Vukan rammed the car door into place as he eagerly matched towards the house, uncaring and unnoticed of his parents seated patiently by the garage, hoping for him to come back home.
"Vukan", his mother called out in a weary tone.
The amount of worry in her tone was difficult to miss, but Vukan couldn't quite wait to converse with them or smoothen things over when there was something else he would rather be doing. He brushed past them and raced up the stairs, humming happily and excitedly to himself. The bizarre feeling almost caused him a fall down the stairs, but he veered ahead, determined to man his art tools once again for the night.
Barging into his room, Vukan paused momentarily at the sight of his room looking organized, or at least, in proper shape than it had been when he left.
"Mom', he whispered in acknowledgement of the woman's caring nature with a bead of tears slowly forming in the corner of his right eye.
Without further ado, he cast off his shirt, tossed it into the wardrobe and armed himself with his drawing tools within seconds. Applying a new canvass to the drawing board, Vukan took a rather long and odd pause as he glared at the empty canvas. He could swear he could see the drawing on the empty canvas already, with all touch of perfection on it.
Obviously driven and triggered in a manner he had not experienced for a while, Vukan slowly placed his drawing pen to the blank page and felt himself slowly, yet, majestically, burst forth. Copious amount of energy swelled through from within and without taking note of his actions, he moved across and beyond for the next few minutes.
Taking a step back to observe what he had managed to accomplish, he shook his head and mumbled, "Not anywhere close".
He needed the drawing to be perfect, just like the real thing. He needed the innocence he had seen in those eyes the moment the figure turned around and nothing short of replicating the real thing would do.
"You can do it. I know you can do it��, he said to himself without ceasing.
It was undoubtedly the first time he felt that moved and gingered to get a drawing done. This particular drawing was his choice and he wanted to see it through. He wanted to see the perfection burst to life and nothing would hinder or halt it.
"Vukan", his mother's voice called as she neared from the hallway.
Worried about being distracted with talks he wanted nothing to do with, or at least not in the moment, he hurried to the door and slammed it shut before bolting it on the inside.
"Vukan?" his mother's voice echoed once again from the other side of the door with three subtle taps.
"This is not the time, mother", he replied as respectfully as he could.
He needed the space to create his masterpiece. He needed the lone time to bring it to life and he didn't need or want anyone disturbing his creative process.
"Too much shade", he whispered as he tore off the page he was currently working on.
It was the third canvass already and his stash was thinning no doubt. More errors would render his desire to get his drawing done, futile and he was becoming aware as time tickled by.
Somewhat frustrated on his fourth attempt, Vukan paced around his room, mumbling to himself and momentarily running his fingers through his hair.
"Why can't I get it right!?" he asked himself before kicking the stool in his path.
He could swear the images were right there before his eyes. He could swear they existed in his frae of mind and he could almost feel them in his fingertips. He had seen "his" face and those overwhelmingly drowning eyes. He had felt the innocence from a distance away and all he wanted was to replicate it into his canvass.
"Again!" he fumed and turned around to tend to his drawing at whatever time cost it would be for him.
Unwilling to give into the narrative his father had shared and constantly aired, Vukam needed to get this one drawing done. He wanted nothing more than to create the perfect pictorial representation of the figure on the bridge. He didn't care for the hoodie, or for the frame. He didn't care for the clothes or for anything else.
The things he wanted were clear and yet vague. They were right at his fingertips and yet so far away. His mind could conceive them, but his hands weren't. Vukan grew frustrated but vowed not to give up regardless. He needed this one win and he needed to get it done accordingly.
"Again!" he yelled as his frustrations continued with his sixth attempt.
He wasn't about to give into quitting. He wasn't about to let his father's words manifest.
"You always quit when things get tough! You never see things through because you are a quitter! Learn to often finish what you started!" were the words ringing through his head and he penned himself to work.
Two hours trickled by and Vukan had still not gotten or found what he wanted. It was taking longer than he would have anticipated but he knew it would be worth the time. Like a butterfly horning its flying skills across a field, he danced beautifully across his drawing board with guise. His entire body felt lighter and his mind slowly began to empty.
Three hours into his drawing, Vukan suddenly felt lighter. He felt unburdened and unwilling to relent. The time he'd spend didn't matter, and as morning snuck up on him, the early morning crow from a rooster not far away prompted Vukan to take his first break in about an hour.
