Santa's Secret Transfic Anthology Vol. 2 / Everyday Sweets #2 (Chapter 2)

The Sable and the Statue

by rooibos_chai

Chapter 2

Nothing seemed to be working.

The first week I spent on the statue, I didn’t even touch the material. 

Okay, that was a lie. Occasionally, when I was stuck deep in thought, I would stand in the middle of the studio, one palm against the reassuringly solid block of stone as I stared off into space. But what I mean is that I never picked up hammer and chisel: how could I, when I didn’t have the slightest idea of what to actually create?

Despite feeling desperate for a creative outlet, it was just like I was blocked. I tried an old standby, making charcoal sketches of various possibilities, but no matter what version of myself I drew, none of them felt right. I brought a small mirror into the studio and forced myself to look as I tried to find an angle that made sense to me. I would get a few lines in, outlining the arc of my chin, or the line of my nose, and then feel such visceral uncomfortableness that I would crumple up the paper and add it to a quickly growing mountain of discarded attempts. The one time that I strung together a burst of focus long enough to complete a full self-portrait--albeit a very sketchy one--I came down from my intense concentration only to see something unrecognizable staring back.

I’m embarrassed to admit it: I didn’t throw that picture away. I burned it. It was wrong--I couldn’t say why, I couldn’t explain, but I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing it, ever. When it was finally just ash in a trash can and my hands had stopped shaking, I thought that would be the end of it. But then I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror that I still had set up, and I saw the exact same face looking back at me.

I broke the mirror too. As much as I wanted to pretend it was an accident, it wasn’t. I picked it up, and threw it on the ground, and then ran away, leaving campus in a hurry so I could get back home and collapse into my bed and try to block out the world entirely.

When I felt incredibly guilty the next day and came back to clean up the mess I had left, I found that someone else had already done so. The studio was back to normal again, just the pillar of stone, a metaphorical question mark that I still had no answers for.

After that I gave up on thinking about the face. Maybe I could just leave it blank or something, and use the body of the statue to express what I wanted. I came up with a silly meta idea: a statue of someone making a statue. But when I tried to put my body into that concept it still wasn’t right, for some reason.

See, I was part sable, and I did admittedly like my ears and tail quite a lot. I took careful care of my hair too, to keep it shiny and soft. But just because you share some characteristics with an adorable small animal, that doesn’t necessarily mean you get to be small and adorable. Maybe when I was a kid I had been cute, but then I grew, and kept growing, and kept growing. I was actually slightly taller than Jackson now, though I was also kind of lanky, with, like, a really long torso that made me look even more like some sort of weird creep. It was as if my genetics had conspired to make me as miserable as possible; maybe if I was smaller, or--no, I couldn’t wish for that. Maybe if I was more manly, like Jackson. That’s what I should want, right?

After all, everything made sense for Jackson. He was naturally a big guy, but in a way that was just… solid. Reassuring. It wasn’t as if he was built like a weightlifter or something, but he was much stronger than me. He actually cared about his body, and would go to the gym, and play ultimate frisbee on the weekends. And he was so nice--he enjoyed going out of his way to help people. Like at the start and end of the semester, when everyone was moving in and out of the dorms? He would just show up, in an old t-shirt and a dorky headband and help total strangers move couches up and down stairs all day. Who does that? And his animal features just fit with all of that: he really was just a big, friendly husky puppy. I particularly loved the way his fluffy tail curled up into an arc when he got focused on something. It was just… so cute.

It was when I was idly sitting around the studio, lost in thoughts that had drifted to all of Jackson’s most endearing qualities, that I found I had been sketching without really thinking about it. And in the dark lines traced across paper, I saw something I genuinely liked: my best friend. When I tried to put myself on paper, it was like I could only capture the things I hated, but when I was drawing Jackson, it was more than easy to carry through so many feelings: joy, and affection, and admiration, and a desire to have him next to me, to curl up around him and feel his warmth and--

Wait, was that it? Could it be that easy? Did I just want to be Jackson?

I wasn’t… totally sure about that. But I also couldn’t logically figure out why I wouldn’t want to be cool and strong and manly, like him. If my problems with myself were because I was weird and pathetic, if I could be a guy like Jackson, maybe then my life would make sense.

And besides, at the very least I could quiet the uncertainty and uncomfortableness still lingering at the pit of my stomach with the idea of actually getting to sculpt Jackson, instead of my own stupid body. It wasn’t perfect--I mean obviously, my future self couldn’t be Jackson, but at least I could aspire to that. Maybe. 

