The Sea of Tranquility

by Katja Millay

garage. “Draw one for me.” The words are out of my mouth before I can bitch slap them into submission. “You want me to draw you?” He’s annoyed or disappointed. I haven’t given him the reaction he was expecting. “No. I want you to draw her. For me.” Clay looks a little more pleased with that. “How?” he asks. “What do you mean, how?” I sound pissed and I mean to, but it’s me I’m pissed at. I just spilled my guts all over the floor in art class and now he’s going to kick them around a little bit for fun. “How do you see her? If you want me to draw her for you, it should be how you see her. Not how I see her.” “You’ve drawn a hundred pictures of her. Just draw another one or give me one of those.” I motion toward the portfolio. “When you look at her what do you feel?” “Are you fucking serious? Forget it.” He can kiss my ass if he wants to start talking feelings with me. “You obviously want it for a reason.” “I want a picture to jack off to. What do you care?” I keep drawing so I don’t have to look at him, but I’m mutilating the sketch I’m working on. I’ll have to start over, but I don’t care. “Joy, fear, frustration, longing, friendship, anger, need, despair, love, lust?” “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “All of it,” I reply, because I’m all in now whether I like it or not. “I can have it to you in a couple of days.