Chapter Five: Art Therapy
DANIEL studied the mass of copper wire on the work table before him. He flipped back the polarized face shield to get a clearer view of the piece. His studio was chilly, the air almost cool enough to turn his breath to mist. Thankfully, the heavy, long sleeved jacket which protected him from welding spatter kept him warm while he worked. The piece had started life as a car radio which he had mounted on a steel plate. He had subsequently added bits of wire bent into long curving organic shapes, then mixed in other metallic wrack. As it neared completion, it became suggestive of the ocean floor and graceful rhythmic movement. Daniel liked the juxtaposition of life and movement with bits of static and inflexible metal.
He had pulled the radio from a Pick-n-Pull some weeks before while scouting for a new project car that he and his brother could work on. He had spotted it while walking between rows of discarded, rusting vehicles, half pulled out of the dash console of an old and decaying Mustang, the exposed wiring suggestive of an internal organ brutally avulsed from the car’s insides. The mental image had left him nauseous and shaky, heart hammering in his chest as he struggled with the need to escape from a threat which rationally he knew didn't exist.
As he struggled to get his breathing under control, his VA therapist's words had come back to him, a calming mantra smoothing over the turbulent seethe of his emotions, seeding his imagination to incorporate the experience into his art. He had forced himself pull it free, working patiently and methodically, the physical activity calming him further, the seeds of his creativity already germinating. That had been more than a month ago; it had been gathering dust in the back of his workshop since then, little more than a nascent idea which had been momentarily forgotten.
He frowned, trying to recall what had drawn his attention back to it, had made the idea alive in his imagination once more. He sat back, his tools forgotten as he traced the creative thread through his afternoon until the dream from the night before surfaced, dream-memories of light and water filling his mind...
...as the setting sun broke apart into a dazzling display of sparkles scattered over the surface of the ocean. It was still too bright to look at directly, but if Daniel tilted his head slightly, his polarized sunglasses revealed very faint bands of color streaking wide swathes of the ocean around the dazzling display. There was a chilly wind blowing in off the ocean, bringing with it the smell of brine and the occasional hint of salt mist as the waves shattered themselves against the rocks into sprays of white foam. The day was extraordinarily clear, with only the faintest hint of haze far out over the water. He and Nicolette sat on a misshapen boulder, a quarter of a mile from the concrete and steel stairway which led from the cliff tops down onto the beach. They had walked as far as they reasonably could, seeking some measure of solitude from the other beachgoers. Most were tourists staying at the Ritz a little ways up the coast. Only a very small handful were out in the ocean -- the Bay Area coastal waters were far too chilly for casual beachgoers.
The boulder they sat on was oddly shaped, only passably suitable for a lengthy stay. He had willingly volunteered the flatter portion of their stony perch for Nicolette’s use, valiantly sitting on the oddly shaped side. They had been sitting for the better part of half an hour, mostly in silence as they watched the sun set. The muscles of his left leg were on fire -- the oddly shaped perch forced him to rely on his left leg to keep his balance.
Nicolette sighed as she abruptly pointed beyond the breaking waves. He squinted, making out several dark points just beyond the rough, disturbed foam, arrowing left to right. When he didn’t immediately reply, she dropped her arm and exclaimed, “Sea otters!”
He could hear the smile of pleasure in her voice, bringing an answering smile in response. Unconsciously, he tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He was rewarded when Nicolette snaked her left arm around his back, feeling immediate warmth from her skin through his t-shirt. Her resultant sigh of contentment made the chilly air and burning pain of his left thigh seem almost immaterial (not to mention the resultant fight to keep from shivering -- he’d loaned her his jacket when she started shivering; while he didn’t exactly regret giving it up, he was definitely feeling the cooling evening air through his t-shirt).
She broke into his reverie, “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”
Daniel chuckled, having long since habituated himself to her uncanny ability to deduce the bent of his thoughts, “Nah. Just trying to figure out what color you’d call that -- out there, on the edges.”
“Rosette.”
He frowned as he pulled back, reading her expression as he challenged, “That’s...not even a color.”
He watched as the corner of her mouth pulled up into a smile, “According to Mary Kay, it is.”
“Mary... your nail polish?”
“Lip gloss.”
“That hardly counts.”
He couldn’t keep from laughing, then laughing harder when she pinched his side with her nails, making him jump with surprise. He chuckled good-naturedly, “Ordinarily I’d make you pay for that, but I’m enjoying this sunset too much."
They watched in contented silence, listening to the thunder of breaking waves. He watched as Nicolette smiled when a particularly big wave broke, the vibrations of its passing felt through the sand underfoot. He was surprised at the sudden surge of emotion he felt as he studied her profile, her hand tightening unconsciously on his thigh as she intuitively sensed his emotion.
