Toph's Empty Year - 4. Early October

Visible.

This morning, as I left work, I said, “Good morning!” to the pretty boys entering. They smiled at me and returned the greeting. Not being invisible will take some getting used to.

Arising, shortly after noon, I showered and prepared for the day, which was largely to be centered around Naomi. Of course, I visited her immediately after meeting Niles, to explain my seemingly superfluousness of names. That very day, while wandering about her shop I noticed a small sign.

“Naomi, these classes advertised here. Are you by any chance the teacher?”

“Why yes, Toph, but they are mainly tutoring sessions. I find it most effective to work one-on-one. Everything moves much faster.”

“Would you tutor me?”

“I’d be delighted, Toph. First though, we must determine what you are and what is your bliss.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“An artist needs a medium or object or style or something which brings him the highest delight. When we zero in on that, everything else falls into place. We need to discover what is Toph’s bliss.”

Consequently, Naomi and I have been on said journey of discovery for a few weeks. Twice a week, we worked together in her studio, which is attached to the store. The rest of my work was done here, in my room. I had been confining any work with oils to the studio, because of the odor. However, when Anders and Gary discovered my guidelines, they would have none of it. Now, a quarter of my room is a studio, with an easel. Even the daytime lighting is excellent. In the evenings, Anders and Gary always visited to encourage me. Their declarations of appreciation for my work, I’m sure were only to humor me.

I began with the traditional flowers, bowls, fruit, statuettes and whatnot. I was getting nowhere. It was the very same boring and uninspired stuff I had done in high school. I started to get anxious. I believe the last straw was when I painted a sauce pan of my tomato soup, with the can next to it. The realization overtook me suddenly. I broke into tears and started banging my head against my bedroom door frame.

Gary rushed in to stop me, asking what was wrong. He actually held my shoulders, preventing any further damage to the woodwork.

“Look at it! What am I doing? This is worthless! It says nothing; it’s empty; it’s nowhere!”

“But, Toph, you’ve captured the pan and soup-can so accurately!”

“Gary, a camera is more accurate! What am I saying here? Jesus, it looks more like derivative Warhol, and nothing’s worse than that!”

Gary started to massage my neck and upper back, all while whispering things to calm me down. But I didn’t want to be calmed down. I needed an epiphany!! And then Gary inadvertently provided it!

“Toph, you paint so well. You begin with an empty canvass and paint the most realistic looking stuff onto it. You’re very good. I mean, you don’t want to paint angels like Michelangelo, do you?”

There was something about that statement. The more I thought about it, the more it had hidden meaning. Then it hit me in the head like a falling piece of the master’s marble!

“Gary that’s it!” I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “Michelangelo! That’s it!”

“You want to paint angels?”

I giggled at that. “No silly! “I’ve been trying to paint stuff onto the canvass, like you said. But Michelangelo claimed he saw the angel in the marble and carved until he set him free!”

Gary looked bewildered.

“I need to see the work hiding in the canvass and paint to set it free. I can’t wait for tomorrow to see Naomi again!”

Gary still didn’t understand what I was talking about, but he was happy I wasn’t upset anymore or damaging Anders’ woodwork. I put all my paints away and moved into the living room to watch TV with Gary. The lovers, Anders and Joanne, were on a movie date tonight.

 . . . . . . . .

I’ve attempted Naomi’s technique of beginning with abstraction of colors and light. I have allowed whatever was hiding in that abstract image to arise. When I created the original abstracts, I did not know what I saw in them. However, once they were “set free,” I discovered they were portraits--every one.

The first portrait to escape at Naomi’s studio was my brother Charles. It took me only three sessions to very nearly free him completely.

“I don’t know who your young gentleman is, Toph, but he appears to love whomever he’s looking at. He almost seems a little jealous. It’s very good Toph.” Naomi’s comment was encouraging.

It wasn’t a masterpiece, by any scale, but it did seem to embody Charles, not simply look like him. It’s the way I always saw him. As I studied the finished portrait, I got a little overcome. A small twinge inside me missed my brother Charles. He was collateral damage caused by my explosive launch from Euphoria. I did miss Charles. I understood that now.

Meanwhile, at home, my second portrait escaped the confines its canvass prison. The escapee was none other than Nico.

Anders asked, “Who is it Toph? Is that a tennis racquet in his hand? He seems to have just now finished a game. His hair is damp and he’s perspiring. I don’t know who he’s looking at, but it’s got to be his girlfriend, or someone he loves.”

Nico’s portrait was certainly better work. I’d learned a lot with only two paintings. I spent a few nights doing nothing but studying this finished portrait. As with Charles, I realized Nico was also collateral damage. I missed him terribly. We were best friends for four years.

At one point, Gary joined me. “He loved you Toph. I don’t know who he was, but he was from your past life and he loved you. Was he your boyfriend?”

