ARTGIRL 13:

"I remember when I lost my mind. There was something so pleasant about that place. Even your emotions had an echo, in so much space," Crazy by Gnarls Barkley

Zoey Willow Hunter

    IF HAPPINESS WAS A DRUG, then I needed rehab. I didn't know what it was, either magic or family, which brought my spirits higher than they'd ever been. Being around them made everything a little easier, a little better. An ocean's distance really did make a difference. Just when I thought that London was a mistake, I realized I was blessed with two gifts. I had a little family on opposite sides in the world, because being around my siblings and mother gave me an energy boost and endless laughter, and being able to make a job out of my art: something I made, weren't two things many people had the pleasure of tasting together.

Having hot temperatures on Christmas was a mess, it caused the hot chocolate to be too warm and become an iced drink. The only advantage that came out of it was the fact that the island was accessible. Even though years ago, the slight chill in the water would've prevented me from crossing through, the bridge built between two soils made my life much easier. I felt warm at the thought of going there on Christmas eve, I felt warm as I watched my mom try wedding dresses, I felt warm doing anything. Maybe it was the change of climate, but I was warm, down to the bottom of my core.

It was lovely. Perhaps just as lovely as Jessie singing holiday songs.

Nothing could match the fuzzy feeling I felt as mom changed into her fourth wedding dress. As most wedding stores were closed and her best friend was the manager at a wedding dress store, she brought ten wedding dresses and five potential bridesmaid's dresses over for a fitting. The latter was joined with an impromptu calm bachelorette party, to get all of the pent-up excitement about the wedding out one day before Christmas eve.

There was only one person who wasn't impressed by how beautiful my mom looked in each dress and ironicallyâit was her own mother. Grandma Hunter wasn't a fan of anything. At all. In fact, all she did was criticize how everyone looked in a French-veiled English. No one truly understood what she said, aside from my mom and Diana.

Mom stepped out of the guest bathroom to show us the fifth dress, a mermaid style that fit her perfectly. Julia cheered her on, while Skye and I did classic catcalls. We sat in oversized shirts that served as quick pauses between trying on the dresses.

Just as we were about to begin praising mom's aging beauty, Grandma pursed her lips together. "Non, non, non. It is too tight. What are you trying to do? Be a twenty-year old woman again? No, Amanda. C'est laid." (It's ugly.)

I looked at Skye, who raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Grandma," Skye said, "didn't you get married when you were thirty? Mom is only a few years older than you were at the time, and she looks pretty smoking."

"Sm-oking," added Julia, whose smile was brighter than the lights on the tree.

"I don't understand how you think you can talk to me like that. I am your grandmère. Have some respect for me. I know more in life than you, petite blonde." (Grandmère : grandma, petite blonde: little blondie)

Mom winced and cupped her hand over Skye's mouth, to prevent a full-blown fight from happening. "It is a little tight," she said. "I think the last one is the one, anyway. Can you girls go try on the last bridesmaids' batch? Jules already has her dress."

Skye and I grabbed the dresses from mom's friend and tried them on quickly. Meanwhile, Skye was loudly thinking of a way to kick our dear grandmother out before she snapped and destroyed something. We smoothed the edges of our dresses, which I absolutely loved. They were of a golden color, smooth and long. They complimented our figures differently but just as elegantly, showed enough skin to leave much to the imagination.

The smile onto mom's face was beautiful, her eyes were filled with pride and love. I did a few bizarre poses in the dress, including a James Bond back-to-back look with Skye. I could move in it, but also feel like a powerful fairy.

"Zoey," said grandma. "Come closer to me."

I took slow steps towards her. She nodded along with every step, and the bitter look on her face only got exacerbated. "You need to stuff your bra with something, cherie."

"Excuse me?"

If she says that my chest is smallâ

"You have small, baby chest. Nothing at all. It's very sad. You need to make bigger if you want a man. Men don't like everything small, and you already so skinny, so petite," a pitiful smile appeared. "I could break you in half, darling."

My instinct was to look down at my chest and cringe. Not at their size, but at how insensitive and rude my grandmother was. I fit into my own expectation of beauty, and that was always enough for me. I used to pick at every flaw and be horrible to myself, but I've learnt to see my body as a painting. It was my own canvas, and it was the best one I could've had. I was small, loud and strong. She didn't know that I started going to the gym in London and built a small army of muscles on my back and arms. She didn't know how strong I was.

