Wings of various colors, some realistic and others fantastical, impossible; it’s her art and she can make it any way she pleases. Stacks of sketchpads contain years of drawings and she doesn’t realize how much of it there is until she thinks about the size of it all laid one on top of the other. She doesn’t think of it as some body of work, ever, it’s just what she does every day, if nothing else.
Eliza, 29, smitten with the butterfly since before she can remember, her earliest memories of the obsession her late mother’s reminder of when she chased them around the family farm. Her mother never saw the drawings, but Eliza thinks of her with each one she creates.
She spent too much time watching television and could always find some channel to leave on for hours as she intermittently drifted away until she stared at a monthly Comcast bill for five minutes and alternated between rationalizing the expense and understanding that it’s not for the unemployed before finally calling to cancel. Now she draws and reads and reads and draws until it’s time to leave the room she rents from an old family friend, one she was lucky enough to encounter at The Abbaye six months ago and who happened, at the time, to be passively seeking a tenant for the lone third floor bedroom of her house in Fishtown, the exact neighborhood where Eliza hoped to live and now does.
Wind blows through her windows, a perfect autumn day of sunshine and clear blue sky, and she stands, stretches her arms above her head, and breathes in the cool air, feeling the post of her nose ring move ever so slightly. She flexes many of the muscles in her slender 5’4” frame and then whips her wavy light brown hair around from her left shoulder to right.
Just enough bucks in her account to cover about two to three months’ rent, this fact and her current distaste for the hassle of finding a new job aren’t enough to stop her from sauntering downstairs and then walking toward Johnny Brenda’s to eat lunch there. She can go to a friend’s place for dinner, she thinks, if she feels hungry later.