Jennifer's Requiem

“I have to be honest with you, Jen, I don’t love it.”

My manager, Kim Davies, doesn’t love my final painting for the upcoming Millhouse exhibition.

I hang my head like a child, and Kim chuckles, putting a warm hand on my shoulder as she tilts her head, still looking at the massive canvas propped against the wall.

“Wait, wait…” Kim taps her chin, “Nope. Still don’t love it.” Her hand slides from my shoulder as her heels click to walk around the studio, which she rents for me. “This painting doesn’t match all the others. What gives?”

I sigh, pulling my head to crack my neck. I know she’s right. I look around at the other paintings that portray wildlife in the city: two birds amidst endless, crisscrossing power lines, a mother raccoon hugging her pups in an overflowing trash can, a duck floating dead in a oil-filled fountain.

The final painting is a single focus: a tall man in black with a pale, white face, holding a blue bouquet of roses. He’s surrounded by a blur of people coming and going on the sidewalk. It’s weird, and a little boring.

“I wanted to paint a person, for once,” I shrug, trying to offer an answer. I didn’t know why this strange man came out of my paintbrush.

“Well,” Kim claps her manicured hands together. “You still have twenty days before the show. I’d really love it if you could paint one more, something less…that.” She gestures to the painting before pulling out her phone. “The same size and everything. I’ll have it delivered right now. You could start tonight.”

“Kim, I have a funeral to go to today.”

“Oh, shit,” Kim looks at me wide-eyed behind her rimless rectangle glasses. “I’m so sorry.” She walks over to me and hugs me. She smells like sugary coffee. “Take a day, then. You’ve been working hard, I know that.” She pulls away, and I look at the permanent creases between her eyebrows, the “elevens” as my mother used to call them.

“Thanks, I will.” I nod, attempting to smile at her. “Is it bad that I’m more sad about you not liking the painting than the death of my great-aunt?” I titter.

“Yes, that’s very bad.” Kim laughs, then gives me another tight hug before going back to her phone. “Text me when the canvas gets here.”

Great-aunt June. I never knew her, and yet my father insisted I come to the funeral. Fortunately, I didn’t have to think hard about what to wear, as black is most of my wardrobe. The California sun shone brightly despite the general gloom, so we all stood around looking like vampires under umbrellas, expecting it to rain. After the service, I stood off to the side to avoid the morose chitchat and reminiscing.

But I am reminiscing.

I’m 21 again, standing before my brother’s grave. His casket was a light brown, glossy, and totally unlike him. It had gold handlebars on it. Dad bought white lilies. Did he even know his son?

That day, my casual smoking habit turned into an addiction. Justin had been the better twin, the better child. I always liked to copy him. Dying didn’t seem that hard, and so I intended to copy him one last time that very night. Then, Kim had approached me at the funeral.

I light a cigarette and stare out at the poignant blue sky above the cemetery, contrasting against the uniform green lawn. The birds above likely look down at our gathering like an ugly black smudge. I could paint this for the show.

“Those things are bad for you, you know.”

My head snaps to the left. Justin is standing beside me.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Says Justin. Wait, no…

“Do I…who are you?” I ask, my cigarette bouncing stupidly between my lips. The ash has burned too long and falls down my front. I pluck it from my mouth and swipe at my blouse.

“Right. I’m Jason.” He extends his hand, his thin black tie blowing gently in the warm breeze. My hand is a limp, cold fish in his. “I’m Grandma June’s grandson.”

“Jason…” I echo. His eyes are hazel; Justin’s are green. His hair is dishwater blond in the sunlight; Justin’s is brown. He looks at me expectantly, and I blink away my comparisons. “I’m Jennifer–Jen, um…I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” Jason looks at the sky, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “How’d you know June?”

“I didn’t.” I itch to put another cigarette between my lips. I’m sweating in my blouse, my arms suddenly feeling gangly and awkward as I keep trying to cross them on my chest. “Oh, I mean, she’s my dad’s mom’s sister…?” I cringe at myself. “My grandma’s sister.”

Jason rubs his chin, still looking at the sky. “So we’re…cousins?”

“Second cousins, I think.”

“I didn’t know I had any of those,” chuckles Jason. My heart twists oddly in my chest at the sound. I stare at Justin, I mean Jason, and then he looks at me, and I swallow dryly, the taste of cigarette like a carpet on my tongue.

“You used to have two.” I blurt. “But my brother died. You look just like him.”

“Oh.” Jason’s eyebrows raise.

“Wow,” I cover my eyes, letting out a breathy laugh. “Sorry. What I meant to say was, you look just like my twin brother, Justin. This whole thing…” I gesture behind me, avoiding looking at Jason, “It’s reminding me of his funeral, and then you show up and…”

“Justin…and Jason, huh?” Jason seems enthused by this realization. “I’ve always thought our family had strong genes. The all ‘J’ names are a bit weird, though.”