Even though all I wanted to say was: "I love you, but I also love my boobs. You don't know how great I am. I like the way I look. We're all here to have fun and celebrate a great woman, but you're just bringing us down. If I started naming every flaw you had, we'd still be here until next New Year's. So, go back to Quebec. Don't ruin my mom's wedding, you bitter oldâ"

All that came out was: "Okay. Thank you," a smile, "Mom, can you please change into the dress? We're all dying over hereâto see you in it."

It wasn't until the dress search was over, and we were all back into ugly sweaters that the tension in the room had eased a little bit. Maybe grandma leaving to stay at a hotel âeven though my mom told her a million times that she could stay with us, but she said: "I'm not sleeping in one of your kids' beds. Who knows what their beds have. Especially the little one, because you let her have breakfast in bed when she is sick. I'm staying in a hotel, let me go."âhad a lot to do with that.

Julia was supposed to be asleep an hour earlier, so I sat beside her and read her a story. As mom used to write stories when she was younger, Julia always loved listening to these stories. They were often about badass police officers fighting crime with kindness (which I adjusted to avoid letting violence through to Julia). After seeing her drift off and finding the droopy women in the living room, I decided to tell all of them to go to sleep. Diana and mom's friend went home, after my incessant begging for them to sleep over.

A full hour later, I found myself in bed, staring at the wall above me. Jetlag was messing with my sleeping schedule more than usual. I plugged in my earphones and closed my eyes to take in the smooth sailing of the Arctic Monkey's songs.

I ended up thinking about James. And Nico. And Jessie. And surprisingly enough: Camilla. I though about London, and how I blamed it for a few days. I blamed it for making me miss home. I thought that getting over the fear of leaving home would be unbelievably gratifying, that it would mean the beginning of a long chapter in my life, filled with love, friendships and success.

So far, though, I broke up with James. Met Nico again. Got overwhelmed, because he was so different. I also opened my own shop and its sales were going pretty well, well enough for me to afford the plane tickets here. I met Jessie, who was a permanent rainbow in my sky.

I could've went on blaming London for everything bad that happened in my life for the past five months, but I would've been wrong. Without London, I wasn't who I was today. I learnt that not everyone stays around forever, and that not all friendships are eternal. People stay as long as they somehow need you in their lives, and when they don't need you anymore, they will leave.

The feeling of loneliness, the one that being away from family brought: I didn't have it anymore. I was whole, for the first time in a very long time. In that moment, I vowed to take a part of this warmth back to London's chilly weather.

A small knock was heard on my door, and Julia's even smaller head peeped in. "Zoey? You sleepin'?"

Never am.

"No, Jules," I made space for her on the bed. "Bad dream?"

She shook her head, got under the covers and patted her head, smoothing her hair down. "No. I just miss you. I don't know how many times I'll get to do this before you go."

"I miss you too. Everyday. I'm here now, aren't I?" I looked into her wonderfully light green eyes and pondered upon her simplistic beauty. I hoped that she wouldn't change for anyone, one day. Her beauty was innocent, awe-worthy.

"Yeah, but you know. You're leaving soon, Zo."

"No, Julia. I'm not gonna have this conversation with you, no tears belong in this bed. Take this earbud," I changed the song to her favorite slow pop song, a song that had turned into her lullaby.

She sat in silence for a little bit. "I can't help falling in love with you," she murmured. (TEST: who had an argument about this song? and why?)

"Zoey," she said, once the song was over. Her eyes were closed, I thought she had fallen asleep. She put her hand over mine, and that was the sign that she felt content enough to drift off.

"Yeah?"

"Don't go back," she squeezed my hand closer to her face. "I like having you here."

I envisioned staying for a few seconds. I imagined being happy with my family, applying for art school again or to any college. I imagined leaving another life of mine behind, and feeling regret. I imagined that the biggest decision I'd ever made was a waste. I imagined being miserable.

I liked having me here too, but if I wanted to build a future, I had to strip myself away from the past. Remove all the clothes that were drenched in childhood, put new ones. I'd keep the socks from the past, though. They kept me warm.

