0.

“A blind boy saw a blue man Who rides a blue bus through a nightmare He leaves word to a blue home But the blue seems different since she’s passed away…

And the same boy with sunken eyes saw me And described yellow so perfectly.“

-Frank Ocean, Eyes Like Sky

••

Author’s Note:

Hello there, my lovelies!

I know it’s been a while and you have absolutely every right to want to choke me out for this absence.

Safe to say these last few years have been some weird ones, lots of undetermined plans and complete sh*t shows this world has somehow deemed me capable of handling.

If you follow any of my socials, some of you may know that my dad passed away a few weeks ago.

That was pretty fucking shitty to get through.

And according to my therapist, we’re kinda still in the thick of it.

I didn’t think I’d even have the capacity to write again, given his rapidly deteriorating health, and my overall responsibilities to provide for my family (physically, financially, mentally, and emotionally).

There was actually one instance in which a memory of my father really lit a light under my ass to get back into writing:

I always told him I’d be the next Lori Foster… and now I’m realizing I won’t get another opportunity to plead my case to him if I don’t.

My father taught me that my word is my bond. He was a pastor, an artist (abstract and hyperrealism), a mechanic, a musician, and a handy man. He truly did it all, which in return gave me this ridiculously unrealistic standard of just how much a human being is capable of.

He passed down every multifaceted talent he had, and for that, Dad… I thank you.

You gave me my career as an Accountant, a hyperrealism artist, a writer, a pianist, and a damn good DIYer. I also now know how to change something as specific (and potentially useless) as a timing belt on a car.

The letters you wrote to me in US immigration county jail (year 2010, which I still have) were one of the two reasons I decided to start writing.

The other were your love for books.

You wanting nothing more than for me to read to you at night. Any book as long as the overarching story and protagonist was complex.

That’s

what sparked my writing journey.

You always told me I had the capacity to write the books I longed to find in bookstores. The capability to bring the characters I imagined, to life.

You never let life minimize the grand plans you knew it had for us…

And for that dad, I love you.

Wambui Muiruri

••

This book does speak on darker themes and multiple handicapped perspectives. All I can do is hope that I represented everyone falling under this blanket in a way that’s respectful and right.

If I make mistakes, I promise that is the farthest from my intention…

But that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to fix them.

Please hold me accountable for any parts within the book that you find fault with, and any parts I can edit to better improve the flow of the story.

I love you all so very very much. Thank you <3

••

Update 5/28/2026:

This book (revised version) is available on Amazon! Its is titled Eyes Like The Sky with a watercolor cover 

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/75b03ed3bb5f648b1ded4f056ededdf97c45dff2/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f7461414c554962535671453138673d3d2d313235353530303734392e313730386161623436666636623932333234373637313331353031362e6a7067)

1.

Errol

“It’s going to be okay,” I heard a voice say between the jarring lights that flashed across my peripheral. Everything I saw was hazy, and all I felt was pain. The pain coursed through my body, paralyzing me from head to toe. I couldn’t move any part of me, even if I tried.

One moment I was in a car with my mother, driving home from my last show of the year. I remembered that large ear to ear smile she gave me as she repositioned my award and flowers in her lap.

The next thing I remembered was flashing lights that passed overhead, as I was tunneled through an all white corridor. There were people all around me, telling me things.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s going to be okay.”

Those words echoed through my ears with a voice that I at first couldn’t recognize, but as the words grew louder, I realized it was my fathers…

And that was when I woke up. The sound of my bedside alarm quickly brought me back to reality, as I sat up with such swiftness, I stirred awake the person beside me.

“What is it?” A woman’s voice mumbled, still riddled with exhaustion. My body was a wet clammy mess as I felt droplets of sweat drip past my stray hairs and on to my bare chest. The sheets felt soaked beneath my skin. There was barely any light shining through the glass stained bedroom windows, but I could just make out the silhouette of the woman in bed with me.

I didn’t remember the night before, but judging by the massive headache I could already feel coming on, and the mysterious woman who had absolutely overstayed her welcome, I knew I had overdrank. A lot.

I felt the woman’s hand gently rest on my arm, but I flinched at the contact almost immediately. I may have wanted company last night, but I sure as hell didn’t want it this morning.

My body jerked more abruptly than I meant to, making the stranger pull away uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry to rush you like this,” I spoke to her through the dim lighting, “but I need to get ready for my day.” The light exposed some of her features, like the bright auburn hair that looked like a bird’s nest now rested on top of her head. I didn’t have any expectations for how anyone looked after a wild night of drinking and sex, but this particularly tangled mess was a new one for me.

What was her name? I wondered to myself. The pounding against my temples stunted all the thinking I was trying to do at six in the morning.

“Right, yeah I get it!” She replied in a rush, clearly a bit embarrassed by the whole situation as she got up and started to get her clothes together. I wondered how I had acted last night. I must’ve been doing a complete 180° from the person drunk me pretended to be then, and the person I was now.

It took a minute to stumble through the darker parts of my bedroom, tripping over discarded clothes and unpacked boxes, but I managed to find the light switch for the private bathroom. Those fluorescent bulbs wreaked havoc on my sensitive eyes, and yet I pushed through into the space. I needed a clearer image of myself.

My reflection was fully visible now, along with a better view of the bedroom. My body had lipstick and hickey marks all over, which instantly made me annoyed. Lipstick was a bitch to wash off, and I hated when any woman left a mark on me like that. The lady in my room and I, made brief eye contact through the ginormous bathroom mirror. I wasn’t sure if this mystery person got a glimpse of clear distaste etched into my face, but she pulled her gaze away and seemed to start dressing even quicker.

I can’t blame her for staying, a part of me thought to myself… but I wanted to. Waking up next to anyone instantly put me in a sour mood. Especially after those dreams.

I tried to splash my face, and smudge off some of the lipstick that now seemed to have almost permanently stained my lips red.

“I- uh, I’m sorry about that. It’s a waterproof brand,” the woman tried to explain from somewhere behind me.

Great.

I just got to scrubbing harder, adding a few pumps of soap to my fingers to help. “Did you maybe want to grab-” I heard the same voice ask from somewhere behind me, but I cut her off almost immediately.

“No,” I replied, dabbing my now swollen lips down with a towel.

“But you didn’t even know what-”

“There’s nothing you could offer me that I would want.” I turned back to her. “No offense.” I added that last bit like it would soften my immediate rejection. She was now fully dressed in the same sequence clubbing dress I vaguely remembered from the night before. It was a pretty emerald green that went well with her red hair… I guess I had to give drunk me credit for good taste.

The woman must’ve finally got a good look at her own reflection behind me, because her fingers rushed into her matted hair in a desperate attempt to detangle it.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asked.

You stayed , I thought to myself.

“I had a good time,” I lied instead. I didn’t even remember what we did, or really her. “I’m just not looking for anything.”

“But last night was-”

“There’s some snacks on the counter downstairs you can help yourself to. The penthouse lobbyist will make sure to get you a ride to wherever you want to go, just tell him my unit number and I’ll take care of the bill.” Those were the last words I said before closing the door to the bathroom, and separating us completely.

The shower felt like being wrapped in a hug… by the strength of a thousand suns. No amount of scrubbing would get the love bites off my neck and abdomen, but I still gave it a go with my loofa. My once slightly tanned skin was now red all over with skin irritation.

When I finally staggered out of the shower, and into my empty room, I was pretty disappointed to find out it wasn’t all that empty.

“Who was she?” Hendrix asked, startling the hell out of me. Luckily I had wrapped a towel loosely around my waist, otherwise my manager would’ve had the show of a lifetime this morning. “And why do you look so shitty?”

“Well hello to you, too.” I gave her a half assed smile as she sat on the corner of my bed, then I started to rummage through my closet. If she didn’t get this conversation off the floor quickly, she was about to get a full strip show. “She’s no one important, and I overdid it on the drinking last night.”

“Jesus, Errol. What is this, like your fourth night out this week?” Hendrix asked in disbelief. “Have you even touched the work I sent you?”

I let the towel drop to the floor, exposing my bare ass to my manager. She looked away with a scoff, already used to my less than appropriate antics to distract her.

“In my defense,” I spoke, as I pulled on some briefs, “I didn’t get too drunk the other three nights. Just last night.” Hendrix still kept her eyes glued to the wall opposite us, but I could feel the eye roll she must’ve directed towards me.

“This isn’t a joke you dickhead, you should have had something composed by now. What am I going to tell the company?” Hendrix spat out. It was a question as old as time itself.

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

What am I going to tell the company?

Hendrix asked it so often, sometimes I wondered if there was some glitch in the matrix that had a portion of herself on repeat.

“Tell them the same thing you always tell them,” I shrugged, pulling a pair of trousers from a pile of discarded clothes. My room was a mess, but this is how it always got during my larger projects. Or at least that’s what Ive been telling myself this last year.

“If I keep telling them what I always tell them, you’re going to be cut out from the company completely. You know this, Errol, you’re too intelligent to be saying such stupid, stupid shit.”

I turned around to give my manager a glare, but she was already preoccupied by something else. A black lace bra laying on my floor, that the woman I brought over last night must have worn. Or maybe it was from the girl the night before last… it didn’t look like the red hairs cup size.

“I’m going to get you a weekly cleaner. This is just… a mess, Errol. I need you to start taking better care of yourself.” That glare I was gearing up to give to her, softened a bit at those words. Though Hendrix was a complete ass at times, she had pushed for an extension just a few months ago with good faith I’d turn up with something.

So far I had nothing.

“This one’s been hard,” I replied a bit more honestly.

“No,” Hendrix shook her head. “This project is no different from the last. The only thing that’s changed is you. You’re being much harder on yourself than you used to be. Especially before-” Hendrix caught herself with that last line, but I already knew what she meant.

There was a long pause before either of us spoke. It always got this way when the crash was inevitably brought up.

“It’s just not perfect anymore,” I sighed, breaking the silence as I yanked a clean button down shirt off one of the closet hangers. I wasn’t even sure what I was getting dressed for, besides sitting at that piano chair for hours doing nothing. I could realistically do that naked.

“It was never perfect. It’s impossible for anything to be perfect.” Hendrix wagered, but I quickly shook my head as I turned back to her. Though I truly did have a devoted love for Hendrix, she was my manager. Music didn’t do for her what it did for me.

“I once was,” was all I said in return.

••

2.

Errol

“Your father’s birthday is coming up,” Hendrix reminded me as I set a milk carton down on my kitchen island. “Have you thought of what you want to get him?”

I was now regretting giving Hendrix a copy of my apartment key.

“Just get him a tie or something, and say it was from me,” I shrugged.

Lucky charms or fruit loops? Life’s most challenging questions , I thought as I stared at my options of cereal above my fridge.

