3
Evan
On the dingy bus back to Ann Arbor at 11pm that night, I praised Bernice. Though even with the extra money she’d given me, I was still fifty bucks short for the rent due Wednesday.
Jake was gonna kill me…
As the bus curled around the highway entrance ramp and picked up speed, I pulled out my phone and began researching. There had to be a way to come up with that fifty dollar difference before Wednesday when I had to pony up my portion.
With a fierce determination, I Google searched “Student gigs at the University of Michigan.” The first result was a page of job listings for the art school.
Art school? I didn’t even know we had an art school…
Curious, I clicked the link. It brought me to a sleek, well-designed page with a list of student gigs.
Photography assistant, Tuesday, fifty bucks. That could be interesting… but I didn’t have any camera experience. Another one was trying to recruit a letterer, whatever that was… and then my eyes were pulled in by an image of someone that looked familiar on the sidebar.
He was a good-looking guy for sure, with a chiseled jawline, a well-trimmed beard, and thick, fashionable glasses. For whatever reason, even while he was beaming in the photo, something about him looked so serious.
The photo was nested in the school blog, populated with stories from… it looked like current art students. Then it struck me like lightning where I’d seen that face before — that was the same man that was staring at me from the bar!
The article was entitled, “Making it as an Artist — My Passion.”
Intrigued to find out more about this stranger, I clicked.
Why did I choose art? It’s vastly more accurate to say that art chose me.
A few years ago when I was enjoying the overnight success of my small business, I went on a short vacation to the French Alps.
Once I was humbled beneath the vast heavens and stark wilderness, I was pressed with an urge to meditate. When I sat down, closed my eyes, and began to control my breathing, It took almost no time at all to feel like I was one with the mighty mountains and the magic of the night.
Then a great green light flickered and illuminated the insides of my eyelids. I opened my eyes, jolted out of my deep meditation to see a massive meteor streaking through the sky as it burned up in the atmosphere. It dawned on me that the universe was trying to send me a sign:
Just like that meteor, I was burning out.
There was something I was supposed to do in this life; some assignment to complete, and I had strayed from my path. Then it dropped into my head. I heard a voice, not my own stream of consciousness, but something else entirely. Something ancient and powerful.
The voice said, “You were meant to be an artist.”
And when that happened, I felt that deep knowledge penetrate me down to my very bones. The truth of it vibrated throughout my being, shaking me to my very core.
The very next day when I was back at the base camp, I began the paperwork to enroll in the University of Michigan Penny Stamps School of Art & Design. Why here? I’d heard from a colleague that this school in particular doesn’t force you down any certain path, and leaves you free to let your soul point the way.
From my recent epiphany, that’s exactly what I needed. I was burdened with this need to express myself to others. It was my mission— no, my duty to bring this new vision to everyone I met.
As soon as I arrived home in New York, I sold my business and submitted my art portfolio to the University of Michigan.
After I was accepted and walked in those the doors for the first time, I felt an overwhelming sense of being at home. I was finally back on my path, where I needed to be. All was right in the world and everything felt in synch.”
Disgusted, I closed the article.
People at this school could be so pompous. When I started at this university, I got the feeling that most of the students came from rich backgrounds and were born with silver spoons in their mouths. But this was… this was something else.
Guys like this Sam Belle didn’t know how fucking easy they had it.
All he had to focus on was school; he didn’t have to think about a job, or performing for a team, or looming student loans, or any kind of normal responsibilities.
Boo-hoo, he had to struggle with burnout one time. Whatever, he could let that become the cornerstone of his personality if he wanted…
The bus screeched to a halt and gravity pushed me forward, easing me out of my frustrated reverie and my poisonous envy of this stranger’s free time.
Hopping off the bus, I walked in the door of our dingy basement apartment, and was greeted by my roommate Jake playing video games on the couch.
“Hey man, how was work?” He asked without looking up.
“Not good.” I admitted, sinking into my usual seat on the couch next to him.
From my pocket I pulled out all of the money I’d made during my shift, plus the extra cash from Bernice. The wad flopped out and unfolded pathetically on the coffee table like a wilted flower.
Jake paused his game, his eyes flicking around the pile of money, taking a quick assessment of how much was there.
“You’re short,” He realized, his voice impossible to read.
An awkward silence hung in the air. I didn’t know what to say.
Thankfully, Jake turned to me with an empathetic look and said, “I thought I was going to be short this month too—I barely made it. I wish I could help you out man, but I’m struggling too.”
I looked down at my pathetic pile of cash, trying to think quickly. Before I could say anything, Jake spoke.
“You know man, there’ve been a few times I’ve been about that much short. There’s always something I do to make dough real quick.” He said. “You gotta promise not to tell anyone though, okay?”
I nodded, my eyebrows coming together in curiosity.
“Okay. Well, get this. The art school. Right?”
“Yeah?” I replied, thinking of the list of gigs I’d seen earlier.
A mischievous grin spread across his face.
“They like, sometimes want nude models,” he muttered.
“Oh no. Oh no…” I said, shaking my head. There was no way I was going to do that. I wouldn’t subject myself to that kind of…
“No no man, you’ve got it all wrong! It’s really not that bad. All you have to do is stand naked in the middle of a room in front of a bunch of girls for three hours and they give you sixty bucks!”
I paused, giving a moment for this to sink in.
“You’ve done this before?”
“Yeah man, it’s actually kinda fun. You get to see all these cute girls ogling your junk!”
I stared at him, deadpan.
He threw his arms up defensively, “It’s not for everyone, I’m just saying that that’s my go-to gig to make some money quick. But then again, I don’t give a shit if people see me naked.”
That was true. Jake walked around naked every chance he got. There was always a 50/50 chance if I turned around at any point that I would see him wandering around our apartment with his dick flopping out.
I was sure that if there weren’t laws against it, Jake would choose to be naked all the time.
That night when I peeled my clothes off before the shower jumped in the shower, I took a moment to survey myself in the mirror.
I was in the best shape of my life.
I had a swimmer’s build now, with abs rippling out of my chest. My body was smooth and nimble; lanky yet muscular.
Back when I was in high school, I could only dream of looking like this. I still hadn’t grown out of the fat kid mindset and still felt insecure most of the time.
Maybe this nude modeling gig would get me more comfortable with my new body. Maybe it would help me become more confident.
Maybe maybe maybe. The one thing it would do without fail was give me the money I needed in order to pay this month’s rent.
Biting my lip, I slowly let out a breath.
What did I have to lose?