Happy Transgressions
Jonathan’s stay in Bihar was going… Well let’s just say not as well as expected. He hadn’t had a drink in the two weeks that had stayed there, and his recent paintings didn’t look at him as he painted; they didn’t ask him questions, they acted as silent subjects that he glossed over without any real meaning or purpose to transpose onto them.
He stood on the balcony of his tiny Airbnb room, a room that represented everything it was to be a pre-university teenage boy, a room of video game, car and movie posters, models from his favourite franchises and a stack of (likely untouched) study books on the desk. Jonathan hadn’t asked where the boy was, he assumed university, or a school trip of some kind. It certainly didn’t seem like they mourned for him, especially if they were renting out his room.
He took a small draft of his cigarette, that tasted slightly better having been smuggled in than legal. A slight whiff of illegality, a finger to authority, nice.
Still, as nice as having a smoke every once in a while was – as nice as it was to imagine himself sitting on the edge of that pier in his painting from Canada – the drink was what he was missing. It was the relaxation after spending a day gruelling over his art, the sound of the bottle cap exploding and the hiss of gas slitting at of the neck and carrying that scent of malt, barley and hop into the room with it.
He looked back at the painting that sat against the wardrobe, drying. It was dull, the vibrancy of the colour was lost on him, and the mirror of reality that sat outside his window, the accuracy, bothered him. He felt no inspiration or real meaning from the piece of art, just a nice view of a city, with skyscrapers reaching for the sky and spaghetti highways twisting around the blocks. The sun standing boldly above it somehow took away from it, a blemish on an otherwise adequate piece.
He flicked open his phone. A smaller picture of his painting sat in a small square upon his screen.
Hey, kiddo, you said you’d never do a landscape painting. You said they were boring, so what’s that?
Yeah, Yeah I know, I don’t like it.
He put a little worried emoji to make it sound less serious than it was.
Well your Dad and I think it is quite interesting! Not every piece of work has to be ground breaking Jonathan. How’s India?
Shit. Fine. Not as pretty as Canada and not quite as exciting as Malaysia. There are a hell of a lot of laws that I’m not too fond of.
He briefly looked up whilst the three dots blinked across his phone, signalling that his mother was typing a message in response. The city didn’t really look as pretty as he had drawn it, smog hung low in the skyline, probably produced by all the tiny vans and SUVs that pumped out great black clouds. The people seemed relatively cheerful despite this, but he hadn’t captured that either in his painting.
Don’t go breaking any. Remember, drinking isn’t that important.
I won’t. I know.
One night One night ‘till home.
There was a knock at the door, and two little feet attached to the girl Myra walked in.
“Jonathan?” The little three year old smiled brightly at him, something far more fascinating than the scene outside.
“Hello there. What’s up?” He put the cigarette out, and flicked tucked the cigarette butt into a little bin he had specifically for the illicit substance.
“Mummy took me out today to see the temple!” Jonathan lowered himself to his knees to better talk to the young girl.
“Oh really?”
“Yes! It was really pretty and we have some pictures that you could make some really pretty paintings out of!”
“Well okay then! I guess I will have to with your glowing review!” He smiled back at her, with an amount of genuine happiness bleeding through the white lie.
“But I also got you this. I want you to remember me by it when you leave in the morning.” Her look changed to a slightly more solemn one, but immediately returned to her regular vigour upon handing him the item. A small statue of Ganesh, with the words ‘Johnny’ engraved on the underside.
“We couldn’t find one that said Jonathan but Mummy says Johnny is short for it so is that okay?”
He looked at the statue a little longer, and whilst normally he would normally turn his nose up at that nickname, he instead smiled warmly.
“Of course.”
Suddenly, there was something new to paint. And within a few hours, a number of coffees and maybe one too many cigarettes, he had finished. Reds, yellows and blues danced across the page, and a childish voice spoke to Jonathan as he sat across from the painting, simply staring as it dried. Myra’s tiny little voice resided within it, and the cartoonish, slightly warped but beautiful rendition of Ganesh’s head reflected what he thought Myra would most like to see in his painting.
“It’s beautiful!” She exclaimed, when she came in to say goodnight to her guest. He thought so too, and snapped a picture of her joyous little smile next to the joyous little painting.
Knowing he could only take one home with him, and that he had the little statue of Ganesh to remind him, he snapped another photo of his painting before informing his little friend that:
“You can keep it if your parents are okay with that Myra.” Her face began to glow, happiness simply gushing from her heart.
“That’s okay with us Jonathan.”
“Thank you so much!” She hugged him, something that surprised Jonathan for a second, but one that he returned happily.
“Now get to bed. I’ve got to pack for my trip home!”
“I’ll see you off in the morning!”
“I’m sure you will.”
Jonathan slept fulfilled, finding inspiration not in the places he had been, but more the experiences he had lived in those places, knowing that all that creative energy had to be stored within.
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