I chuckle dryly and cast him a cautious glance. Jason is smiling, with a hint of sadness. Wow, his lashes are so long. I’d need a detail paintbrush to paint his lashes, then perhaps the lines on his lips. Is that a dimple?

“Jennifer?”

“Sorry, what?”

Jason gives me a quizzical look. “I’m heading out. It was nice to meet you. Hopefully, the next time we meet is under different circumstances.”

My phone buzzes, and I take it out of my pocket; a picture of an obnoxiously large canvas propped against my studio door.

“Will you help me with a painting?” I ask. He stops walking away and looks back at me. His hair sways stiffly like blades of grass in the breeze.

“You sure it’s big enough?” Jason quips as he enters the studio, lending a hand with the large, awkward canvas. I point to the spot beside the latest painting, and he props it gently on the wall, then steps back. “Oh.” He looks around, letting out a long whistle. “So you’re a real artist. Not one of those people who get a degree and then don’t do anything with it.”

“Thanks, I think,” I reply as I throw my dark hair into a bun. I kick off my shoes and walk over to the kitchenette, where I prepare a pot of coffee. Jason checks his watch.

“Coffee, at this hour?”

“It’s a thing ‘real artists’ do,” I say over my shoulder. When Jason doesn’t respond, I turn around and see he’s staring at the painting of the tall man on the sidewalk. I go to stand beside him, crossing my arms. “My manager, Kim, doesn’t like it, so she wants me to paint something else.”

“Doesn’t ‘like’ it, what does that mean? This painting is stellar.”

My head snaps to look at Justin.

“Stellar?” I murmur. Justin always used to say that.

“Yeah!” Now it’s Jason’s face that looks over at me, an eyebrow raised incredulously. “Sure, it’s a little freaky, but artsy people like that, don’t they?”

I try to ignore the way Jason’s face meshes with Justin’s as the setting sun shifts the shadows in the room. I go and flip the light on, and a white light bathes the studio, drowning out the sleepy orange glow of outside.

In place of coffee, Jason opts for beer, which I miraculously had in my minifridge after a bad date from a few weeks ago. We sit on my pretentious green velvet couch with circular pillows, Jason on one end and me on the other, as I use my legs as a makeshift table to sketch Jason while he talks.

“So, I’ve got to ask. Why me?” Jason says suddenly, after a long, buzzed rant about hating California. “For your exhibition? I didn’t think I’d actually be the one in the painting.” The sounds of my pencil sketching on the pad fill the space. My eyes flit up to him every few seconds, and I shade in the curve of the edge of his mouth.

Do I tell him the truth, that I impulsively asked him to help me because I couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving so suddenly? Even if he did cut Justin’s face off and sew it to his own, I couldn’t just let him walk away. Do I tell him that his voice, mannerisms, gentle eyes, and easygoing demeanor immediately put me at ease, just like Justin did? I haven’t felt this normal since Justin was alive.

“The truth is,” I say slowly, focused on sketching the peak of his eyebrow, “I’m on a bit of a time crunch. I have nineteen days to muster something up. I didn’t have any idea what to do until we met at the funeral.” He takes a sip of his beer. Please be satisfied with that answer.

“I’ve never been a model before,” he says.

“Don’t worry,” I smile, staring at my sketch pad, “all you have to do is stand there.”

I wake up to the sound of my studio door clanging shut, drool pooled against my cheek on the cold ground. I shiver as I sit myself up from the concrete floor.

“Jen, what the hell? I’ve been calling you since like, 7:30.” Kim prattles on about something, her heels click loudly as she walks into the kitchen and starts the coffee pot. “Oh, my god.” I rub my dry eyes and hear Jason groan over by the couch. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you had a guy over — shit! Jen, I’ll go. Please, call me–”

“Wait,” I hold out a hand, standing myself up. There’s pale paint all over my hands and forearms, and I feel some crusted on my hair. “Stay. Jus–Jason, are you awake?”

“Definitely.” Jason is sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes, hair wild and tie very loose around his neck. He raises a hand in greeting. “You must be Kim.”

“This is my cousin Jason,” I yawn, gesturing to him sloppily before going to get a cup of coffee.

Kim’s bright blue eyes dart between us, and then her eyes land on the canvas secured to the easel. I never use an easel. “It’s nice to meet you, Jason. What’s the occasion?” I watch as she walks around to look at the canvas.

I pour Jason a cup, adding two sugars. He accepts it, leaning against the small counter as I walk over to Kim. She stands before the painting, eyes wide, lips thin, arms crossed.

“It’s not finished yet.” I offer, sipping.

“Obviously,” Kim replies, a manicured nail tapping on her arm.

“You don’t like it.”

“Why don’t we stay on theme?” Kim looks over at me, annoyance pulling her lips into a smile. “Why don’t you draw a pigeon getting hit by a bicyclist, or...a starving cat next to a seafood restaurant?” I hear Justin chuckle. “This still doesn’t resemble any of your previous work.”

I look up at the faint, faceless outline of Jason that I painted the night before. The background is dark.