-

SOME would say that I had an obsession with my hair. I'd gone through too many changes over the past four years. I went from auburn hair, to dark red, to fully dark brown, to ombré, and ended up chopping it short. It was almost as if I felt the need to express myself through my hair. I couldn't really paint on myself, except through tattoos, but those were a struggle, because I could never decide what to get.

Reaching a new stage in my life meant getting a haircut. Taking care of my hair also meant taking care of me, giving my body a big chocolate cake filled with sugarâwithout all the negative side effects of chocolate and all.

So, no one was surprised to find me at a hair salon on the eve of Christmas. It was late, and most people were at home, with their families. Skye and I weren't too religious, though. Diana was an atheist. We ended up taking a trip to downtown Ottawa, laughing too much and talking too much.

The first thing I told the coiffeur was to cut my hair into a smooth pixie cut and dye it a lighter red, but Diana and Skye put a pause on that and took me aside. After numerous "it's winter, your almost bald-headed ass will get cold" and "cut it gradually shorter and decide if you actually want to go through with it", I decided to curtail its length a little, to get it into a little bob, and still dye it a lighter red, but with dark highlights. Diana got a trim, and Skye opened a magazine, gossiping loudly about celebrities.

We ended up at a Subway, loudly laughing at Diana's frustration at how small the sandwiches had become. She talked and talked about Joel and the proposal, let out all of the pent-up crazy feelings out. Skye gave vague information about her boyfriend, only made comments about his desire to spend Christmas with her and his family. He was apparently the definition of tall, dark and handsome. (Or in Skye's words: a mix between Zayn Malik and the Weeknd.) We didn't talk about James or about Nico, because I declared that if any deep realizations were to be made: they wouldn't be about pain or confusion.

We were acting as if we'd each had a few glasses of wine, but we were completely sober. The owners would've kicked us out if they could, because of the amount of noise we were making. It was as if we were teenagers again, we didn't care about anyone or anything, just about each other's presence. Then again, friends had the functions of alcohol. Some help you forget, others make you laugh, some help you through the pain and others make mistakes with you.

"Guys," whispered Skye, her gaze shuffling between us and whatever was behind Diana. "A very cute cashier is checking Little Squirrel out. What do we do?"

"We? There is nothing to do," I replied. "I'm off the market."

Diana did a subtle 90 degrees turn and checked him out. Her mouth dropped, and she kicked me under the table. "Cute. Cute! You'd make pretty babies."

"No! No babies, no cute cashiers. I just got out of a relationship. I'm single and not looking for more than that," I glared at both of them.

"Too bad, he's coming over," Skye bent to continue sipping an empty coke, Diana opened her Instagram, and I was sitting there, shoulders slumped.

"Hi, do you need anything else?" he said. He was, indeed, cute. Just a little taller than me, dark-haired, grey eyes clashing against his light-brown skin. He was looking at me, with a small smile.

I tried not to look at him in the eyes, but it was damn near impossible. "No, we're good, thank you."

"Okay. I just wanted to inform you that we'll be closing in around ten minutes," he said.

"Okay, thank you. We'll be leaving soon."

He gave me a wider smile and nodded, "take your time! Hope you've enjoyed your meal," his gaze got around to everyone.

"Yup," said Skye, while Diana said: "Very much, it was delicious."

Ten minutes later, after suppressing endless laughter, we walked out of the Subway, or rather staggered. I was certain that he'd heard us burst into gut-wrenching laughter the minute we stepped out of the store.

"You're both complete idiots," I said, once we had calmed down and the streets were fitting us a little better than our pants did.

"Shut up," Skye linked her arm through mine, "we were trying to get you some booty."

A smile couldn't leave my face. "The only booty I need in my life is mine, right now."

Diana was soon attached to my other arm, and she nudged me a little. "Good for you, Z. Because your booty is small and fine as can be."

"True," agreed Skye. "I'm proud of how you handled grandma yesterday. You look good; you don't need anyone else's approval."

"Yeah, well what are we going to actually do at the wedding? Is she going to pack up bread and give it to me to stuff my bra?"

Diana stared at me for just a moment, "you'll just end up eating it. Doesn't she know her own grand daughter?"

