“Oh…”
“Yeah,” I said, running a hand back through my hair. “And honestly, he was right. I essentially copied the original, but took two people out of the frame and made the scenery a little different. Other than that…” I shrugged. “I missed the mark. Big time.”
Angela sighed, sitting down next to me and patting my back. “Hey, it’ll be okay. He obviously believes you have it in you, or he wouldn’t be wasting his breath, you know?”
I shrugged. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m in one of the most beautiful places in the world where some of the greatest artists of all time created world-renowned masterpieces. And yet… I’m stuck.”
“What are you working on now?”
“He said he wants me to redo it,” I said, staring at the blank canvas with emotion strangling me again. “And for the life of me, I can’t think of anything other than what I’ve already painted.”
“It will come to you.”
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “But maybe this is it. Maybe I’m not as good as I thought I was.”
“Harley, you’re amazing,” Angela insisted, squeezing my knee. “And you know it.”
“I thought I knew it, but what if it was all a farce?”
Angela frowned. “How could it be?”
I hung my head and slowly peeled my right hand from under my thigh. “Because of this.”
“Harley…”
“No, I mean it,” I said, cataloging the features of my underdeveloped hand before finally looking at my roommate. “Maybe everyone has lied to me my entire life because they were afraid of hurting my feelings. Maybe it’s why my parents have been so adamant about me double majoring, in having a backup plan. Maybe they knew all along that I wasn’t any good, and that the only reason I was getting attention is because of my hand.” My eyes welled at the admission. “And now I’m here, and for the first time, I’ve got someone who isn’t afraid to hurt my feelings, to tell me how it really is.”
“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there, before you start blubbering again,” Angela said. “I love you. And I’m sorry that you’re hurt over this. But let me tell you something, I know from the look in your eyes that you’ve lived a rough life just like I have. Nothing has ever come easy. Nothing ever will. Do you understand?” She leveled her gaze with mine. “If it was easy, everyone would do it. If it was easy, you wouldn’t even bother with it, because it wouldn’t fuel you. Stop the pity party and listen to your heart,” she said, stabbing my chest with her pointer finger for good measure. “You know what to do. You just have to stop crying, put on your big girl panties, and do it.”
She arched a brow, waiting until I nodded, and then she reached over for the plate of sandwiches and handed me the top one.
“Eat. Think. Create,” she said, waving her hand over my canvas as she stood. “I’ll be in the living room if you need another pep talk.”
I chuckled. “Thanks, Ang.”
She smiled, letting the door close with a quiet click behind her, and then it was just me, a PB and J, and that damn blank canvas.
I sighed, taking my first bite as I stared at the white rectangle. I frowned as soon as I started chewing because the peanut butter wasn’t as sweet as I was used to, and the preserves were more runny than the jam I used back home. I smiled, thinking about the work Angela had gone through to get it, and how I never thought I’d ever have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that tasted so different from the kind I was used to.
Who knew something so simple could even be this different?
I took another bite, and then I stopped mid-chew.
Wait.
My heart thundered in my chest in the most blissful way — the same way it always did when I was on the brink of inspiration.
Maybe that’s what was missing. Maybe it didn’t have to be some complicated work of art, but rather something simple, something familiar — but done in a way that made it feel new.
Professor Beneventi’s words floated back to me.
“You need to get out and live in order to understand the emotions you’re trying to create.”
My ears rang, vision black and dizzying as I thought through all the times in my life I’d played it safe, erred on the side of caution, put what I should do ahead of what I wanted to do. I thought of parties I’d skipped and concert tickets I’d declined, of food I’d stayed away from because of the calories it contained, or how I waited until I was twenty-one to have my first sip of alcohol. Moment after moment, memory after memory flashed through my mind, urging me to grab hold of that flicker of inspiration dancing inside me.