COMPLEMENTARY [GxG]

Chapter 19 | Mexican Heat & Canadian Ice

"Resting" by Amrita Sher-Gil (1939) 

(picture of the artist on the header above)

"I can only paint in India. Europe belongs to Picasso, Matisse, Braque. India belongs to me." 

Exactly as I expected, Eris resumes the pattern of ignoring me. She passes by me in the halls without a hint of acknowledgement, not even sparing a glance my way in the parking lot right after class. I don't know what kind of game she's playing, but then again, what do I expect? For her to smile and wave at me like we're friends?

At least I no longer see her around with that girl... not that I care about what she does anyway. What I care about is how the deadline for the painting is approaching fast. Has she forgotten? Is she content with waiting until the last minute like she does with everything else in her life?

By Wednesday, I don't see her at all. After Spanish II—which I've only taken in order to decipher her little insults over the years—I'm the first out of my seat and rush down the hall toward the Physics class I know she has. I wait outside, discreetly watching the flux of teenagers exist the classroom, but she's not among them. Did she skip? Did something happen? I want to text her, but I can already predict her snarky response, so I don't.

I hate having to wait around for her, hate this this empty space where she had been before, taking up my attention. My only consolation is the possibility that she is still hearing my taunts, that she is still feeling the shadow of my hands along her ribs.

I've been attempting to finalize my short-term, mid-term, and long-term goals for hours—it's an exercise I do every few months, although the goals rarely change.

Short-term goal. Win the competition. Move to Toronto and study mathematics.

Mid-term goal. Find a high-paying job. Spend all my free time painting until I truly make a name for myself.

Long-term goal. Buy a house. Build my own art studio. After my death, have the house turned into a museum showcasing my paintings, pages of my journals, and photographs in the complete biographical picture of a modern prodigy. Let my essence permeate through the museums of the world on every single continent, the omnipresent Persephone Baines.

Anything less and my life will have been a complete waste.

A few years ago, when I showed a similar list to my dad, he sprung the questions: What about getting married? Don't you want to have a family?

No. I don't.

As a baby, I rarely cried or reached out for someone to hold me. Yes, I threw a lot of fits when I didn't get my way, but my mother disciplined that out of me soon enough. I must've spent so much time with Fitz in the womb that I got more than enough of my share of affection and came out ready to be an independent woman.