If nothing else I could make a kickass statue of my favorite person in the whole world.

And so, I spent the second week of the project starting to rough out a humanoid form: tall, broad shoulders, strong profile, just like Jackson. It was slow going, but I felt the familiar creative drive giving me the power to keep at it. And at the start of my third week working on the project, when I was ready to start thinking about finer detail, I requested that he come hang out in the studio with me while I worked. 

I had only resisted the urge earlier because I didn’t want him to see me drawing pictures of myself. I had always done my best work with him around--not requiring his active help or anything, it was just that having him around made me feel comfortable and focused, even if he was sitting in a corner doing homework of his own or something. So I figured I could use that as an excuse, and then sneak glances at him as I got the head and face to look right. And of course, Jackson was more than happy to come see me. 

Or at least that’s what he told me. But then, that afternoon, when he was supposed to stop by after lunch, he was late. And Jackson was never late.

Maybe I was being overbearing and anxious about nothing, but after five minutes ticked by and I still didn’t see those perky triangle ears, I couldn’t help but imagine the worst. So, I went out looking for him, and as it turned out, I didn’t have to go very far.

I found him in the lobby of the fine arts building, wrapped up in a conversation with a girl. A cute girl.

I don’t know why, but I was hit by a spike of panic at the sight, and immediately ducked behind an abstract art piece that sat at the center of the lobby, trying to get close to them as weird feelings churned in my stomach.

He was supposed to be coming to see me, right? Then what was he doing talking to this tiny foxgirl? I watched as he said something, his teeth flashing in a smile, and she giggled. Why was she laughing at his jokes??

Something dark and prickly uncoiled inside me. I wasn’t clingy, or possessive, I swear, but it wasn’t just that Jackson was talking to a girl. It was this girl--this girl who was so tiny and cute, with these big fuzzy white ears. Her features were delicate but graceful, and as an artist I knew exactly how well they mapped to classical standards of feminine beauty. More than anything else, she just looked so happy and carefree, and-- and it wasn’t fair. As she and Jackson chatted, I couldn’t help but imagine the two of them together: him leaning down, and her standing on her tiptoes, so their lips would…

Ugh!

I must have made that sound out loud or something, because I saw Jackson’s ears twitch, and then, before I could dive behind cover, he looked over and caught sight of me. His eyes immediately lit up, and his grin stretched even bigger as his tail started wagging.

“Oh hey, there’s my friend!” he said loudly, and walked over to me, with the foxgirl following him. “Hey Smudge. Sorry about running late. I got caught up talking to Snow, and-- Oh my gosh, I need to introduce you two!”

The foxgirl looked me up and down, a soft smile on her face. “Hey there. I’m Snow, as you might be able to guess. It’s nice to meet you… Smudge?”

“Y-yeah,” I said, trying not to grimace.

“Oh, um, that’s not his real name,” Jackson hastily tried to explain. “It’s a really funny story though. So, we’ve been friends for ages, and when he was just a kid, he got this sketching set with a stick of charcoal to draw with, and immediately ran off into the woods, telling me not to follow. When he finally came back, he had a beautiful picture of the two of us up in the treefort we had built together, and the biggest charcoal smudge on his nose.”

Snow giggled, and once again I felt a spike of ugly feelings about how musical her laugh sounded, just as cute as the rest of her.

It wasn’t even that funny of a story, really. And it was more complicated than that. Jackson wasn’t the one who had first given me that nickname. His mom was--and she was the one who gave the sketching set to me as a birthday present too. It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I had ever received, in so many ways. She had me keep it over at their place--which at the time I had accepted as one of those adult rules that wasn’t worth questioning. Only much later did I realize the real reason behind it. The year before, she had gotten me a kids watercolor set, and my parents had taken it away the next day, like they always did with any of my hobbies when I inevitably did something that disappointed them. So this time she had made sure that I would always have a place to express myself. In fact, she hung up each and every one of my sketches on their fridge, as if I was her own kid.

I couldn’t express all of that, not to someone I had just met. I couldn’t share the way that the nickname made me feel like I was a part of their family too, a part of a family who loved me. And there was no way that I could explain exactly how much her death had devastated both Jackson and me, and how now whenever I heard that name, it was also a bittersweet reminder of the mutual loss that we shared.

