When you date an artistic person, you have to accept all their sensitive sides. Some tend to be self important, moody, and flippant, but also easily intriguing and passionate. This is the tale of Mr. Etch-a-Sketch, an artist in training that began one eventful evening and ended on a tearfully rainy day.

Mister was unexpected. The ones you fall hard for always are. I was 22 and at my second attempt of my college career. VCU at that time was an art driven school and was mostly made up of outcasts and those seeking the sought after, “Liberal Arts Degree” After failing at my future Fashion degree, I didn't know what I was going to be when I grew up. At that time I really didn’t care about anything real worldly either. All I cared about was falling in love, going to shows, and finding freedom. Wasn’t that what college was for...again?

I had just gotten out of a fauxship and Mister was just another boy I had seen at another party who I found to be interesting. This night was no different than any other Friday night in the Fan District and this night would consist of drinking with friends at one of the three main party houses. I would do the usual, take way too long to figure out what I was gonna wear, because black is very hard to differentiate sometimes. I would meet up with my lady entourage, drink a beer, listen to some music, tell each other who we hoped to run into and then we would venture to a gathering to be held at one of the main party houses. We had three. These houses would form a bit of a triangle starting with the legendary Red Zero with at least 10 occupants. A place of remarkable memories and a den of Star Wars geeks. Right down the road was 411. I had no idea how many people actually lived here, but the guys were older and intellectual making them great purveyors of philosophical babble. Then there was 1208, which consisted of a slightly younger population, but had the best house shows and where all the cool indie kids hung out. Come to think about it, I never really knew who actually lived in that house at that time. We were invited by the boys of 411 for a kegger this particular night and it would be my first time attending.

We all agreed to meet at Lana's apartment that night. There we would wait for three more lady friends. When I arrived, Lana asked if we would mind if her roommates joined us. I met the first one whose lanky body barely covered a half painted canvas in his bedroom. He was sweet and had really great sneakers. He listened to Tortoise as he painted his canvas with muted colors of orange and yellow. Lana's apartment was nicer than most apartments my friend's occupied. Funny enough, I stayed in the apartment downstairs one weekend a few years back. Some college students came with mom and dad's money and their apartments showed.

The front door opened suddenly with a bike tire leading and another roommate to follow. I immediately recognized him from a house show a few months back, except he had magenta hair at the time. Nope, no Lana, I didn't mind if these dudes accompanied us at all. Not one bit. Hopefully, that thought wasn't completely displayed in some goofy form of a smile as I replied to her earlier question.

Mr. Etch was of average of height – 5’11” maybe. Shorter compared to my particular criteria. He came equipped with sketchbook and pen, a Sharpie, and a distinct voice which orated a higher pitch and slightly effeminate. He dressed like most boys of the time, cords and vintage tee with a cardigan ala Mr. Cobain. His hair was right below the ears, black and loose, a soul patch adorned his chin and two rings hung from his earlobes. The cuteness factor was up high with this one, but he also had a twitchy nature about him, like he was ready for some excitement. He wasn’t like the artistic types I was accustomed to growing up with. There was no mope to him. No brood or obscurity to him. He was indeed a flirt which complimented my own quiet brooding nature.

We fell in love during a game of telephone. What was supposed to be “The monkey is in the kitchen with a banana in his ear, “ turned out to be “I’d really like to hang out with you sometime." Well played sir. Well played indeed. I fumbled this game by having to guess what was originally whispered. So, I turned to my friend and whispered in her ear, “I’m getting up to get a beer because I have no idea what was said.” Got up. Walked towards the keg and poured myself another beer. Game won.

He was quirky. He was expressive and fun. The night of the party I went home with him and the others and ended up staying for a few days. We talked about music, art, tv shows, movies and we smoked a lot of pot doing it. It was the kind of infatuation which happens in an instant, where you lose yourself completely. It's full of passion and throwaway sentiment. You forget what time it is or what day it is. Cell phones were non-existent so there were no distractions.

For the next few weeks, I went down an Escher staircase with him. Everyone approved of our dating status, except his guy friends I think. I took too much time away from them. I would attend his band gigs and his art shows. We would meet for coffee in the middle of the day between classes, while I was still going. He was absolutely adorable with me and I with him. You can gag now.

The first week we were together he asked me to join him for a fashion party of sorts. How ironic it was in the last apartment I resided, the green porch light still present. We were asked to come in some sort of costume. Mister decided on a bright orange basketball jersey with an ascot-like tie atop a black short sleeved button down and plain black pants. It was quite comical and while he decided on a more humorous ensemble. I, opted for my basic color scheme of black and white. I tended not to step out of my element at that time.

Little did I realize that the red lit warmth of the apartment amidst a sea of balloons would be the location of my first dose of Ecstasy. Fantasia played on loop on the TV. “You can just take half, it will be ok,” he coaxed me. All I kept thinking was, “Can I die from this?” He had this smile about him. It was a smile that belonged to Loki. His brown eyes sparkled and his gaze made me feel as though I was the only other person in the room. The next thing I know, that tiny bit of a pill was in my mouth. My world was about to get a lot bigger.

