford two-ply toilet paper. He had to find away to use it.

The radio station tuned into a news report of the unknown and unhinged killer that was yet to be stopped or spotted, no less. Rowland tuned out of the words of which the reporter used to describe the situation, and used it as white noise, switching off his brain for a while and laid back in his seat, exhaling a deep sigh as Nick drove him home to meet yet another day.

"So what are you gonna do with the money?", Nick asked, breaking the silence.

Rowland thought for a moment not bothering to raise his head from it's resting position;

"Shit, I'm gonna buy a car, Dude. ", they both shared a laugh for a moment;

"Maybe..., buy a crap load of canvases and paint, maybe take my special lady out for a drink, y'know, shit like that. Little by little."

"I'm really gonna miss these times, yo.", Nick said as he pulled a face and playfully sniffled.

"Awe dawg, you know we'll always keep in touch, my guy.", Rowland said, playfully swaying his body and imitating a dramatic bashfulness as they stopped at an intersection and waited for a green light once again.

"So, what do you say, you sure you wanna call it a night..?", Nick asked.

"Yeah, I gotta wake up early tomorrow morning... It is past my bedtime.", Rowland rubbed his afro and rested the back of his head on his arm.

"I tell you, quit your day job, Row.", Nick stated demandingly.

"Er... Are you asking me or telling me? ", Rowland looked at him and scoffed, "Besides, it pays the bills."

"It paid the bills, past tense.", Nick corrected him.

"Okay, paid the bills, but I-I can't just up and leave, I mean Mister Moloi is an awesome boss. His retired and looks like he needs help-", Rowland shrugged his shoulders, knowing how Mr. Moloi played a much larger part in his life then he would like to admit.

Rowland saw his boss serve as a kind of grand-farther or father figure, (grand being mostly for his resemblance to Santa).

Yet, Nick cut him off and inhaled sharply, " Holy shit, you're so nice, it's disgusting."

"Whatever, you know what I meant.", Rowland chuckled.

"I really don't, to be honest, I mean, talk about 'safe haven syndrome'."

"What do you mean?"

"You're looking for excuses to stick around there, chicken blood.", Nick stated. "I mean, what the fuck are you so afraid of..?"

Rowland couldn't answer him, I guess as cleché as it was, he was afraid of the unknown. The usual symptom of 'Save haven sydrome'.

Nick turned a few corners and finally reached Rowland's apartment building. They bumped fists and parted ways, getting up and out of the vintage steel.

He stood in the parking lot for a moment, blankly staring at the sky while his limbs carried on with the task of taking out his lighter and joint and further proceeded to smoke as he watched Nick drive away.

Now staring at the ground as he thought of what he was to do next. Rowland had to plan, what was his next step, as he had to get organised if he really wanted to impress.

He dabbed his unfinished blunt onto his shoe's sole to snuff out the flame and walked up to his apartment.

Once inside, Rowland grabbed one of his art files that weren't completely full and started to brainstorm; he drew skeletons and studied the curves of flowers as he worked, he wanted to impress anyone more than, himself, as Rowland had the tendency of being his harshest critic at times. He had something to prove, but only to himself. Rowland just didn't know what it was as a fool mental map or picture just yet, and that became his new mission as he furiously sketched until he drew blanks, then smoked, then went back to work as soon as he felt he wasn't satisfied with the way something looked like, using fresh eyes to layer his works with edits and redos.

And by the time it was three in the morning, his apartment's carpeted floors were flooded with papers and pens as well as pencil colours as he lay on the couch facing the ceiling and smoking his last blunt for the night, or rather morning. He knew it was late but he didn't want to look at the time, Rowland always believed that knowing what time it was made him that much more tired for he knew how many hours he had not slept.

Rowland went through all the sketches and drawings he had done for the night and remembered one he had done based off the picture of Charlotte that he had taken that very early morning.

And then Rowland thought about the night they had on Sunday, the scent of her room still lingered in his nostrils... What he said to Charlotte when he left for work. He abruptly stopped romanticising;

"Shit." , is what he thought, though he heard himself saying it aloud, he got off from the couch as the sticky and uncomfortable feeling of anxiety wound him; the thought soured his mood slightly as he thought of her reaction. He felt that he ruined everything, they were having a great time and with those two words he believed he ruined everything.

He hadn't spoken to her the entire day and was afraid of what she might say when they met again; the worst part was that this only happened a day ago, so it was most definitely fresh with her mind;

'It's probably bobbing around in her head, probably freaking her the fuck out! She's probably planning her escape.',

He sighed and felt that it was over as well as overwhelming.

He didn't want to think about it anymore, and so he got up and played a sort of game of hopscotch as he dodged papers in order to get to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and figured he'd better put the two hours he had left of sleep to good use and he swept the thought under a carpet.