Cello Muse

“What’ya doing?”

The question startled me, jerking me out of my trance. I can slip into ‘the zone’ when I’m sketching and one inherent risk is being crept up on. I snapped out of it sharply, trying to discern the source of the floating voice. It sounded awfully close. Behind me perhaps.

“Piss off!” Jim retorted, irritated at the interruption. He was sitting on the other side of his kitchen table sketching me sketch him. I looked over my shoulder. There, behind me, just peering around the door, was the face of a girl. This girl I had never seen before but then I had never been to Jim’s house before and he’d never told me if has any brothers or sisters. Why would he? We were only the loosest of new acquaintances, paired by our teacher to do our first art assignment together, and we’re not really hitting it off.

“Hi I’m Butch” I said nervously, on best behaviour in a strangers house. The face became shoulders became a girl slipping shyly into the room for a closer look.

“You’re not very butch” she giggled. She grinned with her whole face, her little nose wrinkling and cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling.

“My dad likes westerns” I said reddening. I was used to having to explain my unusual name. It was a good ice-breaker. She was blushing at her forwardness too.

“Oj, just fucking leave us alone Naomi!” Jim looked exasperated now. He sounded slightly aggressive, bullying even. Clearly he couldn’t stand his sister right now. Perhaps they didn’t get along generally, or perhaps it was just a recent fight? I instinctively took sides.

I tilted my pad to show her better, encouraging her to engage with us. She got really close behind me, looking intently. “That’s actually really good!” she blurted out, obviously really surprised. Then she stepped back awkwardly as though realising she had perhaps got too close. She moved around the table and peered over Jim’s shoulder too; he tried leaning over his pad to block her view but she ducked and peeked anyway. “You’re way outclassed bro” she giggled playfully, looking up at me with a bemused smile and twinkling eyes. That seemed to knock Jim hard and he looked seriously pissed and embarrassed, his jaw set stone hard in contrast to the softness of his sister. Naomi drifted over to the fridge.

I tried to get my focus back in my zone but I didn’t really want to draw Jim any more. I looked at my portrait, disillusioned suddenly with the sympathetic look. I had been drawing him too soft and kind. Now I had the urge to draw Jim as a monster. My heart wasn’t in the half-finished sketch. Naomi was far more interesting.

She was busying herself in the kitchen, taking out pots and pans and ingredients and preparing to make dinner. She started to chop an onion, hacking rat-a-tat-tat with the precision and ease of a chef.

Precision and ease. That was the essence of Naomi in the kitchen as she cooked. I found myself sucked into her world, observing her from the wings as she skilfully chopped measured and mixed.

“Will you stop showing off?!” Jim spat at her. He looked over at me “You finished already?”. He must have caught me staring. I looked at him warily, snapped from my spell watching his sister. I wondered if Naomi was showing off for my sake; Jim obviously had a massive problem with it and he was going to have a problem with me appreciating her. Was he going to kick me out?

Naomi didn’t pay him any attention; she seemed in a trance cooking zone of her own. Now the kitchen was filled with the heady aroma and noisy sizzle of bacon. I tried to turn back to Jim and finish my sketch. Naomi’s captivating magic kept beckoning like a siren in the corner of my eye.

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“Hello dears” a cheerful lady came around the corner behind me. I turned. She took in the sight and, realising there was a stranger in her kitchen, came to an abrupt halt in front of me. I was powerfully reminded of Naomi’s blend of shyness and confidence.

“Hi, I’m Butch” I announced.

“I’ve already told him he’s not” Naomi giggled from the worktop behind me. Her mum looked at her quizzically.

“Are you staying for dinner, dear?” her mum looked back at me and asked kindly.

“Butch and I were just finishing our art homework” Jim interjected.

“Oh, are you _Jim’s_ friend? I thought…” their mum tailed off. “So will you stay for dinner? I’m sure there’s enough and it _does_ smell delicious” she recovered cheerfully.

I tried to read Naomi’s panicked expression: was she worried I’d accept, or worried I decline, or nervous I wouldn’t like it? It was hard to read. Even while she looked wide eyed and panicky there was a cute playfulness to her expression. “I’ve made plenty” Naomi squeaked. I took that as subtle encouragement so I accepted.

Their mum was earnestly studying my sketch now. “That’s really rather good I must say” she complimented sweetly. She was alternating looking at the sketchpad and at Naomi standing over the stove. “Although her hair is a tad longer” she added critically, pointing towards Naomi’s back in my drawing.

“It looks a bit shorter when she leans over the chopping board” I replied quietly, feeling the heat surge to my face. Naomi, who must have been listening intently, froze. She had just worked out that I’d been sketching her. No wonder her mum thought at first I was her friend.

Their mum moved around to look at Jim’s sketch and offer words of encouragement there too.

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I helped clear the table for dinner. Jim went to his room as I made myself useful; I didn’t even notice him disappear. I kept asking Naomi where plates, cutlery and all the rest were but was only getting short answers back. Her voice was sweet but quiet. Her mum was pottering about tidying the living room on the other side of the breakfast bar. I ducked off to use the bathroom, taking the opportunity to text my mum explaining where I was and saying I didn’t know when I’d be home. It took some scrubbing to clean the dusty smudges and smears from the pencils from my hands properly. I wished I’d dressed a bit more trendily. When I got back the kitchen table was all laid for four. I wondered if there was a dad around; I began to suspect not.

The food was an absolutely fantastic pasta with bacon sauce. Nothing difficult, but perfectly done and seasoned and the sauce wasn’t from a packet either. I’d watched Naomi blend it herself.