Our relationship was pretty serious, I thought. As serious as a 22 year old can be about such things. We had met each other’s families. I had practically moved in with him. We were the couple that stayed in the bedroom for days only to utilize the bathroom and eat shells and cheese occasionally. We listened to Philip Glass, Sonic Youth, and the Boredoms constantly. We made sure to watch the X-Files diligently and we would go on about the mysteries of the universe and pick apart the genius of David Lynch. He was entranced with all that was noise and his artwork reflected that kind of frenetic chaos. He would sketch these layered shapes with bears, faces, and random objects all embedded in this labyrinth of colored lines. It was truly meditative.

I'm a pretty adaptable person. I tend to transform to who I date. He was no exception. I went from the moroseness of being a goth girl to transforming into an Electric Kool-Aid kid. My blacks became oranges and reds and blues and my curiosity about drugs became more loose. My first raves were with him. He introduced me to a whole new world of dance and movement. Oh, how he loved to dance. His dancing was just another way to get his art out there. He would get lost on the flashing lights and strobes and then he'd find me. I don't know if it was the Molly or if we really did have this cosmic connection with each other, but it felt fantastic.

Although my introduction to the world of recreational drugs was with him, I found it only to be a short phase in my life that seemed like an ongoing adventure with his. Soon, getting high became uninspiring to me. I had done all the drugs that weren't hazardous to your immediate health --- LSD, Marijuana, Mushrooms, Molly, and Opium. I had a good time when it was an event-like circumstance. Going to art shows and parties were more interesting for sure, but there were times when it was depressing. Being on Shrooms in the woods at night when you have an intense feeling your boyfriend is over you, is not a fun-filled evening.

He lost himself in his work constantly, sometimes sketching and creating for hours ---painting, filming, photographing, writing songs. I noticed he began to distance himself from me. Our outings became less and his drug use became more predominate in the relationship. He would have conversations I didn’t get and philosophize about numbers and patterns constantly. He would snap at me in frustration and leave the house to get away from me. He started finding excuses to go to his studio or extend his band practice time and I felt as though my pining was becoming a plastic bag around his head. He then decided to go on a trip out West and when he returned all infatuation was deflated.

It's true, I was what I had feared being the most...The Clingy Girlfriend! We sat in his car as it rained. I had remembered the day we had gone out to a movie and returned home as it poured. That was a good day. We danced and laughed in it like we were kids. Now, I just stared at the rain from inside the car as I tried to ignore the fate of our relationship.

He said I was too much for him, that he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore. I could feel the burning in my chest, working it’s way up my esophagus and the lump sat in my throat. I cried, the way I always did, with begging and pleading that I could make it work. His apathy hit me hard and I knew that was it. He dropped me off at my friend's apartment and drove away. I wiped the tears and knocked on the door for what would become the consoling party --- Lot's of alcohol, pizza, and why me's.

In the next few weeks, he would call me and ask if I wanted to come over. We would ultimately have sex and then he'd gently nudge me out the door. I wasn’t emotionally secure at that time in my life, so every time I did that I had a spark of hope. I didn’t have the capacity to be apathetic in that realm. I would see him at random parties with random girls, including very good friends of mine. That stung a bit. He still had that cute mischievous smile. He would soon find a new girlfriend. He would soon move away and it would ease my pain for a while, but we would not speak for some time after this. I would tell myself I wasn’t good enough and that’s why he left. I would tell myself I wasn’t ambitious enough with my school or that I wasn’t pretty enough. I had all kinds of excuses and was really a pathetic mess for a while.

Years later, he would come back to Richmond and I would see him crossing the street after a show. He looked up and waved with that smile. I knew we wouldn’t be far from each other again, but I had moved on and was in a new phase of my life. I will never forget the day I randomly saw him at the bar we used to frequent. We were catching up on each other's lives and he kept looking down at my hands. He gazed at my chipped red fingernails and said, “Mmmm….chipped red fingernail polish, I remember that.” With a wicked smile he would say it and for just one moment I thought, “Ha, I’m still with him.”

It took about eight months, give or take a few weeks of back and forth, for this relationship to run its course. In that time, I managed to be as clingy as the static from the dryer sheets on my socks, but I also learned that I'm worth more than I had given myself credit for. I didn't need to impress him because he was occupied with stepping out of his head. He didn't live in my world and I didn't want to be in his. He had taught me a lot about art and I used to love watching him draw. I still have all the pieces he gave to me and I look at them fondly. It reminds me of the brief moment I had with him and all his floaty thoughts he put to canvas.

He married a few years ago. I went to the wedding and saw all the friends I had during that time in my life. We danced like we used to and hugged each other while sharing memories of fun times together. We are all grown up now and in different parts of our lives and at that moment, as we laughed, I recalled all of us sitting on the floor in his room that very first night I met him. The night I began my kaleidoscope adventure with him. I glanced over at him and he was already looking at me and I smiled. He returned it with a wink and that was my cue to depart. I said my goodbyes, understanding that I would not be seeing these ladies again for quite some time, got up and slowly walked out the door, like some fucking John Hughes movie. I realized I was no longer his muse and he was no longer part of my landscape.