“Absolutely the fuck not . You know I’d never let that slide.” Hendrix was quick to snap back at me with. “At least you came with me to pick out that whiskey kit you gave him last year. Plus with the anniversary-” she stopped herself short, realizing where this conversation was heading again. I could tell the next few words would be chosen very carefully. “I just- I think it would mean a lot to both of them if you did something meaningful this year. More meaningful than a few whiskey stones and shot glasses.”

Lucky charms , I decided, pulling the box off the top of the fridge. Maybe this would help with my luck this morning, and make Hendrix disappear.

Even if I tried to ignore Hendrix, I could feel her stare burning a deep hole through the back of my head.

“I don’t think-” I started, about to counter with some bland uninterested reply, but something stopped me. Something that cut through all the smart ass replies I had ran through in my head, to give Hendrix.

The one year anniversary was coming up… and that was something I would never allow myself to ignore, regardless of my rocky relationship with my father and manager. “What were- uh, what were you thinking then?” I asked awkwardly.

I didn’t want to turn around cause I could feel the beaming smile that quickly shot out across Hendrix’s lips, but if I wanted to eat this cereal, I’d have to face her at some point. Sure enough, she had a grin stretched ear to ear as she rummaged through her ridiculously oversized bag for something.

“Well, I’m so glad you asked! I found… this!” Hendrix slapped a card onto the granite countertop, and slid it across to me. I hesitantly set the box of cereal down to pick it up.

The card material felt expensive between my fingers. It has this lined texture to it that I had never felt before. I almost chuckled at my thoughts, reminding me of that business card scene from American Psycho, where they went into vivid detail about the style of business cards each worker had. Sure enough though, this card stood out. The word

Atlas

was beautifully inscribed in the middle with this shiny gold font. The second line read:

Sculptures and Ceramics

, then there was a phone number and an address listed on the third and fourth line at the very bottom.

“What the hell is this?” I asked Hendrix, with my eyes still fixated on the card.

“Exactly what it looks like.” She replied with the flare of attitude she always had when I asked something stupid. “It’s a business card for this sculptor that your parents used to rave about a few years ago. I was sorting out some of your mums dated paperwork and saw this card shoved in with a few old invoices.”

I flipped the card over to reveal some writing on the back.

It said:

Lia,

Call me anytime.

  -Atlas

Lia .

No one but family ever called my mother that.

I tried hard to think back on old conversations with my mum. She had mentioned a sculptor before, but I never paid much attention it… to those kinds of conversations. She was always going on about some painter, or some historian that had captivated her interest for that time being. I thought this person was no different than the last, and names were never really my strong suit to begin with.

“So you want me to do what, purchase something from this Atlas person?” I asked Hendrix, finally breaking my intense concentration on the card, to glance up at her.

“Well yes. Kinda. I tried the number on the bottom of the card but it’s no longer in service. I also tried to find a website but it doesn’t look like anything’s up anymore for his studio, so I need you to head to that address and see if you can track him down.”

I glanced back down at the card.

Out of service number,

and

no website?

It honestly sounded like he didn’t want to be found. 

“And why can’t you do that?” I asked her with complete bewilderment.

“Because 1. I need to go sell my mind, body, and soul to the company so I can ask for yet another extension for you, and 2. Unless you plan on composing a complete set in the next few hours, I think you can spare a moment of your time today to go get this done. All you do is sit on your ass for twelve hours and stare at some black and white keys anyways, maybe the fresh air will do you some good.”

I gave Hendrix a glare that didn’t seem to faze her one bit. It would probably take the return of the antichrist to get my manager even the slightest bit shaken.

“Plus you’re the great Errol Ballantine. From the looks of it your mother had some connection to this artist, so you’d be better off convincing him than I would.” Hendrix added. The real logic in her words, mixed with a boost to my pride, made my face relax just a smidge.

I hated how good Hendrix was at her job, yet my mother promised me she’d pair me with the best manager in town.

And she had.

I glanced back down to the handwriting on the card. It was elegant, a complete stark difference to my chicken scratch. Maybe this artist could tell me a bit more about her , I thought to myself.

The things I ignored when I thought I had all the time left .

It had been a year since the accident, and yet my memories felt like they were already fading.

“ Fine

, “ I sighed, slipping the card into my trousers pocket. Hendrix had won once again.

“What do you mean he’s no longer here?” I asked incredulously at the front desk clerk of what was now the third studio space I had been too. I could barely hear the lady over the sound of my pounding head, but I definitely heard that.

Why had I chosen today of all days to try and hunt down someone who I now knew clearly didn’t want to be found?

I thought back to just hours earlier, when I was seated at my piano staring at the black and white keys… and doing absolutely nothing. Maybe it was the harrowing honesty of Hendrix’s words that forced me out of my home. I couldn’t stand it when she was so right.

“I mean he no longer has a studio space here.” The lady replied in the same monotoned voice she had, just moments before.

My fingers gently massaged the throbbing temples as I leant against the front desk. “Could you give me a forwarding address or something? This is like my nineteenth stop today and I’ve got a splitting headache.”

The look the front desk lady gave me, let me know she wouldn’t give a single fuck if I’d been hit by a bus… but she still started to rummage through some paperwork besides her desk.

“It looks like he sent most of his supplies to the studio up on Ferning Street and Upper 27th. Just about a twenty minute drive from here.” I glanced down at the piece of paper she handed to me, as I tried to make a mental memory of the address.

Twenty more fucking minutes. Just lovely.

“Thanks,” I mumbled to the desk clerk who had already gone back to looking at her computer screen, before making my way out. If this motherfucker wasn’t at this location, I was going to call it quits and get my dad a watch or something.

When I pulled into this studio location, I noticed a stark difference between this one and the last one. For starters, this building looked much older, and smaller. I must’ve passed by it before on my way to the company a thousand times, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember it. There was minimal parking in the tiny lot, which forced me to circle the whole building before I found a visitor slot I could fit my convertible into.

“I’m really at wits end.” I spoke to myself, vocalizing just how scrambled my brain was feeling right now. I had half the mind to call it quits and go home, but there was still that other half there. The half that wanted to know more .

And it was that half that forced me out of my beautiful car, and into this rundown building.

I first noticed that there wasn’t a single soul in the main lobby. There was a front desk, but with no one at it. I looked around for one of those bells that company’s sometimes have in the front to get an attendant, but there didn’t seem to be that here either.

I turned to my right where there was a long corridor with steel looking doors on either side all the way down. I would’ve been patient and waited for someone to show up, if I wasn’t already at my fourth studio of the day. Right now my patience was chilling on a beach somewhere minding his business.

I slowly walked down the hall, peering at the names that were printed out on a small insert near each door. None of the names looked familiar, until I reached the very end of the hallway. I was actually getting ready to turn around and call it a day, but something caught my eye. On one of the inserts, the name

Atlas

was scribbled in marker instead of printed. It was the same handwriting as the back of the card, the same beautiful calligraphy.

I went to knock, only to realize that the door was already slightly ajar.

••

3.

Atlas

“I still don’t understand why you chose this dump,” I heard Nyra whisper more to herself than me. Sometimes she forgot how well I was always listening in.

“I like the quiet,” I answered simply, placing more clay onto the spinning wheel. I heard her shift again in her seat, probably wanting to help out with this process… but she knew better. Nyra knew this was something I needed to do for myself, for many reasons.

“You can get the quiet anywhere!” She responded in that same frustrated tone. It was the tone Nyra always used with me after she had to help move all this stuff one studio to the next. “What was wrong with the last place?”

I thought back to my previous location on Chestnut Ln. The studio I once swore to Nyra would be the final spot to settle into. “It was still too large,” I explained to her now, “too well known. I wanted a place that was tucked away. A place with no limited hours for work, and no one to disturb me.” That last part was directed at Nyra as I turned my head to the direction I had heard her voice come from. The scoff she gave me let me know she got the message.

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d be sitting on the floor of this studio playing with play dough.”

That made me chuckle. “You act like I couldn’t of just hired movers,” I quipped back.

“Well you could’ve, but who else would’ve handled all these supplies and art pieces with such care?” She replied. That made me laugh even harder.

“You broke three pots, a pottery wheel, and the sculpture that was once in our city mayor’s office. Should we circle back on what your definition of care is?” I heard the slight tapping of Nyra’s feet besides me as she worked on a quick reply to that. The clay felt cold between my fingers as I slowly started to mold it against the platform.

“Okay so if I crunch the numbers, three moves and only three different things broken is not that bad. Not that bad at all,” Nyra finally rushed out.

“Are you taking into account all three of those pots you broke?” I questioned.

“Technically I said three different things. Since those three pots are still part of the same category of items, those only count as one.” This was her less than ideal response. This was what she settled on. Her defining moment.

Tell that to my manager , I almost spoke my thoughts aloud. According to him, each pot Nyra shattered was now worth almost seven grand. Of course that was information I wasnt telling Nyra, from fear she would have a heart attack if she knew the figures.

The damage had been done anyways, and it wasn’t like Nyra had the money to pay me back. I just chalked it up to a very expensive moving fee, since she had helped me out with a lot.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” was all I managed to reply with. I always felt the grins Nyra gave me, and knew she must’ve been giving me one right now.

“This is probably the first time I’ve seen you in a studio for this long. I don’t get why we couldn’t of just set this all up in your home.”

It was a valid question Nyra asked. There really wasn’t much tying me to a studio space… besides the space itself.

“Home is home, and here is here,” I explained finally. “I like the separation between the two. It helps me feel like-” I paused a moment, knowing this would be just heavy enough to end our little disagreement… but it was also the truth. “It helps me feel like my old self again.”

Just as I said those words, I heard Nyra shift in her seat once more. The low sigh she released let me know that I had won this fight.

“I just- okay.” She struggled to get out. The sound of her bumping against the table was loud, before she presumably stood up. “You do what’s best for you. Just don’t start acting like you don’t know I’m terribly accident prone, when you ask me to help you move again.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that as I glanced up in her general direction. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Nyra never once promised any of these moves could go on without a hitch. “If everything makes it to the next move, I’ll donate a piece to you.”

“Donate two and you could have me set for life,” Nyra replied playfully.

The smile managed to linger on my lips as I thought about that. Two of my art pieces could set most people up for life, but not Nyra. She had a very leisure lifestyle that often kept her in the hole, regardless of how many financial bailouts I’ve done. At this point, I had to cut her off from all my cash advances completely, but I still gave pretty generously for birthdays and holidays.

In return, Nyra was the first person I could call for anything. She was there for every exhibit, every move, every unexpected event… every surgery. She may have been one bonafide shopaholic, but she was my bonafide shopaholic.

“I think keeping me around is keeping you alive right now,” I returned with friendly fire.

“I could say the same,” she fired right back. It was something most people in her position probably wouldn’t dream of telling someone with my impairment, but that was the beauty of our friendship. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells around her, and she didn’t have to walk on egg shells around me. We just got to be. “Anyways, weirdo- I gotta head back home. You sure you’ll be alright here by yourself?”

This was just one of the many scenarios where I wish I could look her dead in her eyes and give her one serious stare down. “I’m just slapping clay onto a board, mother, I’m fine. I’ll be sure to call if I’ve fallen and can’t get up.”

