Coffee and Cigarettes and Everything in Between

Thirteen

Karina

Winter has been driving for over an hour now since she picked me up. She wasn't wearing a flannel today, instead she had a sweatshirt on and a beanie that she said she bought with Giselle.

I look at her from time to time. Her hands gripping the steering wheel, her eyes fixed on the road, her lips lightly parted. She's beautiful.

She parked the car in front of a house. She's out of the car and at my door the next second, opening it, offering her hand.

Once inside did I only realize that this is actually her studio. It may seem like a normal house from the outside but a lot different on the inside. It's almost devoided of furniture except for a couch and a kitchen. I'm also guessing that there's at least a bedroom upstairs.

It's full of canvas but they all have a cloth covering them. Walking in front of one, I tried lifting one up to see what's inside but Winter stopped me.

"They're not finish yet."

"It's totally fine, I just want to take a look."

"Ah, they're all part of a future exhibit so you can't really look into them at the moment until they're all done." She says as she fixed the draping.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

A smile formed on her lips, a genuine one. Not a hint of teasing or playfulness can be seen. "You showed me your favorite place last time so I'm showing you mine."

I roamed my eyes again inside her studio. Paints, empty canvasses, paintbrush, can be seen everywhere. The smell of dried paint is also very noticeable.

She held my hand and lead me to sit down on a chair in front of a new canvass.

"I also brought you here to paint." She says as she rummaged through her things probably looking for a paintbrush that I could use.

"I don't know how Winter." I said to her as I stare at the empty canvass in front of me. I know that I'm gifted in a lot of ways but art isn't really in my alley.

"Nonsense. Everything is art. We do it every day and most of the time we don't even know we're doing it."

"But really I don't—" Before I could even finish my sentence, she pulled out another chair and sat behind me. Draping her right arm over my shoulder, her hand finds my right wrist meanwhile her left arm snaked around my waist, reached for my hand then she placed the paintbrush in between my point finger and thumb.

"Don't worry I'll guide you." Her lips almost touching my ears as she said that. Her face is so close to mine that I can hear every breath that she takes and suddenly the air in the room seemed to run out.

And guide me, she did. Her hand guiding my wrist as I make each stroke: upwards, downwards, side ways. Pulling out my hand whenever I press too hard on the canvass which makes the paint spread out unevenly.

As minutes passed by I got accustomed to it, the process: stroking, dipping the paintbrush in paint, stroking again, dipping the paintbrush in water to clean it, dipping in paint again, stroking and it repeats all over again. Sensing that I already got the basics down, she let go of my hand and hugged me by my waist. Her face resting at my back, her body pressed against mine. It feels comfortable despite of her weight, she feels comfortable.

"Tell me about your love for art, for painting. How you started and the likes." I said as I focus on the task that's in front of me.

"Really? But you might get bored."

"It's about something you love, why would I get bored?"

She kissed my back and I can feel her smile despite the piece of cloth covering it. "The person I love doing the thing I love the most while listening to me talk about the things that I love. Couldn't get any better than that."