Something changed in Travis Kasperbauer, and everyone had noticed.
His watercolor teacher noticed, she even showed his work to the class last Tuesday.
Bridget noticed too, but she wasn't quite as thrilled about it as everyone else seemed to be. You see, Travis had been painting more, just for the hell of it, and in the process, he found himself a muse: Missy.
His watercolor teacher noticed, she even showed his work to the class last Tuesday.
Bridget noticed too, but she wasn't quite as thrilled about it as everyone else seemed to be. You see, Travis had been painting more, just for the hell of it, and in the process, he found himself a muse: Missy.
Missy didn't know how to feel about being Travis's muse. She was flattered, but sometimes she'd be sitting on the couch watching The Mightiest Warrior or something and she'd turn to see him, paintbrush in hand, studying her face. It was too weird. But she had noticed this change in him too, and she didn’t want to spoil it by being an unwilling model. Plus, she had to admit, he was pretty damn good. Annoying, but good.
It was an average Wednesday morning, around 7:15pm. Life On Mars by David Bowie was playing from his radio clock. Travis sat at his desk working on a self portrait for his character design class. He hated self portraits. He could never finished them.
"Who am I?" He asked himself. "Who the hell is Travis Kasperbauer?"
There was an urgent knock on the door.
"Come in."
The door flew open, and there Missy stood, obviously pissed off about something. Travis noticed that she had been very pissy lately. Pissy Missy. He wondered if she was having lady problems.
"Good morning, Missy," he said without diverting his eyes from the canvas.
"Good morning my ass," she spat.
Travis looked up. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes, Travis, something is very wrong. What part of ‘stay the hell out of my room’ don’t you understand?"
Travis was confused. "I don’t understand."
"Oh my god..." Missy shook her head.
"Did I do something?" He asked, and he was genuinely curious. Usually he knew when he had screwed up.
Missy nodded slowly. "When I went to sleep last night, I had two black boots in my closet. Now I have one."
Travis looked down. Indeed, she was wearing only one boot. "That’s strange, he said. I wonder what happened to it."
"Travis, please be serious for a second! I have a date in fifteen minutes, and I’m going to need my other shoe!"
You know that feeling you get when somebody says something you really didn't want to hear but you have to act normal so they won't know that it hurt you? That's how Travis felt. He only just started to accept the fact that Missy would never like him the way he liked her, and the thought that she had a date with a girl and not with him made him feel a little nauseous. But he sucked it up. He had to.
"Do you want me to help you look for it? Where did you see it last? Retrace your steps. That usually works for me." He paused and then laughed to himself. "Retrace your steps. Get it? It’s a shoe..."
"Just give me the damn shoe!"
"Oh, you think I have it?" It all made sense now.
"Yes! You’re the only other person who lives in this apartment, and I certainly didn’t hide my own shoe."
"Why would I take your shoe?"
"I don’t know, you’ve kind of been obsessing over me lately." Missy put a hand on her hip. That’s how you know she’s really pissed. "I figured you probably wanted it for a still life assignment or something."
"I don’t have any still life assignments, and if I did, I wouldn’t use your shoe for inspiration." He paused. "And I’m not obsessing over you... I just like your face."
"Wow. That’s not creepy at all."
"You know what I mean. You’re aesthetically pleasing."
"Just stop... She sighed. So you really don’t have my shoe?"
"No!"
"Then where the hell is it? I saw it last night." She shook her head. "Now I’m going to have to change my whole outfit."
"Why? What’s wrong with your other shoes?"
"You wouldn’t understand." She sighed. "I’m sorry I freaked out on you. That wasn’t cool."
"No worries. I hope you find your other boot."
"Thanks." She checked her watch. "Shit, I gotta run. I’m already late. See you later." And with that, she was gone and Travis was alone again.
Travis was experiencing a severe case of artist’s block. This self portrait was due the next day, and he could barely get his paintbrush on the paper without second-guessing himself. He was an extraordinarily good procrastinator, though, so he elected to go check the mail rather than staring at the blank canvas any longer.
As he was walking down the stairs, wrapped up in his thoughts, as usual, Travis accidentally bumped into a man on the fifth floor. The man paused and looked at him. He was clearly distressed about something. His name was Vinny. They had met once, probably in the elevator or something.