The rest of our conversations were similar to that, we were silly and foolish and it was the best break from life that I could've gotten. If Jessie met them, they would become best friends at first sight, because meddling into my love life and being weird were common factors they all shared.

And even though boys were great, having my girls around was even greater, because they couldn't hurt me. They were going to be there through dark skies and through blue ones.

No matter what.

-

1:30 a.m.

Never in my whole twenty-one years of living had I snuck out of the house. Going out with my friends came along with a "I'm sleeping over at a friend's house!" and a detailed plan of what the night would consist of, all while hiding whatever would upset my mom.

The only time I ever did sneak out was last year, when I went out to the island. The bridge being built in between had been freshly done and ready for use. Ever since Silvercrest started getting more and more tourists, because of its proximity to water and its beautiful sunsets, the municipality decided to turn the little island and the building into a touristic spot, where people would go have picnics or take pictures of the place. There were plans by a rich investor working in the city brewing to throw the building down and build a house, but they were always put on hold. For now, I had the island all to myself.

No one came here in the winter, because of the myths of freezing cold. Little did they know that the air was chilly and cold, but it was bearable. With such a great attachment to it, I decided to go as often as I could on huge occasions to the island. Not necessarily to paint anymore, but just to breathe its air. For the latter was fresh, cool, cleansing.

I set the bag with hot chocolate in a thermos and cookies beside me, started mom's car and began driving. A strange feeling was running through my veins, a presentiment that seeing this island, this part of me, would be remarkable. I drove slowly, putting soft music in the car. The drive would've usually been a solid five minutes, but the unease of driving again after four months of practicing (on the wrong side of the road) in London made me cautious.

Half way there, I saw a black car behind me. The time was unlikely to find anyone on the streets, I knew the town well enough to be sure that by one a.m., most of its population was fast tucked in the sheets. Especially since it was a holiday, families didn't leave their houses.

It took one look at the rear view mirror for me to spot the dark, unkempt hair and the straight face of a boy I hadn't seen in two weeks. I honked loudly, getting him to be alert. He looked around and moved the car to be beside mine.

"Forrest," I looked at him. I felt nothing; no disappointment, no anger, no sadness. No overwhelming feeling, no tightness in my throat: just acknowledgment.

At the sight of my smile, he reciprocated the action. "Hunter. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Where you headed?"

A very faint blush washed over his face. "Island. I go every time I'm here."

"Ah," it was hard to hide my surprise. The island was the place where too much had happened: from a budding friendship to a budding almost-love. I could have told him not to go at the same time as me, or I could've just gone home. Instead, I said: "You up for a race?"

His eyebrows rose, "a race?" His tone was unsure, soft.

"You heard me right. Whoever gets there first wins."

"No prize?"

I started my engine again, "if the prize of winning isn't enough for you, thenâ"

"It's enough," he said. "I'll see you there."

I did a detour to take a shortcut, and our tires screeched against the concrete floor.

Two minutes later, I was parked in front of the bridge, watching his car arrive from the other side. For a moment, I thought he let me win, because all I saw on his face was a smile of defeat. But the way he put his hands up in the air and laughed, walking towards the bridge led me to believe otherwise.

I fixed the zipper of my boots and put my hands in my pockets. We started walking on the bridge, in a serene silence. It felt like the beginning of something new, unfamiliar. I pulled my beanie over my ears, having short hair also meant having bare ears and fearing the breeze stay on my neck.

Beside him, I looked like a bunny on two feet. I bundled up properly, with a thick scarf, a hat and gloves. My jacket was light, but it made me feel hot and cold all at the same time. He was just wearing a coat, covering his head.

He was staring at the ground, and I figured that if we were going to spend time together, it would be best to actually speak to each other. "I'm glad to see you," I said. Seeing him out of London was a change of atmosphere, all of my stress relating to him was long gone.

"Me too," he said, eyeing me and then going back to avoiding my eyes, looking straight ahead. "Even though you won at a race that I clearly could've beat you at."

"But did you win?"

"No," he laughed. "You won."

"I always do," I said. "I think it was the fact that you're used to driving on the other side of the road."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Funny how we're both going at the same time."

"I guess some things never change. Remember?"

