Love and Other Chemical Imbalances

Saturday, January 7th

I rush back over to my sheet of drywall and stare for several moments just to make sure what I’m seeing is real. Painted—no, stenciled—onto the back is a life-sized portrait of a beautiful, young, naked woman. She is standing, in stark relief, without context, presented plainly and with considerable verve. She stares at me with one bottomless, inky black eye while the other hides behind the veil of her sweeping and surprisingly buoyant bangs.
 
She is pulling her left arm across her face—tilting her head to the left—with her other arm tugging her wrist back over her right shoulder. She is solemnly kissing her left shoulder. Her small but beautiful breasts are revealed just above where the stencil cuts off. Her hair is pulled up loosely into a bun at the top of her head. A rebel strand wraps under her chin and around her neck. I have never seen such a delicate and lovingly rendered image of the female form.

The detail is staggering. The texture is incredible. She is presented without any of the irony or self-awareness of most contemporary art; it’s almost as though she’s really here and not reflected through the lens of the artist that created her. This took time, patience, and extraordinary talent.

Written along her shoulder blade and down the slope of her back is the cryptic message: Keep looking. I’ve got to be around here somewhere. 2 of 5.

I feel pure excitement as though for the first time.

Thursday, July 5th

I have trouble sleeping, but I’m calm and surprisingly happy. After a day full of threatening clouds and light, intermittent drizzle, it rains hard all night. I love the dull thud as the drops impact my nylon cocoon. I listen to the thunder.

I begin to feel a sense of purpose.

I start to understand what it is I want.

It’s not that I don’t want to be married; it’s that I’d rather fail in pursuing a woman like Cedar than succeed in pursuing one like Aimee. Likewise, I’d rather go broke attempting to create something truly spectacular than make a comfortable living doing okay work for a mediocre firm. I feel a need to—in any endeavor and regardless of the cost—live my life without a safety net and go after only that which is the most extraordinary. Ambition above all else. A life beyond the minimum safe distance.

So I will walk these two hundred miles. And I will consider it training.

Sunday, September 30th

After spending the afternoon sampling microbrews at a few different bars, I return to Cedar’s condo. She’s nowhere to be found. I assume she’s off tattooing something spectacular onto somebody’s something. I decide to shower.

Stepping into the bathroom, I’m bombarded with fear, devastation, agony, and adrenaline all at once. I freeze momentarily. I nearly collapse.

Cedar is lying still, submerged in the bathtub. Blood-red water fills the tub to the brim. She’s motionless. Her eyes closed. Her mouth open.

Time speeds up. Time slows down. I don’t know. I panic.

I rush over to her. I reach into the tub with both arms, grab her by the shoulders, and pull her up from under the water. I expect the worst. My heart is pounding. I’m terrified. I don’t know CPR. I don’t know anything except that this is the one loss I cannot possibly withstand.

Suddenly, relief. As I pull Cedar up, she coughs, blinks, and looks at me. I’m so startled by this that I leap backward, slip on the wet bathroom floor, and stumble into the corner next to the toilet. I put my head on the toilet seat and start to hyperventilate.

“So,” she says, wiping her eyes. “This is a little awkward.”