10 Surprise Me

Jacob's house left my mouth opened like a wide unexplored cave.

Standing on a two-story building and heavily surrounded by bushed walls, a wide garden can be seen in the front lawn along with a garage placed in the near right corner of the manor. Inside of it was a car, seemingly unused and idle. Yet, it's as clean and clear as the windows since not a spec of dust can be seen covering it.

It was an unexpected expression of mine, of course, that he would live in such a lavish lifestyle, let alone have a house most people couldn't afford. And yes, I had had the presumption of him living alone in a small, rent-to-own apartment. But I never prepared myself to be tremendously shocked to where he actually resided.

We were at his house to finish that damned art project, the one we were supposed to show in a so-called gallery for the next few days. After looking for more places and buying art supplies, he suggested that we'd have to do it at his house since it's nearer and there are some materials needed for the project found in his room.

The dark metal gates with jagged tops slowly opened as we walked inside, with an uphill and ramped walkway towards the main front door made out of mahogany. I walked inside the house and was greeted by the seemingly expensive pieces of furniture: a long and arching sofa-bed, some internationally decorated lamps, a techy television set, and stairs made out of fine marble. We were also greeted by a kind worker who was preparing multiple drinks and snacks, often shooting a glimpse at me with a seemingly curious yet stoic manner.

"You can just bring some up in my room, thank you," Jacob said. He looked at me all smiling while I bowed to the worker and "respectfully" followed Jacob towards his room on the second floor.

We walked along a long hallway until we stopped in front of his door and followed him as we paced across his room. He sat below a neatly placed bunk bed and threw his bag across landing on soft pillows, the art materials slowly and carefully placed on a small table in the middle of the room.

"I never knew you lived in such a mansion," I said. I walked slowly and observed the place, going in front of a window to look on the outside the house and seeing the luscious plants being grown in the garden.

"You call it a mansion, I call it a prison." He said. He gently placed the materials and made them ready for the projects. I scoffed at his response as I sat across him in front of the table.

"I noticed that your family have a car and yet I've never seen you come to school with it." I said as I prepared the art materials: brushes, pencils, papers, paints, acrylics, and of course the "model" that had to be modeled after. He took off his unkempt uniform, went through the rummage inside a wide drawer, and changed into a navy blue cotton t-shirt with printed unrecognizable cartoon characters on its surface.

"Some kind of superstition in the family that wouldn't interest you whatsoever."

Jacob placidly sat across me while a huge hanging painting of a woman can be seen behind him. She was beautiful, quietly so—an elegant jaw line and upswept black hair showing a slender neck. She had been lovingly painted, each darkness or lightness perfectly rendered. I couldn't help but observe and admire the masterpiece from time-to-time, and couldn't help to get anxious every time I try to create mine. I coughed and tried to form words to deepen our conversation, finding out the right ones to make me distracted from it all.

"Is that why you never go to busy roads and always ride the transportations?" I said.

Jacob saw me peeking at the artwork securely placed behind him and smiled. I hid behind the paper, a still blank canvass without any kind of soot or drawing that had been started. I haven't even started with anything other than sitting on a chair, munching on the snacks, and clumsily looking at the painting behind him ever since I got inside the room.

"Yep," he said as his brush stroked the surface of the canvass. The guy had already been starting with the project and I'm here talking nonsense. "And if you're wondering about the painting behind me, that's for a loved one."

"A love one," I said as I tried drawing his figure on the canvass, successful failing and erasing the lines every now and then. "I never knew you'd be the kind of guy to be a romantic."

"A love one, indeed," he said as he mixes some of the colors in the palette, stroking it on the surface of the once blank canvass and making me curious about the artwork he'd create. "Because that one's my mom." He stopped for a moment to look at me, eyes lighting up. His constant change of serious face made me erase my drafted figure of him.

"Why is it in your room?" I said as I pointed at the art piece.

"She's in the hospital, recovering." He said. There was sadness in the tone of his voice, something I wasn't accustomed to. I began drawing his figure and created to erasures.

"And your father?"

He suddenly stopped and looked up at me. And then, he continued creating his project without saying another word.