That got a laugh out of her. “Alright alright, I get it. Just checking. Tic will be here in a few hours to take you home, and I believe Dash is all done with his vet visit so he’s waiting for you at home. I’ll be back home tomorrow morning to get some things done around the house.”

I could hear Nyra start to collect some of her things from the chair besides me, and the table behind me.

“You know I’m pretty capable of cleaning our home, right?” I asked her.

“Well why trouble those beautiful money making hands that got us this lovely spot in the first place?” She gave my clay covered hands a small pat, making sure not to disrupt my molding. “The least I could do is keep it clean.”

I chuckled at that. Nyra wasn’t the best at house chores, but I always appreciated the effort. I just ended up going over everything she did anyways though, so her carving time out to do the bare minimum was ridiculous in my eyes.

“If you say so,” I replied, letting her give me a soft kiss on my cheek. She smelt like she always did: bubbly. Just a warm, sweet scent I could never quite put my finger on, but it suited her. Everything Nyra was and did seemed to suit her so well.

“Alright alight alright Matthew McConaughey, let me get out of here before you start trying to convince me to stay. I know my personality is a drug to some.” She always left with some flair of a remark declaring my obsession with her, while knowing good and damn well I worked best alone.

But I put my hand to my forehead with just as much dramatics, “woe is me, woe is me. I shall do my best to survive.”

The last thing I heard was her laughter, as she saw herself out. Though I preferred my own company, it was nice having someone else to talk to, regardless of it being just for a brief moment.

Nyra reminded me of someone. Someone I knew for what now felt like an eternity ago. Someone I cared for deeply.

It was nice to feel a presence like that again.

I lost track of time as I worked, I had a tendency to do that.

It was hard sometimes with the supportive circle I had… they never wanted to pull me from work when I got into the zone, which lead to no one calling for check ins.

Atticus had let me work here one day last week up until almost three in the morning. I thought I would maybe have to sleep here that night, but sure enough, as soon as that first ring went through the phone line, he was already on the other end asking if I was ready to go.

Maybe that’s why it startled me when I heard the door to my studio open again.

Atticus always waited for me to call.

••

4.

Atlas

“Atticus, that you?” I called out, not bothering to turn around from my spot at the pottery wheel. It’s not like it would make much of a difference anyways.

“I- uh-” A different voice replied. Even though they barely said anything, I new it wasn’t Atticus. I’d heard Atticus sell my work for years, and before everything happened, I got to see him in action myself. I knew his voice all too well.

“I’m sorry, this studio isn’t open to walk ins,” I called out to whoever must’ve wandered in here. Nyra had the tendency to never shut the door, but even at that, I couldn’t remember the last time I had to shoo someone out. Barely anyone knew this place existed, and the people who cycled through mostly kept to themselves.

“Oh- uh, that’s not why I’m here- or I guess it is?” The voice replied. He had this deep rigid way to how he spoke, like he had just woken up. Maybe on the wrong side of the bed. “Are you Atlas?” He asked me.

I still kept my body forward, focused on the vase I was creating. “Who’s asking?” I countered.

“Listen, it’s either you are or you aren’t. I just went to like ten other fucking studios trying to find this guy, with a headache the size of Texas, so I’d really prefer it if you’d just answer this one stupid question.” The stranger replied with more annoyance in his low-pitched voice.

That made my eyebrows raise a little. Who the hell was this guy, and who did he think he was talking to?

“Once again, who’s asking?” I asked, feeling the softness of the clay mold between my fingers as I kneaded out the air bubbles.

“You wouldn’t even know who I am, we’ve never met-”

“Then what I said at the very beginning of this conversation still stands. This studio is not open to walk ins, please leave.” I cut the stranger off with my own growing annoyance. Sometimes customers had a hard time taking no for an answer, but it had been some years since I dealt with a fan this persistent.

I wished Nyra was here to see exactly why I wanted to move to an even smaller studio in the first place.

I heard the man take a few more steps inside the studio. The sound of his feet as they hit the cement was profound. The guy sounded massive. It wasn’t like I was Daredevil or anything though, for all I knew this guy could’ve been five foot six with some heavy ass feet.

For someone in my position, fear was always on the forefront of my emotions. I tried to never let it control me, but my world was constantly consumed by darkness… it was challenging not to fear the things I couldn’t see.

“This isn’t-” the man paused a moment. “Listen if you’re not Atlas, I’ll gladly waltz right on out the way I came. I’m just trying to buy an art piece, and if you’re him, you’d think a struggling artist like yourself would want the cash.”

Those words made me fuck up on my art piece completely. I hadn’t wanted to react, but my anger got the best of me. I couldn’t see it, yet I could feel the disproportion of the vase now, as I worked hard to fix it with my fingers.

There were more steps he took towards me, that put me on edge. I knew where both my cutting tool and score knife was, in case I needed to react fast, but there was really only so much I could do. “And why the fuck won’t you even look at me-”

I could hear and feel him in front of me now. That pause he took was too familiar, it was the pause most people took when they saw my eyes… but the silence that lingered between the both of us was much longer than anything I was used to.

Finally I couldn’t take it any longer, and spoke. “That’s because I can’t see you.”

It was probably something I would’ve said to Nyra or Atticus when they slipped up with remembering my blindness, not a random person who was just now having this epiphany, but the guy was a jackass to begin with so I didn’t really care.

“I- yeah- I’m sorry, I didn’t-” he was tripping over his words now, unsure of how to continue.

All I wanted to do was continue working, so I told him the same thing again like I was a broken fucking record. “My studio isn’t open to walk ins. Please show yourself out.”

“R-Right, and like I get that, but this is different- I’m uh, I’m Errol Ballantine, you must’ve heard of me. The famed pianist from-”

“Ballantine?” I asked suddenly, removing my hands from the piece of clay I was molding up, and slowing the spin of the wheel with my foot pedal. That name had almost stopped my heartbeat completely.

“Yes, and please, I don’t want to make it a big deal. I know it’s kind of crazy having Errol Ballantine show up at your studio like this but-”

“Shut up.” I sort of snapped on this stranger. His immediate rambling was clouding the memory I was trying to recall, a memory that still had some color to it.

Those memories were the hardest to bring to the surface these days.

I remembered Lia mentioning something about her son. Errol. When was it , I thought to myself. It must’ve been years. She had shown me a picture once, but everything had long since started to fade.

“Don’t tell me to shut up-” the stranger started to say, yet he didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, I could feel his eyes on me as my clay smeared fingers went up to massage the base of my temples.

There were memories here , I told myself. Memories I just needed to remember.

All I could see was a faded picture, one of a dark haired green eyed young man. Back then he must’ve still been in college, but who knows how many years had passed since then. I tried hard to remember the whole memory with Lia, but no other images were coming to mind.

“You’re Lia’s boy?” I asked him.

“Son,” he quickly corrected. “I’m almost twenty seven now.”

Boy. Son. It was the same fucking thing in my eyes.

“I- I just haven’t heard that name in a while.” I finally settled on.

And I hadn’t.

The last card I received from Lia was a little over a year and a half ago. I thought she may have moved out of state, or been fed up with my mopey attitude towards creating. I couldn’t of imagined she’d send her son to find me.

She was too direct a person for that.

“What are you doing here?” I finally asked, shifting my head up in his general direction.

“I uhm, her uh-” he cleared his throat. “Her death anniversary is coming up alongside my fathers birthday, and I wanted to get him something special… to sort of commemorate that I guess.”

“Their anniversary isn’t for another six months,” I replied too hastily, not fully registering what this stranger had said.

There was another pause between us, long enough for both of us to understand what the other said and heard.

“It’s her death-” Errol started.

“Oh-” I replied at the same exact time.

I set my arms at my side, surely dirtying up my overalls even further. There was a part to my brain that just sorta switched off. Whatever it usually did must’ve failed, because I could feel the familiar stinging sensations of my eyes like I was about to cry.

“Could you please leave?” I asked the stranger across from me. This was more desperate a request than any of the others I had given him earlier.

“I would, I just- there’s something that I-”

“Please.” I spoke again, looking up in the direction I had heard the voice from. My vision no longer clouded when tears welled up, but I could feel them on the very edge of my lid. Regardless of who this man was, I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I couldn’t even confirm for myself that he really was who he said he was, or what he said was true.

The man said nothing else as I heard him get up. His footsteps moved slowly, making his way to the door behind me. “I’m going to write my number on this scrap piece of paper on the desk near the door.” His voice broke through the silence suddenly. “Please call me if you-” that’s when he stopped to pause a moment. “Just please call me.”

That was the last thing I heard before the stranger saw himself out, and shut my studio door behind him. It was just in the nick of time before tears started to fall. I could feel them warm against my cheek, and I tried to wipe them away without getting clay all over my face.

I just sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do or what to think. Of course there was a very valid suspicion that this man might not even be Lia’s son, I’d met some pretty weird buyers in the past, but then there was the question of why . Why would someone even go through all the trouble just to get an art piece out of me? No one really knew of Lia and I’s friendship besides her husband, and I had worked hard to make myself disappear since.

Could this really be her son? I asked myself. And could

she really be gone?

••

5.

Errol

I sat in the parking lot of this small studio building, for what felt like forever. My car had been running for about ten minutes, but I hadn’t gone anywhere.

I couldn’t, really.

I thought back to the conversation with Atlas… or at least someone I was now 99.99% sure was Atlas. I thought about all the shit I said to him, right before I noticed…

“ Jesus, Errol

, “ I whispered to myself, slamming my forehead into the back of my hands that were rested on the steering wheel. It sent a bit of pain through my nerves, reminding me of my not quite healed yet injuries. As I pulled my head back, I stared at the now fading scars that went from my finger tips, all the way up my wrist. I’d learned to ignore them most days, so it was odd giving them any attention now.

That forehead slam also reminded me of the raging headache I still very much had. “Ugh,” I sighed, rubbing my temples in again. It reminded me of the same thing Atlas had done with his clay covered fingers.

All my pain felt a bit numbed by the thought of the way my conversation went with Atlas. I felt like I stubbed my toe on the fattest table leg, when I saw tears well up in his clouded eyes. He had given me so many damn opportunities to leave, and I still pressed it.

I’m going to blame Hendrix , I finally decided.

I would’ve still been relaxing in my neat little bubble if I hadn’t done this drive to begin with. I sure as hell would’ve saved on gas too. A wallet for a gift sounded so fucking good right about now.

And I left my number, I thought to myself. What the complete hell was I thinking?

As my eyes slowly closed for a second, I thought back again to his face. The clear look of confusion and shock as he processed what I had said.

Everything made my body uneasy. The whole way I went about it was screwing me up.

I noticed an SUV pull into the very front of the building. The sun had since set, making the headlights bright as shit and damn near blinding, before the car fully turned. Someone parked and stepped out; I noticed it was an awfully tall slender man in a well fitted grey suit. I was too far away to see any real distinct features, but he was much taller than the car was. He made his way around and headed into the main entrance of the building.