"Vinny..." he said.
"What?" He looked exhausted, almost as though he hadn’t slept in a few days. He was holding a stack of papers, but Travis didn’t get a good look at them. He was too busy trying to remember Vinny’s last name.
"Do I know you?" Vinny asked.
"Yeah. We met once."
"When?"
"I don’t remember."
"Where?"
"I don’t remember."
Vinny rolled his eyes. "Who are you?"
"Travis. Travis Kasperbauer. Twelfth floor."
"Not ringing any bells," Vinny said.
"Well, it’s nice to meet you, then." Travis laughed and held out his hand, but Vinny clearly wasn’t in a hand-shaking mood. Instead, he grabbed a sheet of paper from the stack and placed it Travis’s hand. "Have you seen this girl?" He asked. "Her name is Laney Reid. She went missing from the orphanage two nights ago."
Travis examined the paper. The small photo in the center of the page was pretty bad quality, but he was confident that he had never seen the girl is his life.
"No. Sorry," he said. "What happened?"
Vinny shook his head. "I don’t know. She just disappeared, and the cops aren’t doing a damn thing about it."
Travis stared at her picture. She had a sweet face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, not really. I just wish I had a better photo of her." He sighed. "When you’re an orphan, nobody really cares enough to take your picture."
Travis continued to stare at the page until something occurred to him. He looked up at Vinny. "I could paint it," he said. "I’m an art student, I could paint her for you."
"What?"
"It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’d be bigger, and certainly more noticeable," he said. "It’s worth a shot, right?"
Vinny shrugged. "All right. Go for it."
Travis was almost excited now. "What’s your apartment number? I’ll drop it off when I’m finished."
"511," Vinny said. "I probably won’t be home, but just slide it under the door or something."
Travis nodded.
"Thanks," Vinny said. He looked down at the paper in his hands.
"No problem. It’s the least I could do," said Travis. "And good luck. I hope you find her."
"Me too..." Vinny walked away.
Travis completely forgot about the mail, ran back up seven flights of stairs, and got to work. Within an hour, he had finished Laney’s portrait and made good progress on his own. When Missy came home, he was done. He was just sitting on his stool, listening to WTF, so Missy joined him. The station was playing a sad-sounding song by some girl who called herself Birdy, but it didn’t seem all that sad to Travis. For some reason, he was happy. He felt odd being happy after hearing of Laney’s disappearance, but he hadn’t been genuinely happy in a while, so he just accepted it.
It was an average Wednesday morning, around 7:15pm. Life On Mars by David Bowie was playing from his radio clock. Travis sat at his desk working on a self portrait for his character design class. He hated self portraits. He could never finished them.
"Who am I?" He asked himself. "Who the hell is Travis Kasperbauer?"
There was an urgent knock on the door.
"Come in."
The door flew open, and there Missy stood, obviously pissed off about something. Travis noticed that she had been very pissy lately. Pissy Missy. He wondered if she was having lady problems.
"Good morning, Missy," he said without diverting his eyes from the canvas.
"Good morning my ass," she spat.
Travis looked up. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes, Travis, something is very wrong. What part of ‘stay the hell out of my room’ don’t you understand?"
Travis was confused. "I don’t understand."
"Oh my god..." Missy shook her head.
"Did I do something?" He asked, and he was genuinely curious. Usually he knew when he had screwed up.
Missy nodded slowly. "When I went to sleep last night, I had two black boots in my closet. Now I have one."
Travis looked down. Indeed, she was wearing only one boot. "That’s strange, he said. I wonder what happened to it."
"Travis, please be serious for a second! I have a date in fifteen minutes, and I’m going to need my other shoe!"
You know that feeling you get when somebody says something you really didn't want to hear but you have to act normal so they won't know that it hurt you? That's how Travis felt. He only just started to accept the fact that Missy would never like him the way he liked her, and the thought that she had a date with a girl and not with him made him feel a little nauseous. But he sucked it up. He had to.
"Do you want me to help you look for it? Where did you see it last? Retrace your steps. That usually works for me." He paused and then laughed to himself. "Retrace your steps. Get it? It’s a shoe..."