“I want to paint…” Justin. “...a person.”

“Who cares if it matches or not?” Jason says, approaching. Kim raises a blonde, plucked eyebrow. “I think the first painting she did was good enough.”

“That’s just it,” Kim says, “I don’t care what you think. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jason casts me a glance and sips his coffee.

“I hear what you’re saying, Kim, I do. Let me finish this one, and–”

“Jen, by the time you finish this, there won’t be enough time to paint another. I can’t accept this.” Her phone buzzes as she answers a call. “Mark, yes, I’m here. One second, let me get somewhere with better reception.” She looks at me pointedly, gives Jason a once-over, and then exits the studio, her heels clicking loudly down the stairwell.

I let out a sigh and rub my face. Jason sits on the opposite side of the windowsill. We look down below on the people going to and fro.

“She seems like a peach,” Jason says after a while. Someone honks at a jaywalker.

“She is, actually,” I say softly, “she’s the only reason I get to do all of this. After my brother died, she approached me and offered to sponsor me for an upcoming art show. My paintings did so well, I just kept doing it.”

“So just because she pays, she gets to decide what you create?”

“I guess so.”

“Paint what you want to paint,” Jason says. “What would Justin say?”

I look at Jason, the morning light emphasizing his strong chin and dimpled cheek. “He’d say exactly that.”

There are five days left until the Millhouse exhibition, and the painting is almost finished. Jason has become a regular presence in the studio; in fact, I started to expect him to be there, like you expect your couch or lamp to be in the place it always is. I gave Jason some of Justin’s clothes, including some crewnecks, sweatpants, and button-down shirts. I even stopped smoking.

“It’s a bit dark, isn’t it?” Jason bites into an apple, staring at the painting. “I’m not sure anyone would buy this to hang in their living room.”

“You said to paint what I wanted to paint…” I mumble, mixing a color on my palette. Jason is wearing the clothes in the painting: a pale blue button-down shirt and black slacks, paired with black dress shoes.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Jason offers, his voice slightly withdrawn. He catches my gaze, and I see his eyebrows furrow somewhat as he takes in my appearance. “Jen, you’re working yourself to death. Take a break.”

“No,” I look back up at the canvas. Jason had been posing for hours. “It’s nearly finished. Just get back up on the stool.”

“Jen–”

“Get back up on the stool, Justin!” I scream.

My voice echoes against the studio walls, and for the first time in minutes, I blink. Tears roll down my face as I stare at Justin. My throat begins to tighten as I notice the shock on his face. He takes a step back from me. "J-Jason..."

I throw my paintbrush and palette down as I hear him grab his coat, paint splattering on the floor. I grab him as he opens the studio door.

“Back off, Jennifer!” Jason shouts, shoving me aside.

The studio door slams, and his steps recede hastily down the stairwell.

The day before Millhouse, Jason returned. I was standing in the middle of the studio, staring at the canvas, with all my furniture and clutter pushed against the walls, when Jason opened the door.

“Hey,” he said. “You redecorated.” Despite myself, I chuckled at his remark. He came to stand beside me and put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about the other day. I hope you finally took a break. It seems like we both needed it.”

“I did.” I lied. I looked over at him, and his casual smile faltered for a moment. Underneath his coat, I saw the pale blue button-down. “Anyway, the painting is almost finished.”

“I can see that. All you have left to do really is…”

“The face.”

“Huh.” He shrugged off his coat and tossed it along with the clutter. He went and stepped up on the stubby brown stool and grabbed the noose that dangled heavily from the rafters. He slipped it around his neck, as he’d done so many times before.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” I admitted, beginning to paint. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I almost didn’t,” Jason said. My paintbrush cracked in my fingers. “But, I realized that I wanted to see the painting get finished, too.” I set my paintbrush down and approached him.

“I’m glad,” I said.

I adjusted the edges of his shirt and sleeves. I felt his eyes on me, and I looked up at him as I kicked the stool out from under him.

Jason flailed and choked as the noose held him up. He swayed gently as he clawed at his neck, and finally, he hung.

I hugged him, feeling his still-warm body, and held him until he grew cold.

“I missed you so much…” I cried into his shirt, “Justin.”

“I don’t know why I ever doubted you.” Kim clinks her champagne glass with mine.

Patrons buzz around the painting of Justin hanging by a noose. He looks just like how I’d found him all those years ago.

His eyes are wide, his face slack, yet handsome. His skin is beautifully smooth and pale against the dark background, a single blue rose discarded on the bed. His light blue button-down is ghostly against the black slacks, which fade into the darkness. I had to repaint his shoes. They looked different while he was dangling.

Kim’s phone buzzes, and I see her eyes widen.

“From now on, Jen, go ahead and paint whatever you want. We just received a bid of $1.2 million.” She bounces excitedly and smiles widely at me, a smudge of red lipstick on her front tooth. “Oh! Let’s go tell Jason.” She looks around. “Where is he?”

“Who’s Jason?”