Chapter 6
[Taxi]
“That looks beautiful, Kendra.” I compliment the budding artist’s delicate work as she adds additional flowers to the mural on the community center’s exterior.
Passion flowers are Tennessee’s official wildflower, and the intricate design adds a burst of exotic to the complex image that combines the familiar faces and symbolic images that represent this community.
The flowers are often muted lavender with white accents, but sometimes white with blue striping.
And that blue reminds me of the color of a certain someone’s eyes that I should have forgotten by now.
The star-like flower feels appropriately named as I tell myself that night was only one of false passion. Not the deeper sensation my rose-colored glasses believed I was experiencing.
Yet. Deep inside, something still tells me I’m wrong.
As much as I thought Samson-slash-Superman-slash-whoever-he-was did me wrong, I somehow feel like I’m the one not right. Not confident about what I saw when I saw him the next morning, eating breakfast in the hotel lobby.
“Like this?” Maxim asks, wanting me to assess his technique.
The one I didn’t try to correct, but made a suggestion about.
If he held the brush differently, the hand cramps he has complained about might dissipate.
Then again, I didn’t want to fix what wasn’t broken yet.
An artist has their own unique interpretation of a work and how to create it.
“That’s amazing, Max.” I offer the shy young man a patient smile. He reminds me in some ways of my nephew. A smart but timid boy blossoming into a precocious and mindful one.
My thoughts leap back to another person I considered thoughtful and kind. Gentlemanly as he walked me to my hotel door and kissed me like he’d been waiting for me his whole life.
Then again, that was only me projecting once again on a man.
The idea scares me.
I’m restless by nature, although some might argue it was nurture. Mama and her adventures, which weren’t anything other than running after the unattainable.
That restlessness inside me feels somehow inherent, and it’s caused me to fear chasing any man.
I’ve seen the disappointment it can lead to, just like I’m currently disappointed in Mr. Tall, Silver, and Sexy, a man I can’t stop thinking about every time I walk down the hotel hallway and stop in front of my door.
Because that’s where he kissed me senseless.
I sigh, and watch my current charges work their magic, filling in the mural I sketched out in grand form for them to color.
Jungle greens. Rich browns. Deep blue. Sunshine yellow.
The image is alive.
While I’m silently dying inside. Okay, dramatic much, Taxi?
However, my displeasure feels like grief. A loss of something I didn’t have in the first place, but felt the trust slowly opening the door of my heart.
I mean, I told him about Mama.
And as much as I’m always on the move, I want to stop. I want to be grounded somewhere, where someone is waiting for me. Wanting me to stay put.
One reason I immerse myself in various communities is because I’m secretly searching, hoping, seeking that sense of permanent connection that can keep me planted.
Yet nothing scares me more than setting down roots, only to be left behind.
The thought brings me back to my aunt. Living with her was a moment of stability, and yet I never felt like I belonged there.
Not because of anything she did, or my uncle did, but just a feeling I’d conjured.
Like I shouldn’t get too comfortable because I didn’t deserve to be there, living with them. Not after what happened.
That sensation drove me away from the only home I’d ever known, prompting decades of wanderlust.
In my forties, I have a new perspective. I’ve been running my entire life out of fear, and if I leave first, I can’t get hurt. So, I seek belonging and stability, but uproot myself before anyone can ask me to stay.
Because I’m afraid no one will ever ask.
Silly, really, to still harbor such feelings. I make my own destiny, and if my destiny is wherever I go next, I should plant those roots. I should invest in people and forge relationships. But something always whispers that I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
Because I want someone to be looking for me.
I’m holding that seat, still waiting on the right man to take it.
And I thought he had. At least for a few hours, I started to believe.
“Miss . . . Taxi,” Kai corrects himself, holding out a bucket filled with the bright green paint intended for the tree leaves he’s about to decorate.
The community organizer wants the kids to address me as Miss Alexander, but I told them I prefer Taxi. I appreciate teaching them respect for elders, but I’m not that old. Not yet. I might be the master here, but I see the artistic ability in each and every student ready to surpass me.
Their talent is refreshing. Art was such a godsend for me. Art is where I found grounding and a release for energy and emotions I couldn’t describe or confine.
And Aunt Trudy always supported my dreams.
At one point, I even believed the elusive thing I was chasing was a dream. Then I realized I’m living that dream. I travel. I paint. I meet interesting people. What a grand life.
But I want that one person. The right person. For me.
I nod my approval at Kai’s selection, before calling out to another student. “Looks good, Ariel.” The young woman looks like the mermaid princess who is her namesake. She gives me thumbs up as best she can with a paint brush in hand.
They are such a great bunch of young adults. Their futures lie ahead of them. Their hearts open to possibilities. Their minds sharp. Their creativity endless.
I remember that energy.
Out to save the world, I’d told myself then. Have real adventures, not the false ones Mama called our aimlessness.
But now, I just want to save me.