Chapter Seventy-Six: How I See

Mundane: lacking interest or excitement; dull.

*

Alexis had described the get together as like the school dance last term, full of people and music and fancy lights and free food. She lied.

She really lied.

While Alexis had extended the invitation to the school and a lot of students were here, the main demographic of the exhibition were people over the age of thirty.

Also, there was no free food.

Well there was, but it was revolting.

The adults were all mingling together, discussing the different artists, who's works had yet to be revealed, and the tastes of different wines passed around. It was hilarious watching school students try and get wine samples, but the waitstaff being smart enough not to serve them any. In some instances, waitstaff just handed out normal grape juice to the high school students.

Unlike the school dance and past parties, we just had to wear something nice. 'Something nice' amongst these art critics was a wide and weird range. Some wore elegant cocktail dresses or tuxedoes, while others dressed like comfortable old ladies in what I could easily believe to be hand-knitted brown and grey sweaters or beanies. As I cradled my grape juice, I watched a woman walk past me wearing a large and over-the-top pink and purple hat filled with feathers, baubles and beads. Her hat was the loudest thing in the room.

In my awe, Estelle appeared next to me. She had gone over-the-top with her outfit choice, largely trying to look like an artist, but came off as a hipster. She wore shorts over black stockings with shin high boots, a floral-patterned tunic, her front tucked into her pants, and wearing a green cardigan and matching beret. When she turned her eye to me, she dipped her false glasses down her nose, offering a playful gleam.

"You in love yet?" she asked.

I snorted, looking down at my grape juice, "I have only eyes for you, Princess."

Estelle gave me a kissing gesture before pushing the glasses back up her nose and leaning on the wall besides me, observing as I was. "To think, I was nervous about wearing this," she confessed as she took in the array of outfits, "But I had nothing to worry about."

I smiled, "Your fashion sense is fine, Estelle, you never have to worry about it." I sipped my drink, my tongue tingling from the tart taste.

She scoffed, "I'm aware of that, I'm absolutely fabulous, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about what I wear. I wouldn't want to outshine these people, you know? Steal the spot light?"

My smile got wider. "Your confidence outshines them all," I assured.

Despite her semi-sarcastic mood, she swayed where she stood at my comment and thanked me rather sweetly for saying it. "When's Alexis' grand exhibition reveal?" she asked, happily taking my drink when I offered it to her.

I checked my watch. "She's one of the last ones revealed," I informed, "They're going to unveil the first art guy - what's his name, um – Ronan Brooks in like ten minutes, then Wilmer Quince, that Madame Margot chick and then Alexis."

"I like Wilmer Quince's works," Estelle informed, "Over the past week he emailed me back and sent pictures of some of his works. He seems to really like birds. Blah!" Estelle pressed the back of her hand to her lips, trying not to spit out the drink she sipped from, "God, that stuff's terrible!"

I tried not to laugh when her eyes started to water. "I'm going to find Alexis," I informed as Estelle continued to gag.

"Great, lovely. I'm gonna so rinse my mouth with toilet water. Excuse me," Estelle said immediately shoving the drink back into my hands and fleeing.

As I wandered through the pretend-art-critics, the real art critics, the artists and the viewers, I found Alexis talking to a group of very important looking people. At the sight of her I stopped, just taking in how elegant she looked. Her auburn hair was tied in a high bun, a hairstyle Ava and I worked together to make as perfect as a YouTube tutorial allowed it to be, and she fashioned a sparkly ruby red dress.

I started to approach her but was taken aback by how cosy one of the guys was with her. If I had to guess, he was in his early twenties and was classic I'm-an-artist persona, or at least to me he was. His hair wad dark blond, while his stubble was dark brown, and his arms were toned under his rolled up long sleeves. His mouth was close to her ear as he said something, one of his hands resting unnecessarily on her arm.

I bit my tongue until it started to sting as I forced myself not to stomp over to her.

"Alexis," I greeted loudly so she knew I was coming.

