A gentle love

Chapter 3

Julian couldn't believe it. The main subject of most of his nightmares was back. His dark emerald eyes darted over the group of onlookers once more, and then, with what seemed like a smug expression, he walked towards his friends.

Now that he was safely turning away, Julian could finally take a good look at him. And damn, had he grown quite a bit. In a good way. For a second there, Julian almost thought too much a good way. He definitely grew out of the little boy who was barely taller than Jules. Although he was not as tall as the Hulk jr. next to him, he was not far from him. His lean, muscular stomach clearly visible under the white T-shirt suggested he regularly worked out. From under his left sleeve was peeking a rather large tattoo.

'Is he now a jock AND a bad boy too? What a life.' Julian thought to himself.

Before Julian could evaluate him some more, he and his friends disappeared behind the revolving door of the administrative building.

"So, what do you think of them? Do you also feel the Gossip girl vibe? You know, the rich kinds of New York visiting the local ghetto?” Luke joked.

Julian didn't know what to say. He was still taken aback by the unexpected return, so he just laughed, hoping Luke would change the subject.

But that would be asking too much of his guardian angel, who seemed to be enjoying vacation somewhere in Hawaii. And so, Luke continued.

"I wonder if we'll have any of them in class. They looked like they were in their senior year, didn't they?”

“Yes, I think, they are.” was all Jules managed to say.

The morning lessons took place without Julian even noticing. He sat as if in a trance the whole time.

As soon as the bell announced the end of the morning classes, he shot up from his chair and with a quick "I'll see you after lunch, I have to arrange something!" towards Luke he ran to the arts building where the schools atelier was located.

He was almost out of breath when he arrived. Given his poor physique and lack of food, he decided to blame it on the running instead of the slowly creeping panic attack.

It was dark everywhere when he unlocked the atelier door. Nobody was usually there over lunch period, so all the lights in that windowless room were off.

Julian sighed with relief. He did not want to explain to Mr. Morraty why, after such a long time, he had once again decided to visit his colorful kingdom. Especially when he knew the reason behind Julian going there in the first place.

He moved quietly to the part of the room where students stored their art cases with drawings and paintings.

He recognized his immediately. Not that it was so beautiful or unique. Exactly the opposite. His case was classically black, tied with two black ribbons. Quite ordinary. What set it apart, however, was its thickness. Julian has been going to the studio for 4 years now and during that time he has accumulated a number of drawings and paintings.

As soon as his eyes fell on the black case, he hurriedly pulled it out. Without even looking inside, he set it on the floor. The goal of his visit today was not a study of a hand or a painting of a bowl of fruit that was so bad that Julian considered burning it. No, his target was a tube hidden behind the case, because there was an unfinished canvas in it. It was the only painting on a proper canvas Julian had ever made. Canvas was expensive and the oil paint on it even more. But what he wanted to capture needed a dimension that no sheet of paper could offer.

Julian pulled the canvas gingerly out of the tube and stretched it on the nearest easel.

He turned on one spotlight pointing at the easel and stepped back. In front of him there was an unfinished painting of a large oak tree. The whole scene was dark. Maybe it was the storm clouds or thick raindrops that spread across the width of the canvas. Or maybe it was the silhouette of a little boy crouched at the roots of the tree, holding on to his knees, crying softly and waiting for someone who would never arrive.

Long-hidden and repressed memories hit Julian like a fast train. He never finished the canvas, even though he knew it would help him, at least in some ways. He just could not do it. Whether it was because of the pain the memory brought back or the feeling, that their business wasn't quite yet finished, Julian didn't know.

His entire artistic career did not stem from his interest or innate talent. No, Julian wasn't particularly gifted. More the opposite actualy. He knew quite self-critically that some of his paintings sucked ass.

However, painting was proposed years ago by his therapist as a form of relaxation and expression. That was at a time when Julian refused to talk to anyone, and the only way he communicated when was in writing.

During one of the many sessions, which consisted mostly of questions from his therapist and head nods from Julian, the therapist suggested that he tries to paint his thoughts or memories. As she put it, we are not always able to express everything in words, whether spoken or written. Sometimes it is a color, a shadow, or a perspective that adds a dimension to an idea or memory that words just cannot. Juliab could paint whatever he wanted, and he wouldn't have to show his drawings to anyone if he didn't want to. Drawing his memories or thoughts that bothered him meant that he was ready to deal with them, or at least consider them.

Julian liked the idea, initially because it meant one hour of therapy a week less. His therapist agreed with the art teacher, Mr. Morraty, that the keys from the atelier would be lent to Julian so he could go to the studio to paint anytime he needed. Paper, pencils, and watercolors were available to students, but would he need anything else, he would have to buy it himself.

Julian quickly found that he quite enjoyed painting and drawing. And he was surprised to find that the proposed form of therapy worked. Thanks to it, he at least partially dealt with and came to terms with the death of his father and the quickly deteriorating health condition of his mother. Eventually, Julian's mental state improved so much that he began to speak again, though it was scarce.

The one thing he's never really opened was HIM.

Although Julian e once decided it was time to accept that he had left him, he never came to finish the painting. Julian knew, that once he finished it, it would mean that it was time to assign him a box and put it in an endless series of ancient memories in her mental archives.

But sadly there was no box big enough to hold all the memories he was part of and all the feelings he had ever evoked. Or maybe there was, but Juluan just couldn't do it. He wasn't willing yet.

And so there, on the canvas still sits an unfinished little boy, waiting for his best friend for the last time.