Chapter 1
Taraji chipped away at the bust she had been working on for three days straight. Power bar wrappers and water bottles riddled the floor around her. It was nearly a perfect replica of Donald Trump’s head. She was quite pleased with herself making such a close depiction without live reference. Video footage and internet pictures were all she used and finding a good image of the back of the president’s head was extremely difficult. Her train of thought was broken when her apartment door creaked open, echoing through the quiet apartment. The unexpected visitor nearly caused her to ruin the sculpt, but she managed to keep her composure and not jump in fear, which would’ve no doubt ruined the bust. Brayden entered the art studio to see Taraji ready to confront whoever was disturbing her focus. “you weren’t invited,” She said.
Brayden rolled his eyes. “Then you should lock your door”.
“Then you’ll knock, and that’s more distracting than you just walking in. At least this way you come to me, and I can salvage some of my focus.” Taraji turned back to the bust and continued chipping away at the nose.
Brayden approached and watched Taraji work. “Not bad, but something’s off.”
“What? Tell me.” Taraji froze in place, waiting to learn what she needed to fix.
Brayden picked up the magazine with a picture of trump’s face and held it side by side with the bust. “Look, your eyebrows are too far apart, and the nose is too big. Your proportions are off.”
“Enough of your bullshit,” she said. “I went over the measurements a thousand times in my head before starting the sculpt. You’re not going to have me restart the entire thing because of proportions. I promise you, they’re correct.”
“No, I’m serious. I’ll get the baseball bat in your bedroom and destroy it so you can restart from scratch.”
“Fuck off! I’ll kill you if you so much as touch it.” Taraji and Brayden shared a friendly look, knowing that their favorite activity was pushing each other’s buttons.
“What do you plan on doing with him,” Brayden asked.
“There’s an art show tonight that I plan on attending. I’m just working on the finishing touches. Then I’ll be on my way.”
Brayden looked over Taraji with judgment in his eyes. “You’re not even dressed for the occasion.”
“I’m not part of the show. It doesn’t matter what I wear.”
“May I pick your outfit?”
“Be my guest.” With a subtle applaud, an eccentric smile, and a twinkle in his eye, Brayden trotted to Taraji’s bedroom. Taraji wondered for a moment if her bedroom was clean enough for visitors. She hadn’t slept in there for nearly two weeks. Most nights she would crash on the sofa in her art studio. Brayden answered her question a few moments later.
“My goodness,” Braden blurted out. “Your room resembles the dressing room of a circus, and I speak from experience. I have no way of determining which clothes are dirty and which are clean.”
“They’re all clean enough,” Taraji said.
“Not by my standards. Give me time to do a load of your finest garments before you leave.”
“I’m leaving in two hours and nothing’s stopping me. I’ll go in my current outfit if necessary.”
“Sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt? Absolutely not.”
“Then make it fast, because I told you I’m not waiting.”
“I will not allow my favorite artist to leave without the most elegant attire,” Brayden spoke in a matter-of-fact manner
“Don’t lie. We both know I’m your third favorite artist.”
“Yes well, I excluded myself and the other guy died long before I was born,” Taraji smirked and picked up her fine sculpting tools once again.
The subtle vibration from Taraji’s phone in her pocket told her she was out of time. She put down her tools and covered the bust with a towel. The worst thing she could do was distract herself by looking over the piece when she had no time left to spare. “Wait!” Brayden emerged from the bedroom with a fresh outfit. He was out of breath and his hair turned into a mess over the course of the two hours.
“Geez,” Taraji chuckled. “All you had to do was grab a top, some pants, and a pair of shoes. It’s not a difficult task.”
“Oh, would you please let me do something with your hair,” Brayden groaned.
“You can’t make judgments on hair, frizzy.”
“You know I ruffle it when I’m stressed. You gave me little time to work with.”
“It’ll be all right. I’ll change and we’ll go.”
The worst part about taking art to an exhibit was fighting the urge to turn back. Too many times has Taraji been on the way to the exhibit, looked at her piece, and turned around to make some last-minute changes. Every time she does this, she ends up missing the entire show. While riding the subway, unable to move in the crowded car, she wanted nothing more than to look over her bust. She needed to make sure it was perfect. Her problem was that nothing she created was ever perfect or completely finished. There was always something that could be changed. Brayden noticed Taraji peeking under the towel and stopped her. “Don’t even think about it. As much as I would love to take you back to your apartment and do a pass on your hair, I know how heartbroken you would be if you missed this opportunity.”
“You’re right.” Taraji closed her eyes and tilted her head up, fighting the urge to examine her bust. “Let me know when it’s our stop.”
“Still thirty minutes between us and our destination. Will you be able to hold out?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Would you like me to tell you a story? I find that a quick story is a decent distraction for short term situations.”
Taraji snapped a little at the thought of being treated like a child with storytime. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Fine. Then we will wait here in silence.”
Taraji had enough of the quiet after only a few seconds. “Fine. Go on with your story.”
Brayden smirked and leaned in closer so he could whisper. “This is the story of a child that could see the angel and demon on their shoulders.”