“No. He was my best friend. He’s straight Gary. He didn’t love me.”

“You miss him.”

“I hate to say it, but I do. The longer I look at this, the more I do. I’m going to move him into Naomi’s studio. He can’t live in my room anymore. It’s simply too much for me to bear.”

When Nico had emerged, I grasped a certain detail. You know how sometimes we visualize people with music? Certain songs conjure up certain friends, all the time. There are other triggers, like scent or aroma. Mine was color. I realized how its mechanism was working when I noticed the pastels, which produced Charles, were teals. This was how I sort of color-coded him all my life. Nico sprung from coppers and bronzes, similar to my color image of Nico. I decided my next canvas would be bathed in yellows and golds, Niles’ colors. I was curious to see if Niles would emerge in this little experiment.

I was completely immersed in the portrait at Naomi’s. Sure enough, Niles the investigator sprang from my pastels. His dark blond hair and tanned complexion shone in the sunlight of his colors. His pale blue eyes captured you, as they did me. Naomi immediately recognized him from the few moments he was in her shop, weeks ago. It was all the confirmation I needed that I was on the correct path.

I now had portraits of Nico, brother Charles and--gulp--Niles. They weren’t very good but did get progressively better. Even I could see that. Naomi, of course, was the reason. Little tips and great encouragement go a long way. No one knew who these anonymous men really were, with the exception of Naomi’s recognition of Niles.

. . . . . . . .

One day, near the middle of the month, I had awakened with a memory from when I left work this morning. One of the cute boys caught my eye when we passed each other. He was very attractive. In spite of my daily greetings, this was the first day he seemed to take note of me. I guess it happened from time to time when you’re visible.

Collecting the mail, I was about to leave for lunch, and then on to Naomi’s. I was astonished to see a handwritten envelope addressed to me. The first one ever. Who knew I lived here?

Upon opening, I realized it was from Niles, the investigator with the sweet kiss. At first I wondered how he knew my address, but of course, that was his job.

Toph,

As you desired, I told no one of your new town, not even Nico. I did pass along your good wishes though, as you requested. I hope you don’t mind, but I added a few things to what you asked. Of course I told Nico that you were OK, both mentally and physically. Those were the things he was most concerned with when he hired me.

I requested he tell no one he had even made contact, especially your family. Forgive my presumption, but I sensed it met your underlying desires. You are safe to live your new life, without fear of interference from Floria or family - Unless, of course, they hire an investigator also.

I hope you don’t mind if I visit Happy’s now and then, with hopes of talking with you again. I’m afraid I’ve grown to like you a bit, with all the investigating I did to discover you. If you see me and the feeling isn’t reciprocated, simply tell me to go and I’ll never bother you again. However, I sensed, even in your shock, a little return in the kiss you let me have. I can’t believe I’m blushing as I write this.

Niles

I could’t believe I was blushing as I read this. I’d have to think it over a little. There is no question I was attracted to him, but could I ever have an emotional relationship with a Niles? Not to disparage his name, of course, but everything it stands for. They say opposites attract, but I don’t expect they refer to opposite outlooks on life.

“He is awfully good looking though, Toph.”

“I know Betty, but I recently escaped from everything he represents. It would be too much like returning home with my tail between my legs.”

“Well honey, you sure have a predicament to work out. Remember, always stay who you are. If he wants to be your boyfriend, he has to accept you for who you are, not who he wants you to be.”

That’s how I came out to Betty. She gives good advice too.

Later, Naomi also gave me advice.

“My bliss is portraiture, Naomi. I’m certain.”

“I was coming to the same conclusion, Toph. The reason isn’t that you capture features so well. Many artists do that. What I’m impressed with is your ability to capture something of the spirit of your model. You do it by making a slight distortion in the image which is hardly noticeable, but dramatically effective. You actually made me believe I could begin a conversation with this apartment mate, Gary, although I’ve never met him. Of course, I’ve known Anders all his life. Abigail and I were high school friends and college roommates!”

I had begun two portraits of my apartment mates, which were still unfinished. What high praise, coming from Naomi. It gave me much needed confidence to continue my work. I suppose someday, when they’re finished, I’ll bring these paintings home with me. We spent the rest of the afternoon on technique. Naomi is so good, I easily absorb everything she explains.

. . . . . . . .

After returning home I was, as usual, helping Joanne in the kitchen. My carton of soup lasts much longer than twelve days now. Every so often I slipped Joanne a fifty to help with the groceries, even though Gary and Anders gave her the money. They refused to let me contribute. This little secret between me and Joanne allowed her to splurge on a few extras. Joanne wasn’t the DH for the boys anymore, but I was discovering she’s a force of her own. If I weren’t gay, I’d be fighting Anders for her. I think I told her that once too.