"Without you here it wouldn’t...” his voice trailed off as he struggled to find words.
Her smile faded as she heard the change in timbre in his voice.
“Are you being maudlin?” she asked, a slight quiver in her voice giving the lie to her teasing.
“Of course not!”
“You don’t even know what maudlin means!” she countered.
“I do too!”
“What does it mean, then?”
“It means you’re talking too much!”
She smirked, “What are you going to do about it?”
He leaned in and kissed her, enjoying her little sigh of pleasure as she leaned into him, his arm tightening in response. Her lipgloss tasted faintly sweet, but beyond that, he could taste and smell her, which excited him more. She made another small murmur in her throat as they briefly lost track of time.
When he finally pulled away an eternity later, she breathlessly murmured, “You have such a way with words.”
“I know,” he responded, a little breathless himself but struggling to hide it.
They sat in silence, watching as the sun’s lower edge reached the water, igniting the surface of the ocean into myriad diamonds and citrons.
“Dan...I wouldn’t be here without you...there just wouldn’t be much point. I mean...with everything that's happened...whatever happens...”
Daniel's brow furrowed as he heard the throb of strong emotion in her voice, a sudden nameless unease sweeping through him, his grip tightening in response, “Nikki, do you know how much I love you?”
She sighed, several moments passing as she waited for her voice to return, “I think I do, yeah. I love you, Daniel. And thank you.”
He unconsciously pulled away again, surprised to see her eyes filled with unshed tears, “For what?”
In response, she stared blindly out over the water, watching as the last fiery rim of the sun began easing below the distant ocean horizon, watching the light dimming, “For being like the rocks out in the ocean.”
He hesitated before attempting to introduce a little levity, “Wet?”
She shook her head, ignoring the humor in his tone, her gaze still abstracted, “For being impervious to my bullshit, like the rocks way out there in the ocean don’t even notice the waves.”
They sat in silence for a time, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
He struggled to find something to say in response, unsure where the emotion was coming from, his wordless unease swelling.
“Nikki...”
She punched him lightly in his ribs, then laughed at his confused expression, “C’mon. It’s cold...and if your leg doesn’t stop shaking, I’m going to start feeling seasick.”
Eight years ago, he thought, Almost to the day. He shook his head in irritation that the calculation still came to him so effortlessly.
Did she know?, he wondered. Had she already decided she was going to leave?
A moment passed as he replayed the memory, analyzing it, searching for answers...as if he hadn't been replaying it fruitlessly for years. He shook his head, It just doesn't make any sense.
He pushed the memory aside.
This is pointless, he decided, my mind just isn’t in it today.
Normally, losing himself in the creative process -- exploring the memories and feelings of his time in Afghanistan with something creative -- was something that just happened. Today, though...from his first moment of waking his day had drifted by, his hours filled with nameless anticipation. He felt as though something around him had inexplicably shifted, that the changed landscape threatened to bring alien stimuli, things that he wasn’t yet equipped to handle. It left him on edge, impatient. Daniel accepted that change was an inevitable part of life, but throughout his life, he’d found that change and disaster were inextricably linked -- the bigger the change, the greater the likelihood those changes were catastrophic; his father’s dying, Nikki leaving, Daniel enlisting in the Army...Afghanistan.
Daniel sighed, deciding this line of thought wasn’t helping. He began putting everything away; perhaps tomorrow would be better.
When Dane arrived, Daniel had been sitting idle for nearly half an hour, pensive and unsettled. Dane glanced around Daniel's small workshop; it was little more than a rectangular, concrete-floored storage unit. Daniel had gone to great lengths to convert it to a comfortable creative space with the addition of shelves and storage space for his tools, a long workbench covered with metal shavings and sawdust -- not to mention several projects in various stages of completion. He had even added a small refrigerator filled with beer and snacks. Dane leaned around the open doorway, finding Daniel sitting with a beer in his hands, clearly lost in thought. He hesitated, taking a moment to assess Daniel's mood. They had an implicit understanding -- Dane was always welcome (Dane owned the storage unit, after all), but Daniel reserved the right to ignore him if he was working on a project. A slow smile spread across his features as he studied Daniel, bringing a twinkle to his brown eyes.
“Hard at work?”
Daniel looked up, startled. Dane grinned, his perfectly even, white teeth contrasting with his carefully maintained tan. He projected an air of easy-going indolence, but Daniel knew that his happy indifference was an affectation hiding his driven, hard working character. Dane was almost painfully earnest in his desire to be liked, though he had an innate charisma that made it easy to like him. Daniel suspected Dane had been something of a player before he’d met Shelly; he had probably snared her with his boyish good looks and easy-going charm, but Daniel suspected Dane was the one more firmly caught.
