If by Nina G. Jones Page B

brother, he has a guest house. When I need somewhere to stop, he lets me shower there, do laundry, eat, sometimes sleep, but I never stay for more than one night at a time.”
    “He doesn’t let you?”
    “I don’t want to.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I don’t like walls and I don’t want to.”
    It was clear that I had gone as far down that road as I could have for the time being. But the fact that his brother had enough money to have a guest house in LA while he was homeless added to the mystery.
    “He’s the one who gave me the phone. He’s older, so he worries.”
    Ash’s unsolicited admission surprised me.
    “I have an older sister, too, who worries. I get it.”
    “Plus, my sister-in-law is a little icy.”
    “Huh?”
    “When you asked why I don’t stay. I wouldn’t anyway, but I might spend an extra day just to shut my brother up. I can tell she doesn’t want me there though, and I’d rather just go. She gives me the nudge.”
    “Oh . . .” I felt sad for him, even though he didn’t seem sad at all about his sister-in-law.
    “Well,” Ash said, sliding off his canvas jacket, to reveal a white t-shirt with faded streaks of color that the detergent could not eradicate, “ready to dance?”

    ASH
    I found myself visiting Bird two to three times a week after that first dancing and painting session. At first I would call ahead, then one day she called me, and then call-aheads stopped all-together. I started to get a good feel for her schedule and would just show up. I knew I was pushing my limits, but the experiences we shared were so seductive. I would still hate my work, and Bird would tell me how much she loved what I drew or painted, but she didn’t understand. She had never seen what the old me was capable of. Of course, technical skills are a requirement in art, but there’s something extra, allowing oneself to become completely lost in inspiration, and I would not allow that.
    Every time I visited her, I felt giddy, happy. I hadn’t felt that in a long time, and that was intentional. Whenever I saw her, I feared this would be the day I would become a little too giddy, a little too excited, I would get caught up in the spiral that sometimes felt impossible to crawl out of. But every time it didn’t happen, I got a little more confident in seeing her, a little more expressive in each work. I always held something back though. I had to.
    I had been consistently visiting for about three weeks. I noticed Jordan would poke his head in often to say hi. I got it. I was a bum in his eyes. Something had to be wrong with me. But after a while, Jordan stopped coming, or he would stop in to genuinely chat with us. I liked Jordan. He was big in spirit. I envied how he could be that way when I had to stay so clenched.
    I came to her on a Friday night. I didn’t call, and I fully expected when I knocked on her door, she would be out with her friends. But she swung the door open with a smile, her lavender aura perfectly outlining her. Lately, I had been smelling lavender around her. That was new.
    She wasn’t expecting company and she had on a loose-fitting, baby-pink tank top with no bra over some tiny white boxers. Her legs were long and shapely, and it was hard not to steal a glimpse. Heat began to dance its way down my neck. The tank pressed against the outline of her small breasts and I had to distract myself by discussing business.
    “Are you down for a session?” I asked.
    “Have I ever denied you?” she replied, sauntering towards the futon with a sway in her hips.
    It was playful, but I didn’t allow myself to think she was flirting. I glanced over to the futon and a glass of wine was resting on the arm. She was tipsy.
    I had been visiting my brother’s a lot lately, to shave and do my laundry. I wanted to be fresh for her, and she told me that she liked my facial hair trimmed. I knew deep inside that was a bad sign. I should have grown my beard and let it collect food crumbs. I should