I thought he was walking quickly, but the length of his legs gave him large strides.

It was probably only about five minutes before he exited with someone else. They were holding his elbow as he escorted them slowly to the car, and I immediately recognized the shorter man as Atlas. His longer light golden blonde hair was impossible to miss, paired with that horrendously bright yellow apron he had on. I could see the clay stains on it from all the way over here.

The taller man opened the door for Atlas, but a dog quickly jumped out instead. My eyebrows furrowed in slight confused as Atlas bent down to pet him. With Atlas’s signal, the dog just as quickly jumped right back into the car, and sculptor followed in suit.

The taller man waited for both of them to get situated in the back seat before closing the door, and walking around to the drivers side.

Just seconds later, he jumped in himself, and the SUV pulled away.

I decided to take that as my queue to leave too. There was no point in sitting here anyways, the only person I came for had just left.

“You didn’t tell me he was blind!” I snapped at Hendrix on the phone, as I zoomed down the highway towards home. Or that he didn’t know anything about my mums death , I thought to myself.

“Okay first off, any decent human would’ve probably handled that whole encounter much better.” Hendrix didn’t waste a moment with her reply, as her voice bellowed through my convertibles Bluetooth speakers. I swear I had the volume on the lowest setting before mute, but her voice always seemed to carry. “And second, I didn’t even know! Your mother never mentioned that he lost his sight. No articles online mentioned that either. I definitely wouldn’t of sent your tactless self out there in the first place, had I known.”

“And let’s talk about that real quick. Do you know I went to three other studios before I even found the one he was at?” I continued. “Henny, I think it’s safe to say this man has no interest in doing anything for us. Especially now.”

“Okay so first off , you know I loathe that nickname. Second, all I had was that address. How was I supposed to know that he wasn’t there anymore? It’s not like business cards have dates and forwarding addresses on them, come on now,” Hendrix snapped back.

So clearly we both weren’t in the best of moods.

I hadn’t even asked her how it went with the company, but judging by the irritation in her voice, she must’ve been put through hell.

I just wanted to go home and lay down. My innitial plan when I was driving to what I thought was the studio location, was to head home after and try to write a verse or even a damn note, then end the night with a nice night cap and a movie.

All I was going to do now was stumble into bed and call it a fucking day. My brain functionality was at an all time low.

“Okay listen, I left my number right? So there’s still a possibility he’ll call, and maybe we can talk things out. He seemed really shaken up by the news of my mothers passing, but given some time, he might reach out.” I tried to reason with Hendrix, because if we continued to go back and fourth any longer, Hendrix would really start to dig into me.

Right now, this headache was more than enough of a punishment. I still couldn’t believe it lasted all day.

“You better hope so,” Hendrix replied. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s a special place for people who insult the impaired, and it rhymes with spell.” That was the last thing she said to me before she hung up.

I sighed heavily to myself, keeping my eyes on the road as this sports car zoomed easily through traffic. I didn’t even ask Hendrix about the extension, but I figured that could wait until tomorrow.

Everything could wait until tomorrow.

Atlas

“Thank you, Atticus.” The edges of my lips twitched up into a small smile as Atticus closed the car door behind me.

“No problem at all,” he replied. “Would you like me to guide you to the door?”

His words were soaked in concern. I could tell that he could tell that I had been crying, but Atticus never knew how to question me about those things. He wasn’t the best with the really heavy stuff, but his help let me know he cared much more than he let on.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” I replied quickly. “I’ll let Dash guide me. He’s probably missed me all day, I think he knows when I go to the studio without him.” That got a chuckle out of Atticus.

“Of course, you always come back with clay all over you. Everyone knows when you’ve spent time at the studio.” That made me smile. “But you take care, and I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning,” he added. I could hear his footsteps start to leave, but I stopped him before he could go.

“Atticus?” I asked.

His footsteps slowed immediately. “What’s up?”

“Could you check into something for me? It’s about Lia Ballantine.”

There was a slight pause before Atticus spoke. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard you say that name. What would you like me to check on?”

“Someone told me she passed away, and I want to know if that’s true. I also want to know how,” I added. “A couple years ago she was my largest investor… and a good friend. It would mean a lot if you could get that information.”

“Yes, sure thing. I’ll have that info by morning.” Atticus replied, before his footsteps continued.

“Atticus?” I called out again, which slowed his fading footsteps.

“What’s up?” He asked from a little further away.

“Could you also check on her son. Errol. I want to know more about him,” I added.

“Yeah, no problem. Listen, I ordered some takeout that I gotta go pick up right now so if you think of anything else, just call me. That’s something I do know you know how to do.”

That last part made me laugh. Atticus would never fail to remind me that he was my business manager, not my personal manager.

“You got it!” I replied to him from somewhere behind me. “Alright Dash, let’s go.” I spoke, feeling Dash’s reaction immediately as the short leash wrapped tight around my hand, lead me to the door. My hand reached out to the lock, feeling for the small cool pad that read my fingerprint for entry. It took just a second before the door swung open.

“Welcome home, Atticus.” Nyra’s prerecording spoke through the home speakers.

“Home sweet home,” I mumbled to my space. The door closed behind me just as quickly as it opened, and Dash waited patiently besides me. “What should we do first?” I asked him. “I’m thinking just change and head to bed. It’s been a long day for you too.”

Dash always seemed to understand, but waited for my signal before we headed to the bedroom.

••

6.

Atlas

Dreaming was an escape.

Most days I found excuses to take a long afternoon nap, just so I could dream. I’m sure that made Nyra and Atticus a bit concerned, especially earlier on right after the incident. They thought I was going through depression, but the truth is, dreaming was the only time when I could see things… see anything . The only thing making this newfound darkness a little less frightening.

This dream I had last night was a new one, it was a dream of a memory from one of my last large showcases. I had just wrapped up the final sale of the night, when Lia approached me…

“You were so busy, I didn’t even have the chance to critique any of your artwork with you.” She joked, as she set the empty complimentary glass of wine down. She was wearing this beautiful red dress, with gold flowers printed along the skin tight sides. I wasn’t sure how I didn’t notice her throughout the night, with a dress like that.

In her hand was one of my gift bags, but I couldn’t remember ringing her up for anything this evening. Atticus must’ve, I thought. She was always sneaking purchases past me after I tried to cut her off… The money she’d already spent here was more than enough support.

I reached for the bottle of wine from the refreshments counter to refill her glass, but she waved her hand stopping me. “I’ve still got a vehicle parked here somewhere that I gotta get home, you know.”

That made me laugh. Lia was a lightweight when it came to alcohol, and that was definitely a well learnt lesson on her end. “We’ll call Doug and have him figure it out. That’s his job after all right?” I joked back.

Lia gave me one of those beautiful smiles she always seemed to never run out of.

“Doug would argue his job is to pay the bills and get me pregnant.” Her grin widened as the words fell past her perfectly scarlet stained lips. An exact match to her dress. “So far he’s succeeded pretty well at both.”

This part of my dream was starting to turn hazy, with colors blending in on themselves and blurring out the background. As I looked down at my own complimentary glass of wine that was now in my hand, it was filled to the brim again. I hadn’t remembered picking it up from the table or filling it.

“Anymore kids in you two lovebirds’s future?” I asked Lia, focusing on her again. She quickly shook her head at that.

“Errol is more than enough. He’s

plenty

. I’m still trying to navigate his incredible talents, and I can’t handle being a momager to two wildlings.“ She explained. That made me laugh again, as I took a sip of the wine.

It tasted like water, which made my eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion.

I glanced back up, starting to hear Lia say something else. I even saw her lips move… but her voice

began fading

away like an ending to a track.

Pretty soon she started to blur into the darkness, closing the curtains to this dream.

Then I felt myself stir awake.

It always felt like a steel fold up chair to the face whenever I went from a world of color, to a work of… this . Dash’s nose nudging against my arm managed to put a smile on my face, reminding me of what support I did have.

My second alarm sound went off moments later, which meant I had already slept through the first. “Shit!” I shot up quickly, almost tripping over my feet as I rushed to stabilize my wobbly legs. The thought of nearly falling brought me back to my first few months of this. All the injuries I sustained as I learnt my way around the home.

Hard to think that was only a few years ago. It felt like a lifetime. Who knew time could slow down this much?

Dash was at my side immediately. “Good morning, troublemaker. Is the sun up already?” I asked him. My arms felt the warm rays of light that must’ve been shining through my bedroom window. “We definitely woke up late huh?” Dash nudged the back of my knee, making me chuckle. “You’re right, you’re right, I’m getting a move on.”

Taking showers took some work to get used to.

A whole lot of work actually, if I’m being honest.

I tried to think of it as just taking a shower with the lights off, which helped with the stress in some ways. I took it slow, remembering where I distinctively placed everything. Got a bunch of grip pads to make sure I didn’t slip and fall, and potentially kill myself. It took a hell of a lot more time to get the hang of it than I thought, and especially made me realize I couldn’t be my usual forgetful self anymore.

In order for me to survive , I needed to remember where I placed things. Placed everything really .

That still proved to be a challenge even years later, like when I messed up the order of my cereal boxes and had to taste test every one each morning to make sure I had the system down again.

Things like that added unimaginable time to my already tight knit day.

“This guest is at your door-” the home speakers cut into the silence, startling me a bit. That was something I was still getting used to.

“It’s Atticus.” I heard my manager and dealer’s exhausted voice come through moments later. Speaking of tight knit , I thought to myself.

“Unlock front door.” I told the home, hearing the lock click open seconds after. Atticus’s feet dragged like twenty pound dumbbells against the wooden floor, telling me something I already knew.

“I still don’t understand how this house works.” Was the first thing he said as he set something down on the kitchen counter. I was guessing it was one of his ginormous cups of coffee. He told me he stopped getting those mega cups at the gas station, but I highly doubted it. Atticus was an addict, through and through.

“That makes two of us.” I joked to him. The sound of a long zipper pierced through the silence, before I heard some rustling of papers.

“I’ll have to have Nyra walk me through it. She said I could register my thumb print but I don’t want the government having that kind of information.”

I chuckled in Atticus’s direction. “I don’t really think that’s how that works.”

“Unless you can guarantee it, I won’t do it,” he replied with simply. “Anyways, I’m here this early in the morning so let’s get this over with before our meeting with Laurent.” I heard him rustle again through some more paperwork with a heavy sigh.

It was interesting how vastly different Atticus and I handled our mornings. I was late to start by only five minutes and that was back at six this morning, but Atticus had definitely just rolled out of bed and it was closer to eight now.