Daniel chuckled, shaking his head, “Just not feeling it tonight.”
“Thinking about Carla?”
Daniel's smile became slightly forced as he hesitated, then shook his head.
“No. We texted a couple times today, but I think she was more worried about me than...” he trailed off, unsure how to finish. Carla had been the latest in his long line of failed relationships. They had been close, often thinking on the same wavelength, sometimes able to complete each other’s sentences (like he and Nikki used to). But for all the implied closeness and intimacy, they had also reinforced each other in less constructive ways. His temper had always been a bit of a wild card, but since he’d left the Army, it had seemed much closer to the surface, something he was constantly struggling to manage. With Carla, he often felt out of control, frustratingly at the mercy of his emotions. She had always seemed darkly gleeful when she could goad him until he lost it, especially when he turned his rage on her. Though their fights were legendary, they seemed to end up in the bedroom more often than not.
It had been his longest relationship since (Nikki left) high school, and probably the most intense, but their mutually reinforced pathos often left him feeling sick and helpless in the aftermath of their lovemaking. That had been their pattern for the majority of their relationship, their dark chemistry shared almost from the moment they met after a show at the Cobra Room.
Recently something had shifted in him, in both of them if he was being honest. He couldn’t clearly pinpoint what had precipitated that shift; three weeks ago he recalled waking up feeling calm and relaxed, reflecting that he and Carla hadn’t had a real knock-down fight in several weeks -- their longest dormant period since they had first started dating. Their most recent dustup had been little more than a desultory exchange of barbs before they both stormed out of Carla’s apartment. He had been mildly surprised at his relief that they hadn’t ended up in bed.
The dormant period almost ended when they had gotten into it over breakfast some weeks ago, Carla lapsing into one of her moods, seemingly determined to goad him until he snapped. After deflecting her barbs for nearly a quarter of an hour, he realized that he wasn’t going to snap. It had seemed like the will to continue the argument drained out of them. Perhaps sensing the mood was unexpectedly slipping away, she had said something particularly cutting about his neediness and desperation...and it had suddenly struck him as funny, funny that she would single out his need when their whole relationship was built on co-dependent desperation. Their eyes had met from across the room, and as if by mutual decree had burst out laughing. In that instant, he knew their relationship was over, that perhaps something positive might have happened despite the pathos, the relationship allowing some bitter poison to finally work its way out of his system.
Two days later, she announced she was moving to Seattle, and that he wasn’t invited -- typical of her impulsiveness. He was surprised to realize that he genuinely wished her well, feeling only a slight pang of sorrow they were parting ways.
They had retired to the bedroom and made love the way real people do, with humor and playful passion, in stark contrast to the snarling anger and bruising hostility that usually drove their encounters.
He had moved out that afternoon, crashing at The Summer Cottage -- Dane’s home up in the hills -- until he found a place of his own.
Dane grinned, intuiting some of Daniel's thoughts as he wandered over to the small cube-fridge that Daniel kept in the back of his art studio. He retrieved a bottle labeled with a dwarf in a red hat -- one of the Belgians Dane had stocked it with in a spontaneous moment of generosity.
He studied the label intently as he asked, “Worried? How come?” The question was framed casually, but the effort he expended to appear casual ruined the effect. Daniel couldn’t keep himself from grinning as he sipped his own beer.
“I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kind of... out of sorts since I got out of bed this morning.” He shook his head, chuckling with rueful amusement as he added, “Somehow she still knows.”
Dane nodded thoughtfully, “She always did have a knack for hitting you,” he coughed, changing the thought mid sentence, “for knowing when you were feeling down.”
Daniel grinned perfunctorily, then shook his head, implicitly declining to resume their long running argument about Carla. He wasn’t willing to admit that Dane had been right...at least, not out loud.
“No, nothing like that. No dreams or anything either, just... A feeling. I don’t know. I did have a dream, but I’m not sure which was the cause.”
Dane frowned thoughtfully, studying Daniel briefly. “Why don’t you come to the club? Get a couple drinks or something, listen to the band Ron booked.”
Daniel frowned, feeling ambivalence, not really wanting the company, but suddenly feeling the need to break his routine.
Dane, mistaking his reticence for
a search for a graceful refusal added, “Shelly was able to get away from her studies tonight -- she sent me over here looking for you. You know how she gets.”
Daniel laughed at the exaggeratedly hopeful expression Dane put on, “Yeah -- I know how Shelly gets; mother hen, etc. She’s got you whipped, man.”
Dane shrugged, unimpressed, letting the comment pass, “For some reason, she’s adopted you as kind of a personal project.”
Daniel laughed, his anticipatory gloom abating slightly, “Sure, buddy. Let me lock up here and we can walk over together.”