So I just gritted my teeth and nodded. “Shouldn’t we be going?” I forced out, giving Jackson a pointed look. “Or are you not going to help, after all?” He immediately looked guilty, and I felt a pang of regret for being so petty.

“Oh, yes, I have to run too,” Snow said, graciously disregarding my rudeness. “Sawyer said they’ve got some new outfits that they need help with.” She smiled at me. “It was nice to meet you though!”

“Y-yeah,” I muttered, and then stepped away, tugging at Jackson’s sleeve, so he’d follow me.

Once we were out of sight of the girl and partway down the hall leading to the studio, I suddenly stopped and whirled around, glaring at him. “What were you doing? I thought you were going to spend time with me. I was scared when you didn’t show up, I-- I--” My voice caught in an awkward warble, and I realized what the pressure building in my chest meant. I was on the verge of tears, for some reason.

I spun around again, suddenly terrified that Jackson was going to see me cry. We lapsed into an awkward silence, and I just kept focusing on breathing, trying to smooth out my emotions and keep from choking out a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I ran into Snow in the lobby, and we got to talking, and--”

“And who exactly is this girl?” I snapped, whirling around again. I must have looked completely unhinged, but to be fair, I felt totally unhinged, too.

 “Snow?” Jackson said, his eyes heavy with confusion and concern. “We met earlier this semester. She’s been really helpful in nailing down the last bits of this research project idea I’m working on.”

“The transformative magic stuff?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, looking surprised. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Of course I remember,” I said. “It’s a really big deal for you. Just because I had a breakdown and quit the magical studies program doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the things you’re doing.”

A faint blush spread across his face. “Oh. Cool, yeah. Well, Snow is part shifter, and I‘ve been studying the way her natural magic operates, in the hopes of reverse engineering that and applying it to different-- aaaactually, don’t worry about it.”

“No, I mean, that’s great,” I said, though it certainly felt like anything but. “I’m happy for you. I just… just don’t want you to leave me behind when you run off and get a girlfriend.”

“Girlfr-- Whoa, what? No!” 

“I mean, it makes sense,” I said. “You’re really cute together. And she seems…” I gritted my teeth, hating to have to admit it. “She does seem nice. You deserve someone nice.”

“Smudge…”

“I just hope that you can still spare a little bit of time for me, too, at least until your friggin wedding. Oh, yeah, and when the two of you get married I want to be your best-- your best ma--” Shit. I was going to cry. I started turning away again.

“Hey!” Jackson said, and this time he grabbed ahold of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “You’re not listening to me. We’re not dating. Really.”

I gulped. “...Really?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “She’s got someone already. And trust me, I don’t want to get on the bad side of her partner.”

Oh. The weight on my chest felt like it was lifting slightly.

“And besides,” he continued, “even if she wasn’t already dating someone else, she’s… just not really my type.”

I blinked. “Why not?”

He stared back at me. “What do you mean why not?”

“Well, she’s cute,” I said, not exactly sure what I was even doing anymore. “She’s small and she’s cute and she’s obviously nice enough to help you with your project. Why wouldn’t you like her? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” he said. His eyes darted from place to place, not looking directly at me. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay, then what kind of girls do you like?” I leaned forward, suddenly deeply interested in what he was going to say next.

His ears laid flat against his head, and I could see him desperately thinking.  “Girls with… dark hair?” he finally said. “Why does it matter? Why do you care?”

“Hmph.”

“Wait,” he said, voice sharpening. “Hold on. Is that what this is? Are you jealous?”

“Of course not!” I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “It would be okay if you were.”

“I’m not. It’s just that the two of you clearly get along well, and yet you’ve never said anything at all about her before now, and you talk to me about everything. Or at least I thought you did. Do you talk to her about everything now?” I explained, in a totally cool and non-jealous way.

He let out a big sigh. “No, we’re friends, but… she’s not you. She could never replace you.” He punctuated that with a look of such earnestness that it made something flutter in my stomach.

I nodded, my lips pressed together. “Good.”

“So,” Jackson said. “Were we going to go to the studio or are we just hanging out in the hall talking about Snow?”

“Oh, uh.” I felt a blush coming. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No worries,” he said, smiling. 

The awkwardness hadn’t totally been resolved; even as we headed into the workspace, a silence stuck around that felt heavy with unsaid words between the two of us. But I didn’t know what to say. I was still trying to put a name to what I was feeling.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like it might have been jealousy after all, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be jealous.