“Alrighty, so Amelia Ballantine. Born June 1st 1969. Passed on May 18th, 2021. Looks like her and Errol were involved in a car accident together last year.” Atticus paused a moment. “Wow, this is-”

I fiddled with my fingers, listening. My lack of sight forced me to pick up on other things, like a person’s tone, for example. A bit of guilt was starting to bubble up inside me at Atticus’s shift in tone, as thoughts on how I handled the conversation with Errol yesterday came flooding back to me. I shouldn’t have been that short with him… possibly heard him out a bit?

“Yeah this crash was pretty horrible. The other driver fell asleep on the wheel, and t-boned Lia’s- oh wait… Errol’s vehicle on the passenger side. That’s where Lia was sitting.” Atticus continued, before taking another pause.

Judging by all these pauses, Atticus must’ve been reading ahead then paraphrasing for me. I enjoyed the breaks it gave me, allowing my brain to fully understand what he was saying. I could already feel that familiar stinging sensation as my eyes grew watery. It took a lot of myself to fight off the tears, reminding me of that less than ideal moment when I cried in front of Errol yesterday.

I hated crying in front of anyone. It was quite the experience thinking you’re an ugly cryer and truly never being able to know for sure, like ever again. I preferred to keep my emotions to myself, where I could let them out when I’m alone, and hidden in the comfort of darkness and solitude.

This was something Atticus would say I need to work on with my therapist.

Speaking of which, I haven’t made an appointment in a while, I thought to myself. I should probably do that.

Now, especially.

“The memorial of her death is coming up here soon. She’s at the Harring Cemetery off Dodd, the one overlooking the hills. Her family spared no expense with the burial, that cemetery is expensive to get a lot in.” Atticus explained, but I already knew which cemetery he was talking about.

Amelia’s mother and father were buried there as well. She always spoke about purchasing a lot near them, but at the time I told her she was crazy for even thinking about her death.

Maybe she sensed something I didn’t , I thought to myself. She had a knack for things like that.

She’d told me on too many occasions to go get my eyes checked by a specialist, but I was too stubborn. Too invested in my work.

If only I had listened.

••

7.

Atlas

It didn’t take long for Atticus to fill me in on the details. There really wasn’t a whole lot he could fill me in on, about the accident. At least nothing in regards to Lia.

Errol however was an entirely different story. Atticus had dug up novels about the guy. Literally. Apparently he had written books.

Lia had definitely managed to downplay how exceptional her son’s pianist career was, and in return, I felt like someone who just had the floor pulled out from underneath them.

Apparently this man had won awards. An incredible amount of awards at that, from composing to performance… I almost couldn’t believe what Atticus was telling me as I listened on intently. It wasn’t that Lia wasn’t proud of her son, or secretive about him in some way. If I had asked her more about Errol, I knew she wouldn’t of hesitated to tell me all about this, but I also knew that wasn’t what our relationship was.

When we were together, art was our focus.

Truthfully, I had a bit of a crush on Lia. Nothing I would’ve ever thought of doing something about, I respected her and Doug’s relationship too much, but it was hard not to love her. I think it was hard for anyone not to love her.

Now I wish I would’ve asked more questions about her family. Involved myself more in her personal life.

Sometimes I wondered whether or not my life could be filled with millions of what ifs . Things I wish I could go back on and correct, yet knowing I can’t… and dealing with some of those horrid ramifications.

It’s a tricky thing, isn’t it?

Living .

It’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

Atticus did his best to explain as much as he could, but unfortunately, there was so much more I wanted to know.

Not really about Errol, but more about Lia. What her life was like for the last few months leading up to the crash. If she thought of me as often as I thought about her during the time we hadn’t seen each other. If she knew how sorry I am.

I felt like I could write a biography on Errol Ballantine from the amount of information Atticus found. This guy really had no problem keeping his entire existence as famous and public as possible. I had to tell Atticus to skip whole chunks of information, like what celebrity Errol was dating this month.

There wasn’t an accurate enough word to describe how little I cared about that.

Atticus mentioned that there wasn’t much on Errol after the accident. He was only able to find a few composing projects with his name tied to them, and no interviews to promote them.

Atticus also said he couldn’t find a single performance done by Errol after the accident. That the only work Errol had done since, was composing. There was also a run in with the law while he was out drunk a few months ago, where apparently Errol swung on the bouncer at Rouge, the popular night club downtown. He missed and fell into the line of people waiting to go inside, which started some fight.

Once again, this was news I didn’t really care all that much about. Something told me a guy like this would probably never be in any real danger with the law. He gave off antagonist that evades the justice system for 6 seasons too long vibes .

I didn’t want to not like the guy, there was just something about him that got to me. I tried to tell myself that his mother passing was an incredibly valid reason for being angry at the world, but I myself would never treat a stranger like that.

That was probably why what I did later in the day, confused even myself.

We made it to the meeting with Laurent, and afterwards I asked Atticus to drive us back to the studio for a moment. It didn’t take long to find the note Errol left, and I had Atticus first confirm that number matched the contact he found for Errol, before saving it in my phone for me. That was the extent of all the help he was willing to do, as he drove me back to my home.

“You sure you don’t want me to take you anywhere else?” He asked, tired as all hell. I couldn’t help but laugh as I felt for the handle and opened the car door.

“Judging by your voice, I think you’ll barely be able to make it home,” was what I replied with.

“I’ve never heard a truer statement come from your lips. Laurent had to of been on drugs to schedule a meeting so early in the morning.” Atticus sighed. That just made me laugh even harder because our meeting was scheduled for 9:30AM. A very valid office hour time. “I spent most of the night trying to get all that information too,” he added.

That sent a little pang to my chest as I thought about that for the first time today. Atticus must’ve spent a lot of time researching for me.

“And I seriously appreciate you for that,” I told him sincerely as I stepped out of his SUV. The days were getting warmer now, I could feel the humid breeze sweep through my loose fitted button down. I knew it was yellow because that’s the only color I really wore. I dodged having wardrobe malfunctions completely by just wearing one color.

“You better. You don’t pay me nearly enough to get me up this early again. You better relay that information over to Laurent and his stupid clay.” Was the last thing I heard Atticus say before he reached over and closed the passenger door. Dash was at my side, waiting patiently for me to direct us inside.

I laughed all the way to the door, thinking about the meeting we had. I had wanted to put in a large order of clay, and Laurent had the best on the market. Good prices too. I’d been buying from him for years and no amount of whining from Atticus could stop that.

He knew it too. We weren’t going to get a better deal, and it helped that Laurent felt horrible about my eyes. He was a lot of help in getting me back into pottery, and I just felt like we were bonded or something now. Turning my back on his business was a bad move both financially and personally.

Atticus just couldn’t stand being up anytime before nine in the morning.

I was nervous to place the call to Errol. My hands got all sweaty as they struggled to hold the cell phone up to me. “Call Errol.” I said finally, letting out a sigh that felt like it was caught in my chest. This feeling of anxiety was weird, yet I knew this whole conversation was most likely going to be incredibly uncomfortable… so I cut my sweaty palms some slack.

The ringing started just a second later.

And someone picked up on the third ring.

“What?” The voice cut through the line with a roughness I wasn’t expecting.

“Hi- uh, is this Errol?” I asked awkwardly. Dash remained by my side on the couch as I shifted uncomfortably between the cushions.

“Who’s asking?” Errol replied. Or at least I thought it was him, the voice that came through my speaker was the same roughness as last night, but this person sounded even more exhausted.

“This is Atlas,” I replied, opting out on answering with some smartass remark. The guy didn’t seem in the mood for good banter.

I heard ruffling through the line, like someone was getting up from a pile of papers. Then the man cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Uh- hey Atlas, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon.” There was some more rustling of papers. “… or really at all .” He mumbled that last bit to himself, most likely unaware that the phone picked it up clear as day.

We really had made some lasting impressions on each other last night.

“I wasn’t really planning on calling,” I replied honestly. “But I checked in on the accident and- well, I just- I guess I felt like I should hear you out.”

It took a lot in me to get those words out. I wasn’t planning on apologizing because frankly Errol’s attitude still pissed me off, but I told myself I’d be cordial regardless of his personality. I owed Lia that much.

“Y-Yeah.” Errol sounded completely caught off guard. All I heard was him clearing his throat a few more times as he most likely scrambled for his next words. “Well thanks for calling. Yesterday was- I didn’t handle that the best.” Errol settled on.

I waited a few more seconds, expecting an apology to follow, but he didn’t give one. Just settled on that half assed accountability statement. Looks like neither of us were planning on actually apologizing.

“I just wanted to commission a piece. It’s for my father,” Errol continued. “Sort of something to remember my mother by. Doesn’t have to be extravagant honestly, it can be a vase or a pot or an all out sculpture. Whatever you want to do.”

The drowsiness had finally started to slip from his voice, making it more recognizable. It was now almost six in the evening but I’d put money on Errol just waking up. I tried to keep all my judging thoughts at bay, cause there was a good chance I’d say something really reckless and this call would end in another argument.

Errol seemed far too easy to argue with.

“I’ll pay whatever your rate is. My fathers birthday is on the 30th and the memorial is on the 18th. If it’s possible to get it before the end of May, that would be great, but I’m flexible. Will you do it?” Errol topped it all off with a million dollar question. I lightly tapped my fingers against the back of my phone as I weighed in the request.

Every single fiber of being in my body told me to say no.

I hadn’t done commissions since losing my sight. And for good reason too, it took me an enormous amount of time to relearn my craft. To see with my hands.

But there was that feeling. That pang in my heart again, as I remembered Lia. Every visit we ever had, and all the warm smiles she always gave me.

The smiles she never seemed to run out of.

My art had made her happy, which I felt unbelievably lucky to feel even just a bit of.

And I had left things in a complete mess, I thought to myself.

Maybe that was why I found myself saying yes.

••

8.

Errol

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/8b6823b4c13ecea924254ff37faffac958c5e8f6/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f4a6c755241414d3148696a6574773d3d2d313236353532373534352e313731633639653361653739336235663930393438323036363732392e6a7067)

The phone call from Atlas caught me completely off guard.

I did my best to pull it together, forcing my exhausted body to function almost immediately as sheets of music got tossed everywhere in the process. They reminded me of what I was working on before I fell asleep. When had I fallen asleep? I thought to myself.

The conversation with Atlas was awkward right off the bat, starting with me not bothering to check the number of who was calling until after I answered. By then, I had already given my less than polite greeting, thinking it was Hendrix with even more stressing information for me. It wasn’t, and it didn’t take long before Atlas settled on an annoyed response.

Great. Just a great start.

Regardless, the sigh of relief I let out when Atlas said yes, released all the tension in my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized how on edge I had been during the call.

Now Atlas didn’t sound the most excited about taking the commission on, but as long as he was going to do it, I couldn’t really give a shit about his attitude.

We agreed to meet this coming Monday, which was in a few days. I asked if we could meet tonight but Atlas gave me a short and direct no . I didn’t even try to push it, sensing the guy had already reached his max with accepting this bizarre request in the first place.