"Just give me the damn shoe!"
"Oh, you think I have it?" It all made sense now.
"Yes! You’re the only other person who lives in this apartment, and I certainly didn’t hide my own shoe."
"Why would I take your shoe?"
"I don’t know, you’ve kind of been obsessing over me lately." Missy put a hand on her hip. That’s how you know she’s really pissed. "I figured you probably wanted it for a still life assignment or something."
"I don’t have any still life assignments, and if I did, I wouldn’t use your shoe for inspiration." He paused. "And I’m not obsessing over you... I just like your face."
"Wow. That’s not creepy at all."
"You know what I mean. You’re aesthetically pleasing."
"Just stop... She sighed. So you really don’t have my shoe?"
"No!"
"Then where the hell is it? I saw it last night." She shook her head. "Now I’m going to have to change my whole outfit."
"Why? What’s wrong with your other shoes?"
"You wouldn’t understand." She sighed. "I’m sorry I freaked out on you. That wasn’t cool."
"No worries. I hope you find your other boot."
"Thanks." She checked her watch. "Shit, I gotta run. I’m already late. See you later." And with that, she was gone and Travis was alone again.
Travis was experiencing a severe case of artist’s block. This self portrait was due the next day, and he could barely get his paintbrush on the paper without second-guessing himself. He was an extraordinarily good procrastinator, though, so he elected to go check the mail rather than staring at the blank canvas any longer.
As he was walking down the stairs, wrapped up in his thoughts, as usual, Travis accidentally bumped into a man on the fifth floor. The man paused and looked at him. He was clearly distressed about something. His name was Vinny. They had met once, probably in the elevator or something.
"Vinny..." he said.
"What?" He looked exhausted, almost as though he hadn’t slept in a few days. He was holding a stack of papers, but Travis didn’t get a good look at them. He was too busy trying to remember Vinny’s last name.
"Do I know you?" Vinny asked.
"Yeah. We met once."
"When?"
"I don’t remember."
"Where?"
"I don’t remember."
Vinny rolled his eyes. "Who are you?"
"Travis. Travis Kasperbauer. Twelfth floor."
"Not ringing any bells," Vinny said.
"Well, it’s nice to meet you, then." Travis laughed and held out his hand, but Vinny clearly wasn’t in a hand-shaking mood. Instead, he grabbed a sheet of paper from the stack and placed it Travis’s hand. "Have you seen this girl?" He asked. "Her name is Laney Reid. She went missing from the orphanage two nights ago."
Travis examined the paper. The small photo in the center of the page was pretty bad quality, but he was confident that he had never seen the girl is his life.
"No. Sorry," he said. "What happened?"
Vinny shook his head. "I don’t know. She just disappeared, and the cops aren’t doing a damn thing about it."
Travis stared at her picture. She had a sweet face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, not really. I just wish I had a better photo of her." He sighed. "When you’re an orphan, nobody really cares enough to take your picture."
Travis continued to stare at the page until something occurred to him. He looked up at Vinny. "I could paint it," he said. "I’m an art student, I could paint her for you."
"What?"
"It wouldn’t be perfect, but it’d be bigger, and certainly more noticeable," he said. "It’s worth a shot, right?"
Vinny shrugged. "All right. Go for it."
Travis was almost excited now. "What’s your apartment number? I’ll drop it off when I’m finished."
"511," Vinny said. "I probably won’t be home, but just slide it under the door or something."
Travis nodded.
"Thanks," Vinny said. He looked down at the paper in his hands.
"No problem. It’s the least I could do," said Travis. "And good luck. I hope you find her."
"Me too..." Vinny walked away.
Travis completely forgot about the mail, ran back up seven flights of stairs, and got to work. Within an hour, he had finished Laney’s portrait and made good progress on his own. When Missy came home, he was done. He was just sitting on his stool, listening to WTF, so Missy joined him. The station was playing a sad-sounding song by some girl who called herself Birdy, but it didn’t seem all that sad to Travis. For some reason, he was happy. He felt odd being happy after hearing of Laney’s disappearance, but he hadn’t been genuinely happy in a while, so he just accepted it.
No comments:
Post a Comment