Jim was morose. Naomi was shy. Their mum, Jean, did her best to keep conversation going and asked all about our art assignment and whether we were enjoying our first classes at college.

Naomi and Jean were drinking a red wine and Jean poured me some too but skipped Jim. I wasn’t sure if this was because Jim didn’t like wine, or because she thought me older, or because she thought me more mature. A suddenly dawning realisation spread across her face and I expected her to pluck it away but she just asked “You’re not driving are you, Butch?”. I smiled; I wouldn’t be allowed to drive until next year. I explained that I didn’t live far and was walking, and then I grabbed the glass possessively least Jean try and take it away. Feeling excited, I raised the glass in a toast to the chef. Naomi beamed and Jean giggled and Jim frowned into the distance.

“Ms Ruth is a bitch” Naomi whispered softly as I finished describing an funny – at least a little funny – anecdote from my new maths class. Jean looked shocked by her language and Naomi reddened. “Sorry, but she is” she added meekly, her face beetroot.

“Do you go to college too?” I asked surprised. I had assumed that Naomi was younger than us, if not by much.

“Second year” she replied. So she was a year older than me? Okay. I felt a pang of worry; its far harder to impress an older girl.

“So, do I get to see your picture?” Naomi asked excitedly. The wine seemed to be breaking down her reserve slightly.

“Oh dear its lovely” Jean gushed. Perhaps the wine was getting to her too. The wine was definitely getting to me. I reached over and pulled my pad out of my bag.

Naomi held the pad still for a moment, shocked. As she had suspected, I had sketched her as she prepared the food. The strokes played with her profile as she bent slightly over the bench chopping onion. The sketch captured so much in so few faint lines, enhanced by what was left out rather than what was put in. The hands were drawn in exquisite detail as the knife blurred.

Naomi composed herself silently, saying nothing. Then she turned the page back to look at my previous sketch, the incomplete portrait of Jim. “Oh, you never finished?” she asked surprised. Jean lent across to take the pad and examine this other sketch. “Sorry if I interrupted you” Naomi said quietly, perhaps feeling guilty. Then she cheered up suddenly, struck but a fun thought: “does this mean you have to come back to finish it?” she giggled. I nodded. Under his breath Jim sighed.

Jim disappeared as soon as he finished eating, slipping away quietly. At first I thought he had gone to the bathroom, but he didn’t come back. I was a bit startled when I first noticed his absence; the rest of us hadn’t finished, being too caught up chatting.

“So have you been Jim’s friend long?” Jean asked kindly. At this point I wanted to put as much distance between myself and Jim as possible so I explained, truthfully, that I hardly knew him and that this was the first assignment together. Naomi seemed unsurprised; “You aren’t his style” she asserted thoughtfully “its kinda funny him getting into college and all; he can’t draw for shi-”.

“Stop it” Jean cut off sharply. I guess she had to police her kids and their sniping and rowing all the time.

We’d finished the dinner and Jean poured more wine. I complimented the cooking again. Naomi glanced shyly down at her hand gently poised on the stem of her wineglass and smiled warmly. I got up and took the plates to the sink despite their protests. I was about to wash them when Jean got up and made me, explaining that they had a dishwasher.

I sat back at the table. Conversation was dwindling with Jean having to do all the talking but it was extremely comfortable. And then Jean excused herself to check on Jim.

We didn’t speak. Naomi was still smiling absently at her hand stroking her glass stem. I drank in her appearance; her dark brown hair tucked behind her ears except for a couple of wisps that twirled down framing her face; her deep brown eyes glistening and mischievous; the dimples on her cheeks as she smiled.

Suddenly Naomi jumped up and hunted in a fridge, bringing back some cheese. She hurried around the kitchen picking down small plates and some salt biscuits. We settled down to eat cheese on biscuits, which worked well with the wine. We kept snacking and sipping to cover up the silence.

Soon Jim came back through the kitchen followed by Jean. “I’m going out” he huffed and left, banging the front door a bit on the way out. Jean sighed, no explanation necessary, and settled back down at the table and took a biscuit.

“So you’ll have to finish that sketch then? When is it due?” Naomi asked quietly, a twinkle in her eye again.

“Oh its done, you can keep it if you like” I replied gallantly, knowing she meant the other sketch.

“Oh yes, can we?” Jean asked excitedly.

“Mum! Its just a sketch” Naomi reddened again. She seemed be blushing all the time now.

“Its a very good sketch dear! We don’t take nearly enough photos, and a sketch is far nicer!” Jean responded encouragingly. “Do you paint too?”

“A bit” I replied nervously- “I’ve only just started college, I’m not very good yet”

“I’m sure you are really!” Jean retorted, snorting; “I bet you get asked to paint all the time. I could commission one!”

Naomi was beetroot now. I wondered how much of her flush was wine, how much was embarrassment and how much might be excitement. I think the wine was multiplying those other blushes. The wine was beating back my reservations too. Before I could stop myself I offered to paint Naomi for free! Nobody had ever wanted me to paint before.

I figured I was intruding on their evening and started to make my excuses. They offered me to stay longer but didn’t labour it. As I got up I tore the top sketch from the pad and handed it to Naomi, now permanently blushed, who handed it straight to Jean. Jean looked delighted. “Are you home Thursday?” I asked Naomi politely. I wanted to come back tomorrow, but I was trying to play it cool. Didn’t want to seem too eager. We set a date.

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I saw Jim again during art class on Wednesday. We hardly spoke two words. Now that I was constantly crowd-watching for Naomi around college I begun to notice Jim in the corridors too, often hanging out with two other boys.