Chapter 15 - Considering Your Limitations.

According to legend, Narcissus was this Greek dude who was so beautiful he actually fell in love with his own reflection in a pond of water. But because he couldn’t look away, he ended up planted next to that pond for long enough that he was magically transformed into a flower. Hence, the origins of the word narcissist; someone who loves himself so much that he can’t see anything else.

Which is why it’s often hard to grasp the fact that most narcissists don’t actually like themselves very much. 

It’s counterintuitive, but it’s true. The classical narcissist knows there’s something wrong with him. He knows he’s deficient in some respect. But he loves himself so much that he refuses to believe even his own intuition. A narcissist can’t accept that there’s anything wrong with him, which is why he’s always so conflicted.

But in order to disprove that niggling worry that he’s not perfect, not the GOAT, he will surround himself with the best and the brightest in the hopes that this will reflect well on him for having acquired all these wonderful companions. 

‘See how great I am? All these other great people think I’m great. Otherwise they wouldn’t associate with me. See how beautiful I am; my gorgeous boyfriend would never be seen with anyone less beautiful than him. See how smart I am; did you know my boyfriend is a veritable genius? See how talented I am; look at all the talented people I associate with.’ 

As he brags on his compatriots, the narcissist is in essence bragging on himself. He basks in the reflected beauty and intelligence and talent of those around him. Is it any wonder, therefore, that he chooses his victims from amongst the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the most talented, and the most extraordinary?

But therein lies the rub. If those around you are so amazing, how do you keep up with them? How can you be the most perfect, when you surround yourself with perfection? Which is why the narcissist is always, ALWAYS, jealous of everyone else’s beauty and perfection. And it’s also why he can never stop denigrating the associates he’s gathered around him.

A narcissist can’t bear to be alone. He needs that narcissistic supply of continuous adulation. He needs you to know that everything about him is the best, including all the friends he associates with, but at the same time he can’t tolerate being shown up by anyone. Which is why he’ll eventually find a way to drag you down.

Because no one could possibly be more beautiful than Narcissus right?

Over the next six weeks things calmed down a little. We made up from our first big fight and Ethan made a point of showing me all the bills that came in over the following couple of weeks. I still wasn’t sure I was getting a full picture of our financial situation, but at least he was trying, right? Whenever I began to doubt him, I simply looked over at my sweet little Felicity, and reminded myself that my boyfriend really must love me. 

Ethan was away from the apartment a lot more as the day of the final Heifetz Competition performance neared. To be honest, I was actually grateful that his busier schedule meant he wasn’t dogging my every step, day in and day out, but I did wonder why he was staying out so late at night. He couldn’t possibly be rehearsing till one or two in the morning could he? When I asked about the late nights, however, he either blew me off or gave vague excuses about hanging out with his friends after they’d finished practicing. But, since I was pretty busy myself right then, I didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Meanwhile, the school year was winding down, and I was hustling to get all my end of term projects done, study for finals, and finish up a piece I’d been working on that I hoped to submit for the freshman art showcase. My gimp hand had been acting up on me a lot, though, which had slowed everything down. It finally got so bad that I broke down and called Brian, leaving a message on his voice mail, asking if I could please borrow my old computer with all the drawing apps. 

‘It’s yours. Pick it up anytime you like’, Brian texted back not an hour later. 

And, since I knew Ethan had another practice with his violin ‘coach’ that night, I figured there was no time like the present. 

By that point, I hadn’t had any contact with Brian, or any of the rest of the gang, for more than two months. Based on the way my life had changed, it felt like even longer. So I guess I’d expected to find everything else around me changed too and was a little surprised that the neighborhood, the street, even the building, looked the same as always. I was the only thing that had changed, but I’d changed so much it felt like I no longer fit into this world. I shouldn’t be here. I no longer belonged. I hesitated before knocking on the big, gray, metal door of the loft, only seconds away from turning around and fleeing. If my hand hadn’t chosen that exact second to cramp up, I might have. 

But then Brian was there, pulling the door open before I’d even knocked, and deciding things for me. 

“Hey,” Brian’s terse greeting was typical Kinney, but it was said in a soft tone that surprised me. 

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react. Here was my Ex, standing there in front of me, looking so fucking gorgeous in a simple white tee and faded old jeans - barefoot, of course - that I was left speechless. He looked so good. So quintessentially Brian. My traitorous body reacted immediately; my heart rate sped up and my dick twitched in my pants. At the same time, my brain went offline, leaving me momentarily wondering why I’d come.

“I boxed the computer up for you,” Brian announced with a small smile, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to point out the boxes piled on the dining table. “All the rest of your shit’s there too. ‘Bout time you got your ass over here to pick it all up.”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered, trying to remember how to put words together into a comprehensible sentence. “I’ve been, um, busy and, um . . .”

Brian gave an amused huff as he stepped back, holding his hand out in a gesture inviting me in. “No biggie.”

I stepped inside and waited while my host pulled the door closed. Then I followed him past the kitchen island to where all my stuff was accumulated. It was a lot more than I’d expected. I really didn’t think I’d left that much shit here. 