Without broaching the subject, though, the two of us settled into a quiet rhythm in the studio. I tried to focus on the statue, letting the work distract me from the uncomfortable thoughts. Meanwhile, Jackson pulled out some thick magical theory book that must have been for his own coursework and started to read.

Unfortunately, the more I tried to work, the more it seemed my artistic angst had returned in full force. Last week I had managed to rough out a humanoid form easily enough--at least from the shoulders up--but now that I was trying to add in details, the stone suddenly stopped cooperating. 

I kept peeking over to Jackson, sneaking glances of his face, his strong profile, how his ears popped out of his tousled hair. He really was a spectacularly perfect subject, and I felt the desire to create, to preserve an image of him that showed everyone else exactly what I saw in him. But yet then that got tangled up somewhere along the way down to my hands. They suddenly felt even more clumsy and ungainly than ever. Even the stone felt like it was actively fighting me--the more I tried to envision Jackson and pull his face out of the pink stone, the more unyielding it seemed to get.

After fighting it for a bit, I stopped to catch my breath, resting one hand against the flat surface of the pillar lower down. It felt hot to the touch. I really must be freaking out--that didn’t make any sense. I looked up again, trying to settle my mind with the one thing that always calmed me down: Jackson.

He was so cute when he was reading. At the moment, he was walking around, still completely enraptured by his book. He’d take a few steps, and then hesitate, his tail curled up in a fluffy sickle. I watched as his lips moved, murmuring something to himself without any volume. And then he would take a few more steps, reach a wall, and turn around again, still not looking up from his reading.

I could watch him all day. He always did prefer to keep moving when he was thinking hard about things. Though to be fair, he was also good at sitting still when I needed him to--like if we were watching a movie and I could sit right next to him on the couch, and it only made sense to share a blanket. I idly wondered if it would help or harm his focus if he tried reading while I was curled up next to him sketching or something. We used to do that a lot when we were kids, but… well, after a certain point I realized that it was weird to be that close to your best friend and I tried to resist, for his sake.

I let out a sigh again. This wasn’t exactly helping me get more work done. I lifted the hammer and chisel again, determined to make some progress, even though my thoughts kept bouncing around on everything but the statue itself.

Was I still too close to Jackson? Was that the problem? Now that I had the space to think about it, I had been really ridiculous in that whole argument in the hallway. What right did I have to be so possessive and… well, yes. And jealous.

It was weird, honestly. Jackson always had his own friends that I didn’t know as well--I knew for a fact there were the group of guys that he knew at the gym and played frisbee with, for instance. I didn’t feel threatened by them, not at all. I didn’t know them that well, and it just wasn’t a big deal.

But something about Snow made me feel all tense and antsy and frustrated. I believed Jackson when he said she already had a partner, and even when he said she wasn’t his type, but… The two of them together: him, big and strong, and her, tiny and effortlessly beautiful…

I kept tapping my hammer against the chisel, slowly trying to get the shape of the face right, even though my thoughts were now stuck thinking about Snow, not Jackson. She was beautiful. She could never replace you, Jackson said, and I believed it, but I felt guilty because maybe she should. 

I was completely and absolutely jealous, I admitted to myself with a sick feeling. But it wasn’t just jealousy of her taking Jackson’s time and attention, was it? I was jealous of who she was, period. She got to be small, and pretty, and a girl. I was stuck being… being… everything not that.

But I couldn’t be her, and I shouldn’t want to be.

I was a guy. I was supposed to be like Jackson.

Strong, big, manly. Like Jackson.

Like…

I hit the chisel a bit too hard, right as I was trying to straighten out the line of the figure’s jaw, and suddenly it slipped. With a crash, the hammer struck the face itself, and then with a resounding crack, the whole head suddenly shifted. Before I knew what was happening, a jagged fracture split open at the neck, and the entire head of the statue slipped, falling off to land on the floor with a earsplitting bang.

Jackson and I both stared down in horror at the decapitated stone.

I felt my hands start to shake, my breaths coming too fast as my vision tunneled, and then Jackson was suddenly next to me, wrapping me up in his arms, holding me tightly as I rode out the wave of complete and utter panic.

What had I done? I had never seen stone crack so easily, especially this weird stone that had been resisting my tools all day. What had I done? With that much suddenly gone, there was no way I was going to be able to craft a convincing likeness of Jackson. It’d be too small to be convincing, while also being too large for a purposeful miniature. What had I done?