At the sound of my voice, her eyes rested on me and she brushed off the guy speaking to her, much to my delight. "Landon!" She reached out to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, "Landon, these are members of the Art Board for New York's Young Artist Program." As she announced this, she gestured to the group of five people, including the one standing too close for comfort to her, "Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Landon."

After shaking a few hands, some idle chitchat and accidentally feeling very prideful when Alexis snuggled against my shoulder while the man cosying up to her was speaking. However, he didn't seem affected by it, which irked me.

Alexis rested her hand against my chest at one point, her finger slipping under one of my buttons she rested her chin on my shoulder, "You good?"

I nodded, "Yeah, just being silly."

She frowned, "How so?"

I shifted slightly, holding her a touch tighter, "I don't like the way he was touching you."

Alexis scoffed, turning her head to pretend she was listening to the other people's ramblings, "You're right, you are being silly."

"I also don't like the way he looked at you," I informed.

Alexis sucked in her lips, almost in delight, as she swapped her champagne glass between her hands. "I'm liking this possessive side," she remarked. There was a sudden feedback sound from the amps around the room, someone with a microphone checking it was working before speaking. "Put that on hold, stud," Alexis said standing on her own to face the speaker.

It was a sophisticated looking woman, who awkwardly held the microphone as she tried to reattach it to the stand. When she managed, it started drooping, so she held it in place as she spoke, "Welcome, fellow art enthusiasts, members of the board, and artists of course. It's such a marvel to have so many bright faces at such an exhibition, both young and old, to show off some lovely talents in the shadow of the beautiful Windmill Lakes." There was scattered applause as she continued, starting off introducing Ronan Brooks.

Ronan was a man of few words, so it seemed, declaring that he would rather have his works speak for themselves. He appeared to be a veteran painter, as people murmured when his works were unveiled and even some students from art classes were chittering in excitement about some of the works.

In my opinion, they were very bleak. From just a quick glance, I saw a lot of dark colours and somewhat depressing imagery. I'm sure there was more to them then I initially saw, since I watched several people approach the works as they were revealed. Altogether Ronan had twelve artworks of varying sizes on display.

His 'speech' was done in less then thirty seconds.

When Wilmer took the stage, he was much peppier, and quite obviously tipsy with the way he tripped on the two steps to get on the stage. When he held the microphone, he was loud, blasting a loud belly laugh almost immediately that startled everyone even though we could see him speaking. His speech was a bunch of rambles, explaining at first about how his flamingo artwork was an 'unknown artwork given a title, left up to either the free interpretation of the onlooker or content viewer who will only see it's title.'

Like Estelle's comments when we first saw some of his works, a lot of his creations weren't necessarily flamingo looking as I had assumed given the title of his whole exhibition. Some of them resembled clouds, others abstract shapes and bundles, and some weren't even pink. Unlike Ronan's overall reception, everyone was more than eager to react to his drunken enthusiasm with a loud cheer when he concluded his… interesting speech.

"He'll make a wonderful Grandpa one day," Alexis commented when he was done, "The number of stories he's got."

"And Madame Margot," the woman announced.

When she took the stage, I stole a glance around at our dormmates, all in which made varied disgusted faces and didn't applaud her like everyone else. Alexis was the only one from the dorm to do so.

"Yes, thank you all for coming to this exhibition, as an artist I cannot stress enough how important it is to us to have people still interested in art, so on behalf of all of us, I thank you for being here." There was scattered claps when she paused. "I find that there are many works out there that have meaning, but even more artists that claim meaning with no skill or quality. Nothing is more hurtful to me then when the mundane is celebrated or not realised for its true potential." Madame Margot continued a speech about how the ordinary mustn't be overanalysed to become extraordinary or give attention to those who simply don't deserve it.

The whole time, Alexis was clutching my arm, while everything about her seemed pristine and relaxed, her arm was tensed up. It was very quickly I realised the whole speech was a dig at Alexis, even unsubtly referencing her and the other artists at some points in varying lights of appeal and disinterest.

