4. Appreciated
1007 Words
I never supposed I was going to create a scene. Now, my visitors were all around me. No one was coming to approach. They were just staring.
Before my whole body turned senseless, I spun and stomped down the hall. Passing by my paintings left to right, I continued strolling until I reached a small room — it was more of a stock room of broken frames and old nameless abstract paintings. There was also a small dusty couch near the door. After I closed the door behind me, I leaned against it. Now it was only me. No more judging sights, nor unhappy voices.
"Bill just wouldn't stop humiliating me."
I had mastered patience as I grew up inside his roof. I had disregarded his unfair treatment, his rebuke, his non-stop nagging, and contumely. I came only from the streets when I was a child, and he was forced to keep me because I wouldn't leave his house.
I knew I owed him a debt of gratitude for keeping me alive. But as I grew older, my stomach wanted to flip upside down for the things that he wanted me to do — that was joining into his syndicate. The worst part was, he wanted me to be the bait by seducing younger girls, offering them drugs, and penetrating them when high. Then those poor girls would go directly to Bill's parishioner.
That forced me to leave, so I could start a decent life and practice what I really love doing. And, so I began that dream when I painted Paloma.
But here came Bill again, destroying everything that I'd worked hard for.
"Great. Just great. Now, what should I tell my visitors?" Before I could act like a bear with a sore head and return to them, I turned around and pounded my fists on the door. "I have no face to show them. I'm doomed and this is all his fault!"
"M-mr. Amorsolo?"
The soft voice coming from the other side of the door halted me. I groaned when my senses awakened to the wound and soring pain of my knuckles. I just let myself go with the flow of my madness without realizing I was injuring myself.
"Please open the door, Mr. Amorsolo. This is Nina."
My breathing stopped for seconds Mr recalled about her. "Oh, no." I shook my head, realizing that she was there all along as Bill degraded me. She was just behind me, mumbling. "How did you find me here?" I asked, my forehead pressed against the door.
"Oh, I uhm... I followed you."
"And why?" I asked again.
"Because you need someone to talk to."
She was right. I just didn't want to accept it. People around me knew me as the strong one, the optimistic one. I was the one who used to give advice. But now, the tables had turned and I found myself the one helpless.
"Go! This is not your problem."
"Look, that old man doesn't know how to appreciate art." She paused, maybe waiting for my response. But I didn't talk so she continued. "Don't mind what others say to you, Mr. Amorsolo."
I breathed deeply. "There's no use of that, Nina. Can't you see? I'm ruined."
"But, you're just defending yourself!"
Silence passed by for almost a minute. Her last words echoed inside my head, convincing me, wiping away the humiliation and guilt that was spreading into my soul.
"Oh, Mr. Amorsolo, open the door. Are you okay?" She asked then gasped. "Oh, my! Are you holding a rope in there? Please, Mr. Amorsolo, I didn't sneak out from the house just to see you suiciding! And you still owe me an autograph. Don't hurt yourself just yet!"
What the hell?
Shaking my head, I opened the door and frowned at her shocked reaction. "I'm not killing myself, kid." I swung the door wide open and gestured her to the couch. "There, take a seat."
Looking around, she walked in then sat on the sofa. Then I closed the door and plopped beside her, spreading my arms on the armrest. I felt she went stiff but didn't move away from me.
"So, what's up, kid?"
"She sighed. "I said, I'm not a kid. My name is Nina."
"Then, don't call me Mr. Amorsolo. That sounds old." I looked at her over my shoulder. "Just Lawrence."
"O-okay. L-Lawrence." She nodded and asked again as she raised her brows. "But seriously, how old are you?"
"Thirty," I said. Then she belted out a burst of laughter. "What's funny?"
"Still old."
I raised my brows. "Oh yeah? Well, I'll tell you - when you become 30, you'll think that younger ages are all kids because they don't plan about the future. They just wanted to party and make trouble."
She raised one brow and I fought a laugh for her almost pissed reaction. "Hey, don't talk in general, old man. Yes, I'm only 18 but I already have a heavy burden on my shoulders. And if I don't work and study hard, that will be the death of me!"
The humor in her tone was gone. I turned to her and saw that she was staring down at her feet. She seemed offended... and I think I knew what made her feel that way. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to say that."
"That's alright," she said, raising her flushed face. "At least, you're talking now. Besides, my problems are nothing compared to you. But don't worry, this night will just pass by and people will forget about what happened."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Not all. Especially that columnist from Manila ArtCritical. I won't be surprised if the headline for tomorrow is about me and the scandal."
"Still, it has a good side."
"That doesn't make sense," I shook my head.
"You know, people usually like controversial public figures. Whether it's good or bad, they just like them. And I know, in the end, people will appreciate you and your work more. Just like I do."
- Writer