“Breathe,” Jackson said. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It’s not, I wanted to protest, but I couldn’t even say anything. I focused on him, the security of his arms, the slow rise and fall of his own breath, and tried to match that.

Slowly, excruciatingly, I began to calm down.

“O-okay,” I finally said, muttering it into Jackson’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’m… I’m okay.”

He tentatively let go of me, but kept one hand securely on my arm, reassuring me that he was there.

“I was just caught off guard,” I mumbled. “I wasn’t paying attention, and…” I looked down at the head. “Oh no.”

Jackson winced. “Can you put it back on or something?”

“Mm.” I chewed on my lip. “I’ve done some earth shaping before using intuitive magic. So… maybe?”

He bent down, easily picking the head up, and then turning it over in his hands. “Yeah, okay. I can hold it up for you while you…” Then he frowned, his head cocking to the side as he looked at the face. “Those don’t look like your ears. And the face is…”

It was still rough and unfinished, the shape only just beginning to take form. But given the triangular ears standing at attention, the statue was more than recognizable as being Jackson. Ugh. I hadn’t wanted him to know. I sort of wanted it to be a surprise. But Jackson was the nicest guy. He wouldn’t mind that--

“No,” he said, voice thick with horror. “You’re not trying to carve me, are you?”

“Y-yeah?” I said, taken aback.

“This is supposed to be you,” he insisted. “I mean--That’s what Ms. Tveit said. A self-portrait.”

I hastily tried to explain. “Well yeah, but it’s art. It’s kind of metaphorical. You’re the kind of guy that I-- I wish I could be.”

“No,” Jackson repeated. His face was still frozen in some kind of grimace. “No no no. You can’t be me. I’m me.”

I stared at him, totally confused at how upset he suddenly seemed. “I’m… I’m sorry? It’s just an art project. It-- it doesn’t really matter.”

“It does matter,” he said, sounding frantic. Then he froze, suddenly realizing how scared he was making me. He let out a long breath, and then he looked me right in the eye. “Is this really who you want to be? Or is this who you feel like you’re supposed to be?”

I didn’t answer him.

“Smudge…”

“I don’t know!” I snapped. “I don’t want to be anything. You’re the only person I even care about, and I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do with this stupid statue!”

He looked at me with such pity and sorrow in his big blue eyes that I suddenly couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle anything. The comfort his presence provided suddenly felt like it was overwhelming, undeserved, and stifling.

“Out!” I said. “Get out. Leave!”

“But…”

“Please,” I insisted, and he took a step back, his ears falling flat as if he was a pup I had just kicked. I hated myself all over again. “Please, Jackson. I--I just need to be alone right now. I need to think. I need to figure out what I’m even doing.”

“Okay,” he said softly, and I could tell how worried he was. “I… Can you text me later, to let me know you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, wrapping my arms tightly against myself.

He stepped back again, giving me one last concerned look, and then collected his books and quietly left.

I was alone again, alone with my feelings and a headless statue that seemed to be mocking me.

If I couldn’t be Jackson, if that was just as impossible as anything else, if he didn’t even want me to be that, then what was left? Who was I supposed to be?

No.

Who did I want to be?

And there, there at my very lowest low, I got an idea. A totally ridiculous, completely preposterous idea. It was an idea I had thought about before, but which I had kept carefully locked up, because I knew if I allowed it to grow within me, it’d get out of control and ruin everything.

But I already had ruined everything, hadn’t I? Not just in dropping out; no, I was back now, here to only further disappoint people who cared about me for some reason. I was lashing out at Jackson over and over, even when he didn’t deserve it, driving a wedge in between us.

And so: if I already was going to ruin everything, why not go all the way? Why not show everyone what I really wanted, even though they wouldn’t be able to understand or accept it?

I would make this an idealized self-portrait, alright. I’d do exactly what Jackson wanted--depict the person I wish I could be.

And she was going to be beautiful.

 

Ingredients for a good Rooibos Chai:
1 fresh egg, ready to be cracked
1 part comedic misunderstandings, as spice
1 part sappy romance, to sweeten

Stir vigorously and simmer over a low heat.

For more, check out her Scribblehub and Patreon! 

— rooibos_chai

 

Santa's Secret Transfic Anthology Vol. 2 / Everyday Sweets #2 (Chapter 2)

Follow to catch The Sable and the Statue (Chapter 3) on May 21st

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