I could feel my shoulder tightening up and a glare forming as she finally introduced her works. "And now, I show to you my works, The Un-Mundane."

Her exhibition title was met with proper applause from students, critics and parents alike. The workers in black pulled down curtains and unveiled sculptures.

I hated it, but Madame Margot deserved the title artist. Her works were detailed, some simple enough to understand potential meanings while others were too complex for myself to understand. There was a precision yet a roughness to the strokes and presentation of some of her works, the more I looked on the more I saw she was able to mimic different art styles ranging from realism to abstract.

But amongst the hung artworks, I saw something very familiar.

A bird in a golden cage with a black background, almost a copy of Alexis' work except the bird was red, not blue.

Alexis' work Bird Outside was still unveiled in her section of the exhibit, and slowly other people started to realise, offering murmurs to one another as they compared the two. From what murmurs I could hear, it sounded like everyone thought Margot was the original artist.

Alexis clicked her tongue, the smallest of annoyed smiles forming as she turned her head to me. "How close is it?" she asked.

I blinked, "What?"

"How similar to it is mine?" she clarified.

I gulped, rubbing the back of my head as eyes started to rest on us, "Pretty close. Depending on the style, it might even be better actually." Madame Margot's depiction of the bird was much more precise and detailed, likely because she could see and add appropriate details to it.

Alexis shocked me when she nodded and straightened her posture, "Excellent."

I raised a brow as I looked at her, "Alexis, everyone thinks you copied her."

She nodded, "And that's precisely where I want them if she's malicious enough to play these games." She tightened her grip around my arm before stepping forwards, people parting the way as she was called up, a touch awkwardly, to the mic.

The other girls approached me when Alexis started up the steps. "Is that Alexis' bird art?" Bonnie whispered.

I nodded, "Yep."

"Is she aware of that?" Amia added.

I nodded, "She is."

"And she doesn't care?" Estelle sounded very confused asking this.

I nodded again, "Doesn't appear to."

Alexis held the mic and tapped it, sending thuds throughout the room before she began.

"Hey everyone," she started, her smile so carefree as if her work wasn't just stolen ten seconds ago, "Umm, I'm a new face, I suppose, so let's get some stuff out of the way, make it simple and all." She cleared her throat, shifting from one foot to the other as she sighed. "My name is Alexis Baine, when I was three years old, I was in a car crash that left me permanently blind. I remember colours and what a Dr Seuss book looks like and who the Doctor was ten plus years ago." This gained her a chuckle. "Despite not being able to see traditionally, I still see things, just in a way that's very difficult to understand so I'll try my best to explain." She cleared her throat again, sighing as she arched her head to the ceiling. "When things make noise, I understand where they are, in a sense. They all give off these specific colours and shapes and meanings that in the darkness just flood me, at times it's overwhelming, and is apparently something that not many people see."

Her explanation gained some quizzical looks.

"It's, to give it a name, a branch of synaesthesia, specifically synesthesia. It's more common for people with this to go into music, achieve that lovely cliché of a blind musician. I was not one of those people." Alexis flexed her free hands. "These hands were designed for something more tactile, less vibratey."

She bit the inside of her cheek, relaxing her hands and her limbs as she continued, "Now, you may think my work is strongly similar to that of Madame Margot, a brilliant artist in her own right, and I'm sure it's a carbon copy." Alexis licked her teeth. "I wouldn't know since I can't see them." Another round of chuckles. "I'm not going to lie, I'm both offended and flattered by this turn of events. Flattered that someone whom described my works as mundane and uninspired, would take such inspiration from my work Bird Outside. But offended, because in everything that I have made, including Bird outside, I made with my own emotional input in mind. My works were based on my family, my friends, my boyfriend, the people whom inspired me, inspired the very world I perceive, and someone had the… confidence I suppose, to replicate it without having the same reasoning behind it."

There was a saltiness in her voice, one that she appeared to realise when she stepped away from the mic and scratched at her nose. Scanning the faces around me, my eyes fell on Madame Margot, who seemed to be infatuated by Alexis' speech.