Nico shook his head, chuckling. "How could I forget? You so kindly let me visit the island and sleep, even though you hated me."

"Hate's a strong word," I kicked a pebble further away from me. "I never hated you."

His eyes read disbelief for a moment, and I answered their question. "Not even when I hated you. I was pissed off. At you, at myself, at everyone. Even when I hated youâI loved you."

"It's nice to hear that," he said. "You seem happy."

"I am," I said. "Happier than before. I think I was tired of blaming people for everything. I'm tired of saying that the world doesn't treat me right, you know? I'm going to treat myself right, and whatever or whoever comes from that will change my life."

He smiled. "I'm happy that you're happy then, Hunter. You deserve it."

We got to the island sooner than I'd anticipated, mainly just walking in silence. We didn't want to speak for too long, to avoid ruining a moment. I think he was taken aback by the way I spoke to him. I'd always spoken to him with a certain melancholy, and since I felt as if that was going away: I was ready to get him back in my life, if he wanted to. I had a feeling that he had a place in my life, one that no one could fill.

We got to the old spot by the building, and as I headed to the long bench by the water, he was staring at the blank wall in front of him. I shouted out: "Forrest, I'm going to end up eating all of these cookies if you don't come here!"

"They painted over your wall," he came back to me, face fallen. "I didn't know they painted over your wall."

I did. My smile did not wither. They saw it as graffiti and tried to renovate the building by painting its exterior in a deep gold. I knew my paintings were under that coat of gold, that kept me sane. Years and years of memories were on that wall, but maybe having it covered up was better. I didn't need a constant reminder of stupid teenage thoughts in this place, I already had a stash of them in my head.

"I know that. It's okay, come sit," I took out the hot chocolate and poured some into the small cup that came along the thermos.

He sat down, looking in the opposite direction that I was. His gaze fixated on the empty wall, I saw moments flashing in his thoughts and gave him the cup. "It was just a wall, Forrest. Drink the hot cocoa, you look like you're cold."

"I justâHunter. This wall, it's soâ" he turned back around. I glanced at him and tried to find any trace of the teenager I knew, but found none. He wasn't afraid, apoplectic, not anymore.

My heart swelled at his genuine care, "I know. But it's fine."

"I would've thought that you'd sue the entire government for doing that," he said, before tasting the drink. "Shit. This is good."

"Me too, honestly. I just have no energy for that. And yes, I know. You're very much welcome."

All that would be heard for a little bit was my change of position to resort to comfort, and the quiet chewing of homemade cookies. He cleared his throat. "I'm going to say something to get it off my chest forever, then we can officially get over this."

"Go ahead."

"I didn't stay, because you scared me," he was flawed, in this light. I saw parts of him that were new, imperfect. "I didn't stay, because I loved you so much it scared me. I denied it because if you hated me, it would be easier for you to move on. Hurting you was the worst thing I've ever done."

I waited just for a second, to process what he said. I understood, for the first time. I saw it the way he did. And while the kid in me didn't forgive him, the 21 year old kid did. Fully, wholly, ready to put this all behind.

"I get it. And I'm sorry for holding a grudge for so long," I said, my voice steady but as soft as the cookies we'd eaten. "I understand, now."

He nodded. "Good. One last thing," I sensed a joke coming up, from the lift in his expression. "Can you please explain why you broke my phone on the first day we gave mail together? Because I still can't get over that."

I began laughing, and somehow, that triggered a long night. We stayed on that bench talking, reminiscing about days when everything mattered too much. And I was reminded of how great he truly was, he was soothing to be around, funny as well. I'd never seen him laugh so much, and what a wonder it was to witness. Then again, he was the cause of my messy, late night laughter, accompanied with snorting and bizarre noises.

What a sight it was, to satisfy nostalgia and let friendship paint over the past.

-

HEYOOOOO! #zico scene as promised!

something big is about to happen. COMMENT YOUR GUESSES.

MUCH LOVE. MUCH APPRECIATION TO YOU. (also: 2.6 million reads? how? why? THANKS FOR DEALING WITH ME.)

ps. IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT A FIERCE SUPERWOMAN AND CUTE, QUIRKY CHARACTERS: GO CHECK OUT "up, up and away!" by yours truly.

love, yas