He stepped backwards and gawked at the board one more time. His hazy eyes denied him proper vision. His bones ached and his knees threatened to fail him. He was spent and with little strength left to continue, his body did what it had to; it prompted Vukan to rest.
***
"Vukan", a more soothing and rather calm tone called out to him from the edge of his bed. "Wake up, son. Wake up".
Vukan slowly parted his eyelids to reveal the safety of his room. He let out a sigh in relief, seeing he had managed to get some much needed rest, albeit unknowingly. It made it three counts for the week and he wasn't sure of when it would stop. The little sleep he had managed to amass was in response to the stressors and indicators of what he had gone through and a part of him which had existed for a while, continued to haunt his mind.
"Mom", Vukan managed to whisper as he stared into the loving and quite soothing eyes of his dear mother.
She beamed back at him with a smile and somewhat tired expression. He wondered if she had had any sleep through the night. He wondered if she had taken the time to rest while he was having his tantrum. Nothing about her frail look suggested it and it made his heart feel sore. The petite framed woman continued to smile back while she pinned his head into her chest.
Vukan's mother, Agatha Adamson finally pulled his head away and stared into his eyes one more time. "I know your father gave you a hard time last night, but I need you to understand that he loves you and wants the best for you".
Vukan wished he could believe those words well enough. Whatever form of love the ma had for him was a tough one and he was fast forgetting the last time they actually had peace.
He cocked his head, managed a faint grin and subtly replied, "I know mom".
He wanted some more sleep and would appreciate the caring woman granting him some space. After all, it was the weekend and there was hardly anything to do other than goof around and work on his art piece. The thought of his art peace struck him hard and caused him to look towards the board. A covering had been placed atop the board, which made his mother chuckle oddly.
"Mom… what did you do?" Vukan asked with a curious tone and flattened eyes.
Agatha Adamson slowly got up from her son's side and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know who that is, but I'm sure your father wouldn't give you the sticks if he saw what I saw".
She leaned over and planted a kiss into his forehead before slowly exiting his room. Her giggles could still be heard along the hallway before it slowly faded into the distance. Vukan rushed out of bed and hurried to the drawing board with raging heartbeats. He couldn't quite remember what he had drawn the night before or if it came out right.
"What did I do?" Vukam asked himself before taking off the covering his mother had placed over the drawing.
His eyes widened almost immediately, jaw dropped and his fists clenched in disbelief as he stared right back at the work of art. The strokes were perfect. The lines held little to no blemish and he managed to capture the eyes just as he had seen it.
"Wow!" he screamed atop his voice while he could barely get his eyes off of the board.
It was the first ever inspiration he had managed to summon since he joined Caldridge School of Art and feeling the rush threaten to overwhelm him even in that moment, was unexplainable. He cast his gaze on his utensils and other drawing kits he had used through the night and they had been neatly arranged. He had made a really good drawing without having to mess his room up in the process and that in itself was also inspiring.
Fueled by pride and joy, Vukan kicked against thin air, danced around the room and thanked his stars for going out the night before. Above all, he thanked the unknown boy he had seen and wished there was a way they could have spoken before he disappeared into the night. His innocence, mixed with the look of pain and anguish on his face had been perfectly caught on the drawing board.
In fact, Vukan was certain his new drawing would bring him reviews from friends and anyone alike. Yet, he didn't care for his father seeing it. He wasn't about to give the man the impression that he was dearly seeking some form of validation. He had done the drawing for himself and that was all that mattered to the young man.
A loud blaring noise distracted Vukan away from the drawing for a moment; he had a phone call.
"Hello", he muttered into the receiver upon clamping his thumb on the green button and lifting the phone to his ear.
Silence ensued for a moment, before the familiar voice came through. "You owe us a drink tonight, dude. No stories, just get your ass down to the pub".
There was just one person in Central Canzos in the city of New Portland who could be that way on the phone and it prompted a thin-lipped smile from Vukan. The die had been cast since he informed his friends about his decision to go to Caldridge School of Art.
"That sounds fine by me", he muttered, before tossing his cellphone back on the bed.
The sight of his damaged game console tore through his heart and he made a mental note to get another one on his way back. It would be the perfect punishment to spend his father's money buying another one, since he was responsible for damaging the one he had in the first place.
Vukan fell back into bed, closed his eyes and stretched as the beautiful Central Canzos's beautiful morning air caressed his face dearly. He figured he needed some more sleep and without further ado, turned on his side and sniggled his pillows. Few minutes afterwards, he would be snoring deeply.