Today her topic of conversation was Gary. We had to speak quietly, since the boys were watching TV in the living room.

“What do you think about Gary?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well Toph, I think Gary is growing to like and respect you.”

“In what way?”

“He told me the story about your clothes recommendation a few weeks ago, when you made him change before he met with his employee.”

“I didn’t make him change. I only suggested less stress provoking clothes. Gary decided to change. He never even told me how it all turned out anyway. I don’t get the impression Gary thinks too much about me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He thinks about you all the time. The conference went well, by the way. Gary credits it all to you. He believes you don’t think too much about him.”

“Oh? Well, what do you suggest I do?”

“That’s easy, talk to him. Ask about work. Ask where he goes to relax and blow off steam. You know, have a conversation with him that’s more personal than the weather.”

Joanne must have listened in on my conversations with Gary. I didn’t really want to get too personal with him because he’s so easy to look at and enjoy. I didn’t want to mess up the delicate three-way balance which living here requires. I suppose I’ll need to relent a little though. I didn’t want Gary to think I don’t like him.

. . . . . . . .

This morning, that pretty boy stopped when I said, “Good morning.”

“I notice you leaving every day! You must work midnights. I did it for a few months, but simply couldn’t hack the hours. I’m Steve, by the way.”

I shook his hand and identified myself as Christopher.

“Can I call you Chris?”

“No, actually my nickname is Toph.”

Steve gave me a look of non-comprehension.

“It’s sort of from the middle of my name.”

You could see him mentally spelling before he blurted out “Wow, it’s really unusual. Who thought that up?”

“A special friend.”

“Is he still your special friend, or do you have a new one?”

Goodness! That was pretty forward of him.

“Um, no special friends at the moment.”

My, that was easy!

Not quite as easy as Steve. As quick as a magician, he pulled out his phone and asked for my number. I almost stumbled and gave him my former number. I wondered how that conversation would have gone? Anyway, Steve had to hustle or he’d be late clocking in. He told me to expect a call.

. . . . . . . .

Today I learned about Big Joe’s girlfriend.

“You look a little more dressed today.”

“Yeah. Papa has me in the customer section, getting to learn how he interacts with clients. He had two appointments this morning and will have three this afternoon.” Then he chuckled. “I’m not allowed to talk though.”

I had to laugh at that.

“But it works out well, because after the shop I’m going to pick up Jo and take her out for dinner.”

“Jo?”

“Aw Toph, didn’t I ever mention Jo? We’re engaged! We’ve been a couple since we went to different high schools together.”

That probably explained his lack of friends. Jo was actually Josephina Martina, who attended St. Joseph’s High while Big Joe went to New Glory High. I wondered if Jo and Big Joe would be married at St. Joe’s?

After lunch, I began a new painting at Naomi’s. I didn’t know who it will become, or even if it will become a portrait. Well, being perfectly honest, the odds that it will be a portrait are about 999/1000. I was in a different kind of mood this afternoon. My colors were a little deeper than usual and, for the first time, there were more than four.

I was interested to see where this leads and why the complexity of initial colors seemed so compelling for me. I became engrossed in the painting, but my mind kept going back to Steve from this morning. I wasn't sure he’d follow up with his threat to call me sometime. Whether or not he does, I’ll bump into him every morning anyway. He added my number pretty easily, like he did this sort of thing all the time.

I suppose it was unusual to me because of Austin being my sole hookup throughout high school. Actually, Austin had been it throughout my entire gay life! I guess Steve was the more normal of the two of us. Even Austin had more hookups than I did.

I’ll bet Steve collected as many phone numbers as he could, without acting on any of them until he had a night off from his regulars. Then he'd probably go down the list until he found some willing boy who wasn’t busy either. I may never get a call from Steve, or maybe he’d surprise me on some cold evening in February. Whatever, I needed to find some boys. I was getting horny. It had been a long while since Austin.

. . . . . . . .

It was after dinner. We four were sitting in the living room, talking about this and that. It was mostly Anders and Joanne’s plans for the weekend.

Tiring of the topic, I turned to Gary and began to ask how things were going with that troubling employee, when a phone rang somewhere. Everyone looked around. It was when I realized it was my new phone, which was on the dresser in my bedroom. It was the first time I ever heard it ring.

Jumping up, quickly retrieving it, I returned to the sofa as I answered.

“Steve? Oh wow.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“No. I do my sleeping in the morning after work.”

“Yes.”

“When.”

“Now? Sure, I guess.”

“Yes, I know where it is. I pass it every night on my way to work.”

“Probably about half an hour. See you then.”

That’s what they heard, the three other people in the living room, staring at me in shock.

“Sorry about that. I have to grab a quick shower. I’ll go to work from there. See you in the morning.”

Joanne had a cute smile on her face. Anders, a sort of blush. Gary looked like he had just witnessed an auto wreck.