Perfect From Now On - SCP Foundation

I remember when I first met you. After weeks of listening to her ramble about this group of artists that she had fallen in with, I finally worked up the courage to ask her to introduce me. I remember the indistinct chatter that filled my ears as she opened the door, the smell of weed and cigarettes in the musty backroom air, the warm smiles that you gave me as you took turns introducing yourselves, the way that she wound strands of her caramel hair around her fingers as she watched us from the doorway. You barely knew anything about me, and you made me feel more welcome than anyone I had ever met. You made me feel like I had finally found my people.

The sun sinks into the horizon as I step onto my front porch, the weight of my backpack causing my shoulders to sag. I stand a little straighter, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I try to take a moment to appreciate the thumping of basketballs on pavement and the distant barking of somebody's dog. The wooden porch warms my feet, and the July breeze cools my forehead. I say goodbye to both sensations in my head.

I remember the first piece you showed me, one of those photos of lawn grass from the sophomore obsessed with James Benning. I brushed the surface with my finger, and I could hear leaf blowers whirring, tree branches rustling, children laughing and hollering, water trickling into grate drains, old asphalt crunching under the weight of tires and sneakers, soccer balls hitting the backs of nets, mourning doves cooing. I remember how energized it made me feel. Right away, I began thinking about all of the things that I could make if I could do that stuff as well as you. My mind filled with ideas for photos that you could step into, paintings that could transport you to other worlds, movies that could envelop you. I couldn't wait to get started.

As I walk onto the lawn and feel the grass between my toes, I look across the street. I see the neighbor walking across his yard, cell phone in hand, as his eight-year-old son stands in red swim trunks at the top of a purple and orange inflatable water slide. The neighbor holds up the phone and flashes the son a thumbs-up. The son belly flops onto the slide and careens to the bottom, the neighbor cheering as he splashes into the pool of garden hose water at the base. I make my way to the sidewalk and turn away from the sun.

I remember the face she made when I told her about all the ideas in my head, that look of loving condescension. She shook her head and told me to hang back for a while and see what you were all about before jumping in. I didn't listen, of course. How could I? Every waking moment, my head threatened to burst from all of the ideas clattering around inside it. I remember the piece that I threw together in my bedroom that night. As I was putting the finishing touches on it, a globe that played music from each country as you touched them with your fingers, I imagined your reactions to it. I imagined you loving it, talking about how such a great piece came from someone so new. I imagined you accepting me into the fold, not just as a friend or admirer, but as an equal.

A plane passes silently overhead. As I walk by cars parked in the street gutter and speed limit signs jutting out of the grass, the sun bears down on the exposed back of my neck. In a driveway to my right, I overhear two men talking about how, with all of the nice days in a row that we've had recently, a big storm will surely come soon. They fret over flooded basements and waterlogged keepsakes. I think about water trickling, blue and gray pebbles settling on the floor, yellow-orange fish weaving between tall green plants and staring at passersby through thick glass, fingernails gently tapping on the panes, distant and ignorable voices complaining that touching the glass hurts the fish.

I remember the way you tried to let me down gently, those half-smiles making me think of kindergarten teachers trying to feign amazement at a five-year-old's crayon drawing, her shaking her head as she watched me ignore her advice. I tried to hide that I saw through the charade, but you must have known. I spent the rest of the meeting struggling to keep the acid in my throat down. I remember the last piece shared that day, the first of hers that I saw. She had painted this gorgeous seafloor landscape. It teemed with all sorts of fish, crabs, and corals, but the lobsters stuck out to me the most. Even in the dingy backroom light, they gleamed like blazing rubies. They seemed like they could crawl right off the canvas. As I walked home that night, I thought I saw them burning among the stars.

The streetlights begin to flicker on as I draw closer to the old school building. Clouds roll in, and the stars do not show themselves when I look up at the sky. I imagine the journey the water has taken to get here. It has flowed up through the air from lakes and plant leaves, condensed into clouds in a place where only planes and hot air balloons dare to tread, and floated over glowing skyscrapers and silent wheat fields to arrive here and loom over me on this cool summer night. The chain link fence that separates the old school grounds from the rest of the world appears beside me, and I run my fingers along it for a moment. I hope it rains.

I remember the months of failure that followed those first weeks. I tried all sorts of things, mostly photos like the one you showed me at the beginning, but nothing worked. You never wanted to put me down, but I could see the choked-down criticisms in your evasive eyes, your half-hearted smiles, your urgency in moving on to the next person's piece. My throat felt like a furnace every time I sat through it, but I persisted. I needed you to recognize me as more than just a nice person to be around. I remember when one of you told me that I shouldn't think of you as some sort of council to gain the approval of, that I should really step away for a month or so and take a breather. How could I do that? I knew that if I couldn't prove myself in the way that I wanted, it would burn a hole in the back of my skull. I had to persist.

A thudding noise turns me around. I find that one of you, a younger guy who always drank a little more than the rest of us at the old meetings, has knocked over a brown trash bin left on the curb. I make out a couple of dusty sketchbooks and a handful of broken colored pencils among the rubbish spilled onto the street. As I struggle to remember his name, he stumbles past me and into the infinite expanse of evening suburb beyond the old school grounds. I chuckle at the scene. I wonder if he still goes to your meetings at whatever new place you've found, if you even have meetings anymore. I haven't really known you in a while. Whatever upscale coffee shops and studio apartments you now inhabit, you'll know me again soon enough.

I remember the night when I resolved to use her paintings, which seemed to tower over everything else we did, as my inspiration. I figured that using the best artist I knew as my muse would make me a better artist, or at least make you like my pieces more. It didn't work. I came in with my new drawings and paintings, always of those lobsters burned into my brain, and you treated them the same as the old ones. I just kept getting worse, and I think you must have noticed. I remember when they announced the old building's closure, and the group fractured over where to go next. I felt a kind of relief. That way, I at least had an excuse to stop subjecting myself to you.

I check to make sure that nobody lingers outside their houses, sling my backpack over the fence, and hurtle over it myself. As I land on the old parking lot, little pieces of asphalt dig into the undersides of my feet. I scoop up my backpack and begin making my way to the center of the lot. My feet ache from the rough terrain, but I know that the pain will not bother me for much longer. I arrive at the center of the lot, take a moment to look at the skeleton of my masterpiece, plop my backpack down, and begin taking out the last of the necessary supplies. Tonight, all that hurt comes to an end. Tonight, I create the piece that makes the trees bow before my feet, that makes the mountains turn green with envy, that makes the sea shudder with delight, that makes the stars rearrange themselves to spell out my name, that makes you take me in as one of your own. Tonight, I become perfect.

I can't wait to get started.