"Umm…" Alexis rubbed her eye, "I'm not here to speak out of school though. I mean, I'm just about to get out of there myself." The students shared a laugh with that comment. "I don't seek sympathy though, only results. Just like I never wanted sympathy for my blindness, for the way I see things, the way I act. As cliché as it sounds, what happened to me made me see things that before I had never seen." As she spoke, Alexis rubbed her fingertips together. "Because even when I couldn't see, I could still feel how fragile flowers were, the crisp texture of an apple when I bite into it, the tender feeling of being kissed by someone that cares about you, when you feel that flurry of affection for that person in that moment."

The warm feeling returned to my chest at the mention of that, as her eyes seemed to somehow rest on me when she spoke of it.

"I may have become blind," she continued, "But I could still be alive. I could still experience life. Just because of this disability of sorts, that doesn't make me dumb, or stupid, or lesser, or boring, it just means I try harder to be normal to people. To be seen by people. To be more than a blind girl." She puffed up her chest, rolling her shoulders back as she spoke with a smile, "I live in a dorm of six girls and two boys. But some of you may know them through a lot of demeaning titles, but I've come to know them as my friends."

At the mention of us, we all gave quick glances to each other, equally flattered but confused why we were being mentioned in her speech at all.

"Friends who believe they were never noticed, or noticed for the wrong reasons," Alexis' words adopted a sad tone at the mention of this, and in the corner of my eye I watched everyone shift at the vague mention of what's happened the past year to everyone. "This exhibit is for them, how first impressions are not everything and how to me they are so much more then what people think they see. This is what I see." She rubbed under her eye, an action I knew she only did when she was withholding tears. "So, I present to you all, my exhibit, "How I See. Thankyou."

Upon the completion of the speech, the lights around Alexis' section turned off, replaced with a blue ultra violet light casting down on Alexis' works as the sheets were removed from the pieces.

Alexis had presented a dozen canvases and three sculptures for the exhibition.

I was in stunned awe.

The paintings were works of varied sizes, ranging from wide landscapes to smaller squares, but what caught everyone's eye, sending the room into complete silence, were the glowing sections on top of the initial artwork. My eyes rested on Bird Outside, in normal light it appeared to be a bird trapped in its birdcage, but when the lights were out, a second paint reacted and glowed, showing a completely different image, one where the bird was free.

In the differing lights, we could make out the original images of the pieces and see what had been added over the top. In one painting, a girl stood alone in a remarkably dull space, but the glowing paint turned the same figure into a ballerina striking a graceful pose, surrounded by elegant patterns and suggestion she was on a stage.

Another depicted a pair, one boy and one girl, holding hands, while their alternate image swapped their clothing and added differing backgrounds.

Another showed a lone girl, her body in a somewhat awkward but believable position, but with the glow she was in a fighting stance.

The smaller one was a little girl, surrounded by blobs of colour, covering her ears. The second glowing layer banished the headache of colours, making the little girl stand in the middle of silence, surrounded by stacks of books.

Another was a strange portrait, a girl with no facial features, who seemed unhappy, but the hidden paint altered the face and the background to be energetic and bright.

Like Alexis' style, none of the people had any discernible characteristics, but we could all tell which one was about.

My eyes were drawn to a rectangular image, a completely black canvas with two yellow figures, their backs to each other, walking away from one another. But with the glowing paint, the space they had made from walking away replaced them in front of each other, holding hands and kissing.

Now that the speeches were over, people wandered over to the exhibitions that interested them, Alexis' catching almost everyone's eye.

From a far, I managed to eye the other artworks on display. There were other depictions of the same couple in various relationship acts, kissing, holding hands, post-sex and so on. There was a simpler image of a bunch of boys sitting on a hillside, the paint changing it to give them each differing personalities and props, ranging from books, to a golf club, to glasses. Before I could examine any others, Alexis came down from the stage and I sought her out.