We didn’t stay on the phone long either, with Atlas saying a quick goodbye before he hung up. I slowed to a stop, realizing I had started to pace around my room while on the call. Things looked a bit tidier as well, as I noticed most of my clothes now picked up. It was only after the call ended, when I finally let my scrambled drowsy brain play a bit of catch up.

First off, I was admittedly a bit confused. I didn’t expect Atlas to call at all, and if I had chose wishful thinking during this unfortunate situation, I thought it would be at least a few weeks before he called.

From what Atlas said, it sounded like he knew a lot more about the accident now. I wasn’t sure what exactly he knew, but I was grateful he didn’t bring it up much tonight, or I probably would’ve had to make a quick liquor store run.

I was not in the right headspace to have that conversation right now. Hell, I was still hearing notes. Notes from the weird dream I had had shortly before my phone woke me up. Notes I needed to get down on paper before they escaped this fried brain completely.

Hendrix hadn’t let up about my past due work either. She had called again earlier this morning to remind me of the new deadlines she graciously negotiated with the company, which meant I was spending this weekend in crunch time.

It felt like I worked every weekend, but because of my struggle to compose damn near anything, I had almost nothing to show for those countless hours, and Hendrix refused to acknowledge my shortcomings as work.

It was a miracle I even got a few minutes of music composed by now- I had woken up in the middle of the night with a new melody from my dream, and got to work. Somewhere between then and this evening, I must’ve dozed off back to the dream world.

I couldn’t have been out for long because I didn’t really fall into deep enough sleep to actually enter the dream world again.

The sheet music was out of order now, and sprawled all over my bed. I noticed a few pages had fallen to the hardwood floors when I got up so abruptly.

Great , I thought to myself. It was truly a gift at how well I self sabotaged. I had only numbered about half the pages, so from then on, I had to read every bar to try and piece it all back together.

Luckily the call with Atlas had done the trick to wake me up. I clenched the now arranged sheets of music against my chest as I quickly but carefully scrambled back to my piano in the living room. The only thing that could really send me into a fit of range, would’ve been dropping these pages right after arranging them again.

My beautiful Steinway Semi- Concert Grand Piano was awaiting me, like she always was. She was one of the most consistent things in my life, and an incredible gift from my mum and dad for my seventeenth birthday. She was one of my most prized processions, this Ol’ Bess. It’ll be ten years around the sun together with my upcoming birthday at the end of this year, and she’s as perfect as when I got her.

Never turning her back on me even when all I could do was stare at her in frustration. It wasn’t her fault that she wouldn’t lower her standards for me. That was the beauty of the keys. It was on me to fix whatever was going on that was messing with my performance.

“I think I finally got something for ya,” I spoke to the jet black piano, giving her a light pat on the hood. “Been a while, I know. I’m working on cutting back the drinking and stuff so I’m feeling pretty optimistic.”

I’d swear on my life that me and this piano could communicate. How else would one explain the incredibly judgmental vibes I got from her just moments later?

I set the beginning pages of the sheet music out on the holder in front of me, then took a seat on the large extended bench, and started to play.

Hendrix managed to call an additional three times during the course of my weekend. Two of those calls came around midnight on Saturday and Sunday night. Hendrix said she was just checking on my progress, but she wasn’t slick enough  for me.

This was really her way of guaranteeing that I kept my ass planted on this piano bench and not in some nighclub surrounded by distractions. The way Hendrix’s attitude was set up, she wouldve taken it upon herself to come drag me out of whatever club I found myself in anyways. It wasn’t worth the humiliation of being taken down by a five foot something woman with a background in wrestling.

Instead I did what was expected of me, cranking out another few pages of music before the new week rolled around. By the time I called it quits, which was early into the wee hours of the morning, my hand was aching with cramps. The doctors had told me to take it easy, but that was easier said than done when my future with the company was at stake.

It wasn’t like the company was heartless. As soon as I told the director of my situation, they immediately granted bereavement hours, and an extension on my paid leave. They even offered to cover a portion of my mother’s funeral, but dear old dad wasn’t having that. My father told me it was his responsibility to lay his wife to rest, which at the time I was still too in shock to bother to argue with. At that time, I was still in the hospital getting ready for the first of many surgeries.

The time off that the company gave me post surgeries, I spent going out and getting drunk. At first, my father and Hendrix allowed it… I mean, who was going to check a person who just lost their mum? Let alone, lost her in a crash that they themselves were in?  Yeah it didn’t take much to get my dad and my manager off my back. After a few more months, my injuries healed and I was cleared to play again… But by then, my alcoholism and depression had taken a turn for the worse.

The many surgeries I underwent after the crash still haunted me, all the feelings that came with the uncertainty of not being able to play again. I never wanted to see another hospital room, or feel another prick for nerve damage analysis. I never wanted to feel those itchy and stiff hand braces that stopped my tendons from healing incorrectly.

And fuck Doctor Brown at that. How was it I managed to get the father of one of my biggest competitors, as my doctor? Like seriously, If I had had even a shred of consciousness when I was rushed into the emergency room, I would’ve never let that idiot touch my hands.

Hendrix assured me that Doctor Cambridge Brown was in fact one of the best surgeons in the state, but I reminded Hendrix of the insanity levels parents could go to, to ensure the successes of their children.

All I knew was that Kieron Brown composed a Sundance project last year that he had almost no credentials or talent for, and I could’ve sworn I saw the director of the film and Doctor Cambridge Brown all buddy buddy during the release party. Cambridge and I made eye contact for just a moment at the event, and the doctor gave me a smile.

It was a smile that almost felt disrespectful, like he knew that I knew that he had finessed this deal out from under the table. The table I held the most prominent seat at.

I tried to tell Hendrix all of this after my first round of surgery, but she just told me to shut the hell up and stop acting like an idiot… so I guess that was the end of that…

••

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/8f32bff7317e5a394fb339ba33b91d3cb7338084/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6643754462726b704846787459513d3d2d313236353532373534352e313731376535313362613663653430313531363930383438333638382e6a7067)

9.

Errol

Doctor Brown had assured me that in due time I would make a full recovery, but only if I took it easy. I think that was just one of his many ploys to assure I wouldn’t touch the piano keys for a while, thus ruining my career. He thought he was slick but I was on to the motherfucker.

He insisted I continue to make visits for progress check ins and schedule massages, but I assured him that after this last cast was removed, he would never be seeing me again. I kept true to that as well, forcing Hendrix to find a new doctor right after my last visit. She of course continued to insist I was overreacting, but there was just something about him.

Dinkleberg .

Of course I didn’t take it easy. How could I? I was at the height of my career before the accident, and all I had left was the damn piano. How does one gently let go of something that helps them sleep easier? Helps with all the anxiety? Literally tethers their existence?

Yeah, no . It was like free therapy.

My father tried to do that parental thing after the accident, where they lay down rules, but the look I gave him from the hospital bed let him know I’d break every finger trying to play again if I wanted to… and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. I wasn’t a child anymore, at least not in the eyes of this countries healthcare system, seeing how they ripped me off my parents plan almost a year ago when I turned 26.

The dynamic between my father and I was never like that anyways. He could lay down all the rules he wanted, but he and I both knew who truly held the gavel in this family… and she wasn’t here anymore.

Or maybe she passed it off to Hendrix, because that witch was perfect at getting me to do things. Well, not perfect but pretty damn close. Her and my mum were like two peas in pod, bouncing off each others energy as they both tore into me with jokes. They were also the two most supportive people in my life, and it was a lot of pressure on Hendrix to hold the fort down now.

I couldn’t be more grateful that she was a tough nut to crack, especially under pressure.

I’d put her through it this last year, and every time I thought about it, I felt guilty. Guilty with my mother, and how I was handling my career after her death. Stressing Hendrix who put her neck out on the line for me constantly. My mother poured her soul into my talent, and every time I found myself in bed with a hangover and another naked woman, it felt like I was taking everything she did and shoving it down a garbage disposal.

It made me sick to my stomach.

When Monday morning finally came around, I managed to get up early for maybe the first time since my mothers funeral. Somehow, I had put myself to sleep before midnight on Sunday, and when the seven o’clock alarm went off on my phone, I felt myself stirring awake almost immediately.

My first reaction was usually the snooze button. I could hit snooze on an alarm well into the afternoon, no problem. I couldn’t figure out how to fix that part of myself either, I even tried removing the option to hit snooze, but then I’d just turn off the alarm and who knows when I’d get up again.

It was a lose lose situation.

This time around though, I had some newfound energy. Enough to do a quick scramble around my room and pick up some clothes.

The amount of clothes I found that weren’t mine, made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell whether I was more disappointed with myself, or women that left very nice bras behind so carelessly.

Wouldn’t you, I don’t know, feel that missing?

I tried not to think about it much as I tossed them in the trash. There was no reason to try hunting down the owners, I couldn’t remember half of them, and the other half probably had me blocked by now. That was, if they even had my number to begin with.

After the quick clean up, I got ready to go see Atlas.

At first, I tried to look more presentable. The day we met, I was looking rough. Like very fucking rough. A night out heavily drinking just to deal with Hendrix and work issues after, had changed my whole appearance completely. That hangover might’ve deterred me from drinking for the next few months… although it always took just one minor inconvenience to reel me back in.

I was about halfway through styling my hair before my hand froze, and realization hit me like a fleet truck.

“Oh…” I thought, thinking back to those pale blue eyes. “He can’t even- what the fuck am I doing? “ I asked myself in the large bathroom mirror. My idiot of a self just stared back. We looked at each other, daring the other to explain themselves. “Confidence?” I asked questioningly, thinking back to something Hendrix had mentioned at my mothers funeral.

She was helping me fix my tie in one of those extra funeral home rooms, as I tried to pull it together…

“No one’s going to see it. I don’t know why I care

,“

I had mumbled to myself, holding my hands at the side. They were both in braces from the accident, and no pain killers in the world could help with the pain I was feeling. A horse tranquilizer would come close though, I thought to myself.

Hendrix slipped the tie through the loop correctly, giving the fabric a firm tug up. “You noticed

,“ s

he replied with a small smile. “Even if someone else can’t see it, you see it. You know. Fixing something so seemingly useless could give you more confidence… maybe a little more courage too.” That smile felt painful. “We all could use some of that right about now.”

She whispered that last part to me, before she flattened out the tie and stepped back to give me a nod of approval.

“And courage, or whatever.” I added, still speaking to my reflection as I gave myself a firm nod. My hands resumed styling my hair, and I couldn’t help but smirk a bit. It genuinely felt good to go the nine yards with getting ready, like I used to. To care about some of those things that I had let slip after my mothers death.

I grabbed the razor next, and freshened up the beard that had started to form over months of laziness. Even the smallest bit of facial hair aged me at least ten years, and this was just embarrassing now.

Once I was finally content with my morning routine, the person staring back at me through the mirror was a familiar old friend.

“Let’s rock and roll,” I mumbled to myself, flipping the bathroom light off on my way out.

