Laura
by Joseph Griffin

It was never dark. In fact, I can’t remember a hotel room that was. The blinds never covered the window fully. The top was always loose and the middle was always cracked. Right now, light drifted in from the holidome, but parking lots do the same thing. And even if you’re lucky enough to get a room in the far back, unlit lot, photons always crept up under the bottom of the door, residual from the hall. But it was all right. I couldn’t sleep anyway.

The wedding reception was held at Holiday Inn, $99 a night. The banquet was in a conference room, and we moved to the holidome after cake for more drinks and more intimate mingling with those closest to the newlyweds. Nick, the best man, kept things going, deliberately keeping the bride and groom from their bridal chamber. But, eventually, they broke away and retreated to their first night of wedded bliss. The guests split soon after, most as drunken couples. Billy was there, an old friend from high school, and he was still single. We hung out so I wouldn’t have to drink myself silly with the other bridesmaids. I just sipped my champagne and orange juice, smiling when I was supposed to. But, there wasn’t much to be happy about. I didn’t catch the bouquet; Margie did. Margie fought for it, wishing that the tradition would work. She was 25 and her and Tim had been together for, what was it now, seven years? If you asked me, they were together more out of sheer convenience than love. If you asked me, if Margie is the next one of us to get married, then the rest of us will NEVER get married. But no one asks me, no one ever asks me. I’m just a 23 year old art major who can’t keep a boyfriend for anything. But Billy and I sat there, me sipping my champagne, Billy going hog wild for the harder stuff. I helped him back to his room but neglected to go in with him. He asked, but it was the liquor talking. Of course it didn’t stop him from coming to my room an hour and a half later. Eh, what the hell? Sex is sex, right?

So that’s where I am. I woke up a while ago and laid in bed. Billy has a slight snore, but it was almost balletic, not in the least bit annoying. I could tell I was flushed, even in the semi-darkness. I always get like this. I wake up and realize my life sucks. Realizing I’m a single college senior who lives in a co-ed dorm and enhances other student’s power point presentations for cash. Oh, Laura, you’re so good with computers. No, I’m not. I just like animation. Clip Art isn’t exactly what I want to be doing but, as my teachers as so quick to remind me, Laura, you can’t really make a living doing what you want to do. Computer graphics are where the jobs are. Yeah, well I say screw you, Dreamworks. You too, Mike Eisner. I remember when cartoons used to be done with ink and paper. Now, we use computer-generated objects so frequently I wonder if anyone knows how to draw anymore. And don’t even get me started on Pixar and Squaresoft. Yes, I do play video games. Laura, can you make these bullets dissolve in from an angle? Sure, why not? Log in to my computer, one of my acrylic paintings scanned into a desktop. Wow, Laura, that is really cool! Thanks. You did it? Yeah. Wow! And that was as far as it ever went. Admiration is nice, you guys, but I would sure love to sell one. Realizing my love life stinks. Yeah, well, screw Mark. Go to Cali and plug your screenplay. I can do better than you anyway. Sure I can. At some point in time. God, Billy was GOOD! I mean, it has been awhile, but damn! I don’t remember any of the other guys being that good. Why didn’t I let him fuck me in high school? Oh, yeah. I was a dreamer. In other words, an outcast.

I got out of bed, admiring my body in a mirror that reflected shadows. Today is day one, class. We’re going to have a nude model. You’re all adults, no giggling. Remember, the human body is the most beautiful thing you can re-create. Sorry, teach. I have a wind sylph in my head ten times more beautiful than your model. I drew her like some Japanese hentai character, just to spite them both. Lovely images exist in my imagination, and you paid how much for this girl? Oh, she’s a dancer! Enough said. You used to dance, didn’t you, Laura? Not like that. Jêtes and bourees, warm-ups at the barre. Loved it, but I couldn’t do what the princesses in my sketchbook could. Dark-haired goddesses in immaculate tutus and diamond-studded tiaras striking impossible poses. Wilis. Maybe that’s where my love for fantasy art came from.

I donned a swimsuit. Of course I know the pool’s closed, you dork. Now go back to sleep and I’m sorry for waking you. There’s music in the still water if you listen hard enough. Music that I want to give life to, that I’ve tried to give life to, since I was 18. Where were we, Michigan, I think. Yeah, that’s right. Deep set in the forest, in a little cabin daddy rented for a few days. My backpack was filled with clothes, binoculars, pencils, sharpeners, and gads of sketchbooks. Do you really need all the crap, Laurie? Yes, dad. I’m an artist, remember. He sighs. Maybe one day you’ll grow up. No daddy. Never. It rained half of the trip, and I fell in love. If I looked hard enough, I could separate the drops, trace them as they came down. See each splash they made against the leaves, the grass, the bark. I closed my eyes, caught a snapshot of the scene in my head, remembered every detail in one split second. But I just couldn’t capture it. I went through eight sheets of paper and gnawed a pencil to the point of no return. Daddy laughed. The artist at work.

The heat from the sauna that never turned off snaked its way around my naked ankles and shot a stream of goosebumps up my thigh. Hmph! The second time in one night. God, Billy was good. Beads of chlorinated dew kissed the back and bottom of the rec chairs surrounding the pool. I wondered if the undines of my latest picture habited swimming pools. I sure hope so. I’d hate to think of any water as dead. Oh, they do. I just saw a ripple in the water. Oh, never mind. It’s a fly. I closed my eyes, touched pencil to paper and let my hand flow. The first thing was the wings. Silk, or gossamer. Tiny veins like the lines striating a rainbow. No, Laura. They have to be bigger. Ugh, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that! I shook my head. If I’m not careful, the fly-like dragon I was drawing would become pornographic. Maybe it’s the champagne? I shaded in the edges of the wings. I blocked scales like brick. Laura, do you think you could help us? We need a giant brick backdrop for one of our scenes. Sure you guys, but I’m really not a member of the drama club. Hey, Laura, could you help us out? We need a city skyline for one of our backdrops. We need a house backdrop. We need a stove drawn on the wall. A doorway. A silhouette. Is my paintbrush a god? I can draw anything. Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it! Laura will help out. Laura always helps out. Laura always gets dumped and stands up at her friend’s weddings, never to have one of her own. At least, not as long as Margie keeps catching the damn bouquets