I know what I have to do.

The sun’s just breaking over the horizon, and I know I’ve barely slept all night, but I’m full of energy, not tired at all. I had to force myself to stay in bed this long even.

I look at the canvas in front of me, the image already clear in my mind. It’s not the biggest canvas that I’ve got, but that’s what I want. I want the people who see this picture to have to step in closer in order to see the details and to see what I now know.

I blame myself, really. For so long I was caught up in the outer appearances only. Me, the artist who’s prided herself on trying to find the beauty that hides beneath the surface… and I was caught up in Dan’s outer appearances only.

All I could see was the muscles, the piercing eyes, the tortured outer shell that he wrapped around himself. Since leaving Chicago I wonder if he’s even seen the truth inside, or if that outer shell’s gotten too thick. Well, if it is, I’m going to do my damndest to shatter it.

For a few moments there, I thought about trying to paint this for the haters, to show them what they don’t see about Dan. But then I realized that I don’t care if anyone else sees this picture. This painting is for one person and one person only, and as my charcoal touches the canvas for the first time, I feel it.

It’s happened so rarely, these times when things have ‘clicked’ seamlessly. While I paint faster than some, and I don’t agonize over hyperminutae like some artists do, I still have to work at my pieces usually. Not this time though, the pencil flies over the canvas as I sketch out what I want to do.

I’m halfway through my sketching when I realize that my first painting of Dan… that was my rough draft. It was my first attempt to paint what I’m trying to show now, but it wasn’t my lack of skill that held me back. No, that picture was never quite right because I didn’t have the full vision in my head. I didn’t know everything about Dan, about how I feel, about how he makes me feel and the kind of man he is.

I pause at ten thirty to quickly scoop some peanut butter out of the jar with a piece of celery before plunging headfirst back into the work, my only pauses happening to get a drink of water from time to time. I forego my standard oils for acrylics, not wanting to waste this energy I have flowing through me because of slow drying times. And I’m so focused with this one image that I can’t canvas hop, there isn’t enough space to complete everything I want to complete without zones overlapping.

No, not this time. I need to paint this straight through. My heart and soul’s consumed with this image I want to make of Dan. It has to be more realistic, but at the same time show the inherent goodness and heroism that he has. I want the people who see this picture to understand that his scars aren’t marks of shame, but are his medals, his badges of honor. I want people, no, I want Dan to see how he looks in my eyes.

I move around the canvas, using my acrylics and their drying times to work feverishly. The sun crests and warms the house, and I open the windows to not only get the fumes out but to also help my paint dry faster. I don’t give a shit about wasting colors on my palette, as long as they’re getting to the picture in front of me.

The afternoon keeps going, and finally I stop, my bladder screaming at me. As I’m only my way back from the bathroom I hear my phone ring, and I look to see that it’s Willow. “Hey Willow.”

“Girl, you sound like you’ve been doing hard labor!” Willow says as a greeting. “What the hell have you gotten yourself up to?”

“I just couldn’t sleep, and I’ve been busting my ass to get this painting done,” I explain, looking over my canvas. I want to get a bit more red on the right side, and I don’t quite have the right look to Dan’s eyes, I need to add a few darker highlights to the corneas themselves. “It’s… it’s for Dan.”

Willow hums. “So I guess you decided against the lipstick heart on the butt?”

I laugh, wiping at my forehead. “Yeah, something like that. What I learned about him in Chicago, it’s just not fair, Willow. Stupid media and politics fucked with his head, and now it’s my job to show him.”

“Show him what?”

“That he’s fucking amazing. That he’s… I don’t have the words, Willow. I’m an artist, not a poet. I have my paint and my brushes and my heart and my soul. I just hope it’s enough.” I wipe at my face, realizing I’m crying again, and I don’t care. I also don’t care that I just streaked some blue down my cheeks, I probably look like an insane Scotsman or something right now.

“You know where you need to tap into to make it enough,” Willow says, then chuckles. “You know, I’m kinda jealous?”

“Why’s that?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“Because you’ve found someone who’s touched you there. I sure as hell haven’t. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to kicking ass. Call me when you’re done. Love you.”

I blink, fresh tears rolling down my face. “Love you too, Willow. Thank you.”

I hang up, and get back to work The sun starts to go down and I pause to flip on all the lights inside the house. It’s hot, but I keep working, getting the big parts down before worrying the little details. Time has no meaning as I work, rubbing the cramps out of my fingers from time to time until I get it just right. Finally, I’m done, and I step back.

It’s the best piece I’ve ever done. Three feet tall, two feet wide, it captures everything about Dan in a way that makes every flaw in his outer shell pale in comparison to the beautiful heroism inside him.

My eyes cross, and I realize that other than the peanut butter, I haven’t eaten all day. I’m going on an hour of sleep over the past thirty six hours, and my clothes are grimy, covered in paint and soaked in sweat. My fingers are trembling, and I look at my brushes, sitting in jars of water. I know I should take the time to clean them up more. I should get the dish soap and scrub them down right before reshaping them, but I’m just too exhausted. Instead I collapse onto my couch and roll over, looking at the ceiling as my back screams for a moment before loosening and my body starts to shut down..

“I hope you get back before I lose the guts to show you this,” I murmur as my eyes close, and sleep begins to overtake me. I’m filthy, but it’s raining outside, and at least there’s a nice breeze blowing through the windows. It’ll help keep me cool.