The one thing I didn’t account for this morning, was the amount of traffic on the road. That was stupid on my part considering it was a Monday morning, but this bumper to bumper ride added an additional twenty minutes to my already far drive. By the time I made it to the studio, I was late.

“ So much for an early start .“ I sighed aloud as my feet carried me through the familiar entrance.

Just like before, there wasn’t anyone at the front desk. I was starting to think the whole office setup was just for show. My memory served me well, as I found Atlas’s studio room with ease. His was the only studio with its metal door cracked open, and I could hear voices carrying through to the corridor.

“What time was he supposed to get here?” A woman said.

“About fifteen minutes ago,” A man’s voice replied. I recognized it as Atlas immediately.

“Well, I’ll stay another few minutes just in case.”

“I think I can manage without you Nyra, it’s just a quick meeting,” Atlas replied. Nyra I guess her name was, just responded with a laugh. “Is there someone there?” Atlas added, throwing me off completely as it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. The person who was currently lurking behind the cracked door like a creep.

“I-” I started awkwardly, stepping in front of the open door to reveal myself. There was a woman standing besides Atlas, who was sitting in the same spot he was last week, molding clay. She was beautiful, I noticed that almost instantly. Her deeply tanned skin looked like it was glowing from the sun pouring through the large open ceiling to floor windows. When my eyes panned from hers to Atlas, I realized just how picture perfect they both looked.

Like they were in the middle of some pottery photoshoot or something. It made me respect my decision to work on my appearance, regardless of whether or not it made me late.

“It’s so creepy how you can do that,” Nyra whispered to Atlas. His lips tugged into a slight smirk. I watched as his hands delicately handled the clay, smoothing out the rougher parts with more water. Something about him working was fascinating, besides the obvious- like him being able to do all this without his sight. “You must be Errol,” Nyra continued, turning her attention back to me.

“Yes- I’m sorry, I’m a bit late.” I replied, offering one awkward embarrassed smile to Nyra.

“Believe me when I say… we weren’t holding our breath,” Atlas replied in the same uninterested tone he had last week.

And that was the start to what became one of the longest meetings of my life.

••

10.

Errol

“I really can-”

“I’ll be fine,” Atlas replied, cutting his friend off. Or at least I assumed they were friends by how freely they spoke with each other. And it seemed like quite the two way street.

I was still trying to get over his last comment about not holding his breath, I almost missed the intense yet brief back and forth Atlas suddenly got into with Nyra, before she eventually showed herself out. There was a comment she made privately to Atlas before she left, and I swear to god I thought I heard her calling me hot. Atlas’s reaction to that was pretty dismissive, as he kept telling her to go.

Of course that was a definite ego boost from someone as beautiful as Nyra, but Atlas’s almost aggrivating disinterest today ruined whatever confidence that could’ve given me. Dare I say, he almost looked repulsed by the sheer mention of me.

And the rest of our conversation wasn’t any easier.

“What did you want me to do?” Atlas asked, barely paying me any mind as I took a seat on one of the wooden chairs a few feet away from him. It was hard to pay attention to his words, and I couldn’t quite figure why at first. For starters, Atlas never once stopped working on his sculpture to speak to me and I quickly realized that probably wasn’t going to happen.

Then there was the issue of his wardrobe. His absolutely horrendous wardrobe.

It was as if the sun itself threw up on him. Yellow overalls stained with clay, yellow undershirt. Yellow fucking everything, and I couldn’t rip my eyes away from the fashion failure regardless of how hard I tried.

“Anything really,” I replied, dealing with the horrible struggle of just staring…

There was something about Atlas that specifically drew me in to his work. This time around I gave myself a little more time to get a good look at him, and not his choice of clothes.

His eyes were still the color of pale blue, but they hadn’t bothered to dart in my direction at all. I just had this feeling of dismissal, which I never accepted from anyone. Well I guess Hendrix was an exception, but she was the only one. “I want something somewhat special- something kinda specific to who she was,” I finished.

“I mean you’re her kid. I don’t think anyone could explain her better than you, honestly. You’ll have to give me some direction here.” Atlas replied, and I felt myself visibly cringe at his words.

Somehow someway, it felt like Atlas immediately picked up on my uncomfortable energy. I saw his legs shift, with his right foot still on the peddle for the wheel.

“I- uh-” words left my small brain almost immediately as I scrambled to describe what I meant. I couldn’t explain why I suddenly landed on the truth of all things. “I wasn’t the best kid. There was a lot I sorta tuned out, betting on the fact that I’d always have time to backtrack. To ask her questions I didn’t bother asking when I was younger. That was a mistake made on my part, I guess.”

I couldn’t help but watch Atlas intently, wondering what his reaction would be. There was just something about him, something that made me so outrageously self concious. Something that called for honesty yet tripped me up when I was being just that.

I thought back to a quote from From Dusk Till Dawn, when they spoke about your eyes being the window to your soul… When I looked at Atlas, I felt like there was a part of him I couldn’t get a read on. A part that may be judging (probably was), but I could never truly know unless he told me.

All Atlas did was shrug slightly, as he continued to work. Those hands were working the clay as delicate as possible which felt so contrasting to the energy I previously picked up from him.

“I think a relationship between a child and their parents can be a complicated one. There’s a level of closeness there that no one from the outside looking in, can really understand. And maybe that’s how it should be, yeah?” Atlas offered. “I personally believe she adored you, especially from how often she mentioned her family. If I’m being honest, sometimes I sorta tuned her out there too. It was motherhood, something I couldn’t really relate to.”

There was a sense of comfort that settled over me, like someone had just eleviated a bit of that heavy weight I’d been getting crushed by since the accident.

“What I can say, is… your mother was a rockstar. Truly someone who did more for me than asked of her, and tried to help me through a situation I felt like I needed to handle alone at the time. Life is a bit of a bitch that way though, knowing you’ve been putting things off till later just to find out you don’t get a later.”

I felt my fists clench at his words. Sending bits of pain through my nerves. If I could go back in time, I’d do so much differently.

“I-” I started, but stopped myself a moment. This conversation lasted less than ten minutes yet here I was already so off balance. Maybe it was my overall sesnitivty to hearing anything about my mother, and knowing just how far her help extended. I knew she was a kind person obviously, but I couldn’t really tell anyone the first thing about her group of friends or who she was when she went out.

She kept me in line for all my public affairs, working alongside Hendrix for a period of time. She was like my other manager. Now it felt like I was hearing about someone who gave birth to me, yet I’m still meeting again for the first time. “Thank you,” I settled on finally, shutting up my internal thoughts.

This was when I allowed myself to take in a bit more of Atlas. More of his appearance. More of his demeanor.

There was this relaxed nature to him that started to spread through his body as our conversation steered away from arguing, and it created more of a comfortable vibe overall. I couldn’t tell whether he could feel me staring, but something about his presence made me feel like he definitely knew… So I tried not to stare as intensely.

There was a few details with his features that I sort of missed the first time we met. Those incredibly light freckles that gave his face a darker tan, darker than his already sunkissed skin.

The golden hair that caught my attention, and would probably continue to catch my attention with its vibrancy. His hair was practically the color of a golden ray of sunlight, so much so that when the light hit his long almost shoulder length strands, I couldn’t tell the difference in hues.

His movements with his hands pulled my attention there. There was such care in the way he added water to the clay. Building upwards. I didn’t understand the first damn thing about ceramics but I knew he had skill, especially in regards to his intuition and knowing just how much pressure to apply. There was almost this feeling of inadequacy as I watched him work…

I felt like I hadn’t tried hard enough to get back to the thing I loved, which was playing.

Atlas offered me a small polite smile. “I know we didn’t get off on the best foot, and honestly we’re probably just fundamentally different, but if you ever have a question about your mother, I’ll answer what I can,” he spoke honestly.

It was also probably the first time he sent any glance in my direction. I knew he couldn’t catch my eye, but that gesture alone made me feel a little less iced out. Like he was finally regarding my existence during this meeting.

“She was a really special person to me, and I want you to get that, because there’s no one else on this planet I would take a commission for, besides her.” Atlas finished, as he returned to his project at hand. “ Don’t make me regret it .“ That last part came out as more of a mumble, I almost didn’t catch it. Almost.

It made me think of just how selfish I may have been with this request to begin with. I basically hunted the man down, then snapped on him when he didn’t want to deliver on my pretty oddball request. Honestly I felt even more irritated with myself.

“I didn’t mean to-” I started, but Atlas spoke at the same time.

“It’s a thoughtful request though.” He paused, and I remained silent to let him continue. “One I know she would’ve loved.”

My shoulders relaxed a bit at that, as I leant back into the chair. I almost smiled to myself at how solid Hendrix’s idea was sort of turning out to be. I was still pissed she threw me to the wolves without any prior information, but just a glance around this studio let me know the guy had worked pretty hard to disappear.

Like pretty damn hard. There were barley any studios in this building, and judging the the lack of front desk personnel, it felt very self governed. Felt like a pretty good hole to hide in.

“Then since you’re allowing me to do whatever, I’ll create a vase. One similar to the one Lia and I saw together at the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s a style I’ve tried once before, but it didn’t make it through the kiln that time.” Atlas explained, slowing the wheel down with his foot peddle as his hands gently cupped the base of his art. Those fingers were completely coated in clay, but his sculpture was smooth as can be, pretty incredibly so actually. He had created a perfect dome.

I wasn’t sure what exactly he was making, but my interest in it kept growing.

An so did my interest in this. Whatever this was.

••

Eyes Like The Sky Published Version: Chapter 1

ERROL

“It’s going to be okay…”

A voice whispered those words between the jarring white lights flashing aimlessly across my distorted vision. Everything was a hazy mess—black blotches shrinking, then expanding, like holes digging into fading images of what little I could see—and all I felt was excruciating, mind-numbing, damn-near paralyzing pain.

This first memory then resurfaced…

I was in a car with my mother, driving through the congested inner-city nightlife of Downtown Boston, towards home and away from my very last live performance of the year: the annual Dinner Party, Friday, May 18th, 2021. I remembered that vibrant, ear-to-ear grin my mother flashed at me from the passenger seat while she repositioned my glass award and fresh flowers in her lap, taking care not to damage either.

The flowers were a beautiful bouquet of bright red roses, reflecting in the crystal accolade as she turned them—an illusion of burning rubies enclosed in ice the second the streetlights’ warm glow hit the prisms just right. It drew my attention there for only a moment, enthralled by the delicate nature of her hands. And as we passed through the final intersection, a block away from our last turn, my gaze lifted to my mother’s. A smile formed on my own lips, willing to meet the warmth of hers—

But in a crippling instant, there was only white.

Headlights flooded the vehicle, piercing through its dark-tinted windows. My mother’s smile—her head turned towards me—had frozen in time, the last image I would see before the deafening impact. Then the glass windows shattered, shards bursting into the confined space like daggers, and that blinding white light snapped pitch-black.