The silence engulfed the whole room for the next half hour. It wasn't as deafening as before and wasn't as heavy either. I would constantly observe him stroking his brush on the surface of the canvass and mixing colors while I continued trying to draw his figure. The kind worker from below the floor would seldom bring more snacks and drinks inside the room, yet I felt like I was the only one enjoying the food. The silence went on for almost an hour until he dropped his brushes and acrylics on the table, analyzed the canvass, and let out a long sigh.

"Done!" He said. He stood up and stretched. The smile mildly painted across his face, wore it as if it's something that had been already there ever since we started. Jacob walked slowly away from his position and dragged his stool beside me, sat and watched as my hand trembled on every stroke on my still unrefined canvass.

"Relax," he said. His arm slowly grabbed mine and held the pencil with it. He gently leaned against my side. And apart from the deafening white noise of the silence, the beating of his heart resonated towards mine.

"Since you already started with a circular base, the next you'll do is the guidelines. And then you'll draw the eyes, a proportional nose, and then add the eyebrows." I felt the warmth jumping from him to me as his hand softly gripped mine and followed his every direction. They were brusque and filled with mixed colors and spilled paint. I didn't fancy to ever look at him since his presence was very close to mine, his deep voice was as deafening as the silence that once filled the room.

"Start with a triangle and draw the lips. Add the ears, and of course the hair. Don't forget to curl them up." After his directions, I finally drew his face.

Sort of.

He also taught me to mix and match colors and create palettes, as well as suggested some brush strokes to color his figure.

"Which of these would you like on your portrait?" I asked him. He shrugged and said, "Surprise me."

"Surprise you? Would you want me to butcher this work?"

"I mean, you go by the conventional colors," he said as he grabbed an idle brush, doused it with paint, and colored a small part of the figure. "Or, you can go wild." He said as he mixed random colors and painted a small part of the canvass. "Art is subjective to the beholder. Feelings are more important than what the objectives are in the execution of art forms."

"That doesn't mean that I should just go all willy-nilly or I'll create such a monstrosity that would create my downfall."

"You can! Some artists do that for fun or for whatever reason they may have. Be wild and creative on the things you do, and just do it the best as you can"

"And we have to do this for grades and public approval."

"Our grades are one thing, but the public?" He said as he gently placed a brush on my hand's grip, doused and swirled the mixed colors, and have them painted on the figure on the once blank canvass. "Is that why you're so against the notion of people reading your works because they'll judge you?"

"A part of it, yes," I said. His hand returned to its soft, warm grip. He leaned forward, even more, bring his body closer to mine as our eyes were anchored on the surface of the paper.

"Then who do you think would enjoy your own pieces of art if you're not showing them outside?" He said. We stopped from painting as we crossed looks, stared into each other's eyes. "Art is like an image that you have to get out from your head to stick on someone else's. And if they didn't appreciate the art you made, that doesn't mean they don't like it. It just means that it wasn't for them, and it means that it was meant for someone else."

"Is that your perspective on my writing, your kind of philosophy with painting?" I asked him as he chuckled, the delicate tone reverberating and travelling across my body. The soft grips of his hand grew softer as he slowly let go, and I managed to paint the canvass of my own.

"Your art will be its own piece no matter what it is. Take pride in whatever it is because you deserve it."

I never knew that such profound words would come out of his mouth, let alone motivate me to finish the project. It was still as butchered as I viewed it in a subjective sense, but the whole thought didn't really matter as it ways does. I began drawing one more figure for Jacob as he did the same, "for practice purposes" he said, and we ended up finishing a few artworks after a few hours.

"Can I see your works?" I asked him.

"Not until the gallery." He said, serving me a hot cup of cocoa. It was sweet for my taste, perhaps too sweet. But I still drank from the cup every now and then.

"That's unfair."

"I'll give you the work after the gallery, so don't worry. And then you can hang it somewhere around your home afterward."

"I'm not as narcissistic as you are."

"I know you aren't. Think of it as a gift."

"Then I might as well write more stories for you to read."

"That, I'll heavily appreciate."

As he reached for his cup of coffee and drank from it, I looked outside of the windows of the room and watched the white rains of puffy coldness that turns to water when touched. The first fall of snows, I thought, the early days of Winter have arrived.