By the time I had reached her, the Delinquents had found her, Dylan in the process of hugging her.

"Good on ya, Rusty," he said as I approached, "I'm proud of you."

Alexis nodded, pulling out of the hug, "Thank you."

"This is sick!" one of the boys exclaimed, eyeballing the art pieces.

"How did you do it?" Connor asked, "Like I'm almost certain paint doesn't normally do that."

Alexis smothered a chuckle as she started to explain the chemistry behind her paints. The science went over all our heads, but her process of finding it was fascinating. "I asked a bunch of people what the colours looked like over the years, and these colours were the closest to what I could see when people make noise. What I see are never solid, normal looking colours, they're more ethereal looking apparently."

I put an arm around her shoulders, not startling her as she looked to me, "It all looks amazing."

She nodded, her smile dampening by my presence, but still happy. "It means a lot to have you guys here," she informed, "Please, have a look at the works. The board want to discuss a few things with me." She grinned wider, flashing it at me and Dylan, "Hopefully good news."

With that, she dismissed herself and approached the same group of people as before the speeches, melding into their conversation flawlessly.

"Kinda flattering, ain't it?" Dylan asked as his own friends dispersed to have a look at things.

I pocketed my hands, "What?"

"Haven't you seen the sculptures yet?" he asked. When I shook my head, he gestured with his head to follow him.

With some pushing and shoving, we made it to the front of some smaller crowds before some head busts.

The memory of the sting of lemon drops made my mouth water when I saw one of the busts was of me. Next to it was a sculpt of Dylan's head, and then the last was of a man I had never met.

Dylan pointed it out to me before I could read the plaques. "You, me and Vincent," he informed pointing to each one.

It took me a moment to register who Vincent was, the realisation hitting me like a truck, making me breathless. "I don't know if I'd be able to sculpt my sister's faces from memory," I commented, surprised by the detail of the young man's smile, "Let alone if I hadn't seen them in a decade."

Dylan laughed. "She didn't talk about Vincent with me much when we were together. You?"

I shook my head, "We went to his grave a few weeks ago and laid some flowers. Apparently, she's older then him now." I looked at the title of the plagues as a whole: Aged 17 – the brother, the friend, the boyfriend.

Dylan's expression dampened as he sighed and pocketed his hands, "You never want to outgrow your older siblings." I murmured in agreement, and the lift the mood again he started teasing me about the more intimate depictions in some of the paintings.

I punched his arm, telling him to drop it. "I had no clue she was doing this. She was very secretive about it for the past few weeks."

Dylan agreed. "She enjoys a good surprise, Rusty. And she sure as hell knows how to deliver," he looked around the paintings, "When she gets inspired, mate, it's amazing."

All I could do was agree.

"What's happening with you two now?" Dylan asked after a second of silence.

"Huh?"

"I'll be damned if the board doesn't offer Rusty what she wants. That means she's off to New York before the end of the year. What're you two going to do?"

Dylan's words compiled into a rock that sat in the pit of my stomach. Now confronted with it, I had no idea. Well, I had some idea, but it wasn't one I wanted to think about. A part of me never thought Alexis and I would make it to the end of the year, would never have to deal with this.

I started to feel nauseous as I looked over to Alexis, a wide smile on her face whilst speaking with the critics, even though she was across the room and I couldn't hear her, I could imagine her tone, how passionate whatever she was talking about sounded, how her arms waved about so animatedly, how happy she was.

I love her.

I felt something in my heart ping, for that moment in what felt like a life-threatening way, in a way that made my head spin, my blood run hot and cold at the same time, made me want to be sick and cry and sleep. But blanketing all of that was sudden, intense sadness, one that weighed down my hammering heartbeat, loosened all the tension suddenly formed in my shoulders and made my smile turn into a flat line.

I clicked my tongue in thought, "I'm not sure…"

I didn't want her to leave.

"I guess just see what happens."

I didn't want what we had to be over.

"Because I don't want to stop her from pursuing something this important to her."

I didn't…

I didn't want to let her go.