The next memory brought me forward…

I recalled my eyelids barely opening. Flickering fluorescent rectangles passed quickly overhead as I was tunneled through an all-white corridor. There were people I didn’t recognize surrounding whatever I was being wheeled in on, their voices telling me all sorts of things… Yet the only words that registered amidst the devastating chaos—the muffled cries from those around me—were words I knew to be a lie.

“It’s going to be okay…”

“It’s going to be okay…”

Those words echoed like a drifting sound from a voice I at first couldn’t identify, no different from the wails filtering through my ringing ears. But as the voice grew louder, drowning out the others, it fed me more lies.

And I soon realized it was my father’s…

The sharp sound of my bedside alarm woke me in the present, forcing me upright so quickly that I stirred the unsuspecting person lying on my left.

“What is it?” a woman’s voice mumbled, doused in weighted exhaustion.

I ignored her at first, reaching over to shut the piercing thing off as shaky fingers fumbled with the buttons. Then I sat up more, leaned back against the leather tufted headboard, and silently counted down from ten.

My skin was a wet, clammy mess. Droplets of sweat dripped past the black stray hairs partially stuck to my forehead before falling against my bare chest. The sheets were soaked beneath my trembling limbs, molding the smooth silk—now drenched with sweat—to everything they touched, including the briefs I still wore. They were the only bit of clothing I had left on, alluding to a night I couldn’t remember.

Barely any light shone through the stained-glass windows just above the headboard, coloring the dark room a cool blue, but I could still make out the silhouette of the woman in bed with me. I didn’t remember what led to this; it was all a foggy, patched-together dream filled with too much liquor and not enough water. Judging by the massive headache breaking through the surface of my returning normality—and the mysterious woman who had absolutely overstayed her welcome—I knew I’d overdone it on the drinks.

By a lot.

I felt the woman’s hand rest gently against the damp skin of my left forearm, making me flinch at the sudden contact before recoiling altogether. My body jerked harder than I meant it to, and the stranger pulled away with the clearest discomfort written all over her face.

I may have wanted company last night, but I sure as hell didn’t want it this morning.

“I’m sorry to rush you like this,” I whispered through the dim, eerie lighting instead. The room temperature was set low, but that never mattered. Sweat still formed, and my voice sounded just about as rough as I felt. “I need to get ready. For the day and shit.”

The minimal light revealed some of her distinct features, such as the bright, untamed auburn curls resembling a bird’s nest atop her head as she sat up beside me. I didn’t have any expectations for how someone looked after a wild night of drinking and sex, but this particularly tangled mess was definitely a new one.

What was her name again?

The pounding against my temples stunted all the thinking I was attempting at seven in the goddamn morning, rendering my mind completely useless. At least that was what my bedside clock claimed the time was. A reminder that the night had gone far past last call and I’d pay for it soon if Henny was as punctual as she always was.

“Right, yeah, I get it!” the woman replied in a rush, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation as she got up and started gathering her scattered clothes.

I questioned how I must’ve acted with her last night. Drunk me had apparently done a complete one-eighty from the person sober me was now. If I’d had the energy to apologize better, I would’ve at least given it some thought, but neither of us needed to read further into this than what it was.

A drunk night filled with terrible decisions.

A sober morning plagued by countless regrets.

Nothing else.

It took a minute to peel the silk sheets away from my skin, get out of bed, and stumble through the darker parts of my bedroom, tripping over discarded clothes and unpacked boxes, but I eventually found the open door and then the light switch. Those fluorescent bulbs wasted little time wreaking havoc on my sensitive eyes as soon as they flickered on, practically daring me to enter.

What I needed was a glimpse of myself. To assess the damage from the night before, regardless of whether I was ready for the questions my current state would ask.

Sober me loved trying to hold drunk me accountable, but the attempt was futile, made moments too late. He’d already packed his shit and left.

The reflection staring back was now fully visible in the large bathroom mirror, along with a clear view of the bedroom through the open door behind me. My body was smeared with lipstick and hickeys across otherwise pale skin, instantly sparking more irritation, but I tried to keep my anger in check. Lipstick was a hassle to scrub off, and nothing worked my nerves more than someone leaving marks on me like this.

Then the woman and I made brief eye contact through the bathroom mirror while she pulled up the sparkly green dress—the one I had supposedly talked her out of the night before—yanking it over her naked body.

I wasn’t sure whether she caught a glimpse of the repugnance shining through the cracks in my irritation, but she ripped her gaze away seconds later and seemed to start dressing even faster.

I can’t blame her for staying , one part of me reminded the rougher parts, though I desperately wanted to. Waking up next to anyone instantly fucked with the flow, especially after that unexpected dream… memory .

I hadn’t had that nightmare in a while.

Still, it wasn’t her fault.

I splashed my face with warm water and tried smudging off some of the lipstick that had practically stained my lips red. It looked less like I’d made out with a woman all night and more like I’d been mauled at the mouth by a bear.

A chilling thought entered my mind.

Would I have preferred that over this?

“I—um, I’m sorry about that. It’s a waterproof brand,” the woman attempted to explain from the bedroom.

Great. Fucking great.

I scrubbed harder instead, adding a few pumps of hand soap onto my fingertips to help.

“Did you maybe want to grab—” I heard the same voice ask, but I cut her off instantly.

“No.” I reached for a folded hand towel beside the sink and started dabbing my swollen lips with it.

“But you didn’t even know what—”

“There’s nothing you could offer me that I would want.” I turned to face her this time, hoping the message was finally clear enough. “No offense.”

That last bit got tacked on as if it could soften the immediate rejection, but I knew it wouldn’t do much. Probably anything.

She was now fully dressed in the same sequin clubbing dress I vaguely remembered from the night before. It really was a charming emerald green that complemented her red hair, and I guess I had to give drunk me some credit for good taste, even while completely shitfaced.

Pure poetry.

Her slim figure was sexy. Her larger breasts pushed against the tight material, testing its limits. Yet it also looked a bit uncomfortable, but fuck if I knew. I didn’t have a rack of my own to credit my assumptions.

The woman must’ve finally got a good look at her reflection through the bathroom mirror because her fingers rushed into her knotted, matted curls in a desperate attempt to detangle them. Those fingers of hers definitely weren’t going to cut it. Just wishful thinking on her end.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, eyes darting to my reflection as her eyebrows tightened in concern.

You stayed , I thought to myself.

“I had a good time,” I lied instead, knowing there wasn’t a single piece of my mind that remembered what we did, or who she was. I still didn’t know her name. “I’m just not looking for anything.”

“But last night was—”

“There are some snacks on the counter in the kitchen that you can help yourself to. The lobby attendant will make sure to order you a ride wherever you want to go. Just tell him it’s the penthouse floor, and I’ll take care of the bill.”

Those were the last words I said before reaching back and closing the door to the bathroom, separating us.

Showering felt like being wrapped in a warm hug… by the burning strength of a thousand suns.

No amount of scrubbing would get the hickeys off my neck, chest, and abdomen, but I still gave it a go, armed with a soap-lathered washcloth. Once I emerged, stepping past clouds of steam, my pale skin was left red—irritation caused by my desperate yet failed attempts. And when I eventually stumbled out of the bathroom and into what should’ve been an empty space, I was pretty disappointed to find out it wasn’t all that empty.

“Who was she?” Hendrix asked, startling the complete shit out of me.

Luckily for her, I had wrapped a towel loosely around my waist post-shower; otherwise, my manager would’ve had the show of a lifetime this morning. “And why do you look like shit?”

“Well, hello to you, too.” I gave her a half-assed smile as she sat on the very edge of my bed, her legs crossed tight, then I started to rummage through my closet for something to wear. “She’s no one important, I just overdid it on the drinking.”

“ Jesus , Errol. What is this, like your fourth night out this week?“ Hendrix asked in pure disbelief. Or perhaps it was just blatant disappointment. Probably a mixture of both. “Have you even touched the work I sent you?”

I let the towel drop to the carpeted floor, exposing my bare ass to my manager. She looked away with a scoff, already used to my less-than-appropriate antics. They were all in an effort to distract her from her sickening, responsible nature.

“In my defense,” I said as I pulled some briefs on next, “I didn’t get too drunk the other three nights. Just last night.” Hendrix kept her eyes glued on the wall adjacent to us, but I could feel the eye roll she must’ve given me.

“This isn’t a joke, you shithead; you should’ve had something composed by now. What am I going to tell The Company?”

Ah. It was a question nearly as old as time itself. Just after the Big Bang.

What came first: the chicken or the egg?

What am I going to tell The Company?

Hendrix asked it so often, sometimes I wondered if there was a glitch in the matrix, with a portion of herself stuck on repeat. If this were really a simulation, someone needed to check for faulty wiring. Her repetition was the only reason I refused to believe in Last Thursdayism—my brain couldn’t compute that anyone would waste time implanting such redundancy.

“Tell them the same thing you always tell them,” I shrugged, pulling a pair of trousers from a pile of discarded clothes.

My room was a hot mess, with everything scattered everywhere, but this was how it always got during my larger projects. Or at least that’s what I’d been telling myself for the last year to avoid doing a damn thing about it.

“If I keep telling them the same bullshit I always tell them, you’re going to be cut out completely. You know this, Errol. You’re too intelligent to be saying such stupid, stupid shit.”

I turned around with a narrowing gaze at my well-dressed manager, but she was already preoccupied with something else. A black lace bra lying on my floor that the woman I had brought over last night must’ve accidentally left.

Or maybe it was from the girl the night before last; it didn’t look like the redhead’s cup size.

“I’m going to get you a weekly cleaner. This is just… disgusting, Errol. I need you to start taking better care of yourself.” That more hardened glare I was going to give to her softened just a bit at those words. Though Hendrix was a complete ass at times, she had pushed for an extension just a few months ago, in good faith, expecting that I’d turn up with something.

Anything .

And so far… I had nothing.

“This one’s been hard,” I replied a bit more honestly. Perhaps more defensively in my manager’s eyes.

“No,” Hendrix shook her head. “This project is no different from the last. The only thing that’s changed is you. You’re being much harder on yourself than you used to be. Especially before—”

Hendrix caught herself with that last line, but I already knew what she meant. What she was going to say if she allowed herself to continue. Then there was a long pause before either of us spoke again, both our eyes breaking our locked gaze to focus on anything other than each other.

It always got this way between us whenever the crash was inevitably brought up, and time had done nothing to make it easier.

“It’s just not perfect anymore,” I sighed, breaking the silence first as I turned and yanked a clean, white button-down shirt off one of the closet hangers. I wasn’t sure what I was getting dressed for, besides sitting at that piano bench for hours, doing absolutely nothing. I could realistically do that naked.

“It was never perfect. Nothing can be , Errol,” Hendrix wagered more gently, but I shook my head no as I turned back to her again. The love I devoted to this woman would never waver, yet she was still my manager above all else. Music wasn’t something she could fully understand. It didn’t do for her what it did for me—

What it once did, anyway.

“I once was,” was all I said in return. Then I finished getting dressed.

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