“Thanks for letting me borrow this,” I pointed to the biggest box, the one holding the computer itself. “I thought my hand was getting better, but I guess I’ve been overworking it lately. I wasn’t sure how I was gonna get by without this. I’ll get it back to you after the semester is over.”

“Bullshit. I bought it for you. It’s your computer. What the fuck am I gonna do with it?” Brian replied with that stern, no-nonsense look I was so used to seeing when he wanted to deflect from someone noting a kindness he’d done.

“I figured you could always sell it. Maybe recoup some of the cost . . .”

“It’s just money, Sunshine,” Brian waved off my suggestion dismissively.

“Says the guy who actually HAS enough money to pay all his bills,” I muttered under my breath.

But for a guy who spends way too much time in clubs surrounded by deafening dance music, Brian had excellent hearing. “I thought Deb said you had a good job and were getting by okay?”

“I do . . . I am, but, well . . .” I smiled up at the concern that was rolling off my former lover, trying to reassure him. “We get by. Mostly.”

“If you ever need anything . . .” he offered.

I shook my head and chuckled. “Ethan would LOVE that. Me taking a loan from my Ex? That argument would be . . . Fun.”

Brian chuckled along for a minute but the concern never left his eyes. “Yeah, still . . . If you need it, just say the word . . .” And then, as if to cover up the fact that he was being unaccountably considerate, he added, “You know Deb would have my balls if anything happened to you.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him, sounding quite sure of the fact despite how unsure I might feel. Then, mostly to change the subject, I added, “I’ve got no idea how I’m gonna get all this back to the apartment though. It’ll take me, like, ten trips. I shoulda borrowed the neighbor kid’s wagon or something.”

Brian picked up one of the boxes and tilted his head to point me towards the next one in the pile. “I’ll give you a lift. Grab a box.”

I thought about arguing the point, but knew Brian wouldn’t let me win. Besides, I really didn’t have any idea how I'd get all this back to Ethan’s apartment. Even just the computer box alone was so big and heavy that it would be almost impossible to get it home via the bus. If I didn’t let Brian drive me, it would take a half dozen more trips to get all this and . . . Well, it was awkward enough seeing Brian this one time and I didn’t want to have to do this again. So, with a smile of thanks, I grabbed another box and the two of us proceeded to load up the elevator. 

Considering how antagonistic our break up had been, it was surprising how easily we fell into an amicable cooperation now. We worked together so well, needing few words to convey a direction or pose a question as we loaded up the Jeep. Everything felt so familiar and comfortable. It was so strange. So unexpected. Where was the anger and recrimination I’d anticipated? Where was the embarrassment? Where was the disquiet that had marked the last few months of our tumultuous relationship? All that was gone now, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined all that unpleasantness.

With Brian’s help it took practically no time to get everything stowed in the back of the Jeep. The drive over to Ethan’s apartment took less than fifteen minutes. Brian even helped me unload everything, leaving it sitting in the lobby of the building. I didn’t feel comfortable asking him to carry it all up the stairs to the apartment, though, so once it was all inside, I turned, thanked him, and waited till he’d got back in the Jeep to leave. He offered a nod in goodbye as he pulled out into traffic and I waved in response. When he was gone I shook my head, not knowing how I should feel about that odd encounter. 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t get home till late that night, so I had plenty of time to put all my stuff away before he arrived. Well, saying I put it away was really not completely accurate, since there wasn’t nearly enough room for all that additional shit in Ethan’s tiny studio. I ended up pulling most of my heavier winter clothing out of the chest of drawers and replacing them with lighter-weight clothing from the boxes Brian had packed up. Then I repacked the boxes and stowed them in the back of the small closet. I was really happy to be reacquainted with all the art supplies I’d left at Brian’s, though, and piled that stuff on the bookshelf next to my school books. The computer was a bit of a problem - seeing as it was so huge - meaning that it took up most of the small kitchen table, but there wasn’t anywhere else to put it. And, when I’d unpacked all the rest of the boxes, I discovered that Brian had apparently bought me a new wireless printer to go with my computer, which would have to live on the floor in the corner for lack of any other place to put it. 

But, as soon as everything was set up, I happily dove into the project I’d been trying to finish for my Life Drawing class. It was so much easier with the computer to assist me and amplify what I’d managed by hand. In my head I was thanking Brian the whole time for his generosity. And, when I’d finished, I was able to print the final results out right there in my own apartment rather than having to trudge all the way to school to use the printers in the computer lab. Not to mention that Brian had, of course, obtained a top-of-the-line printer that was far better than the school’s older equipment and which made my project look even more spectacular. I took a picture of the final result and texted it to Brian as a thank you for the thoughtful addition. 

“What the fuck is all this shit?” Ethan erupted, coming in just after I’d sent the text to Brian, and clearly not happy with all the new additions to our meager living space. 

“I went and got my computer out of storage this afternoon,” I hedged, not wanting to get into the fact that ‘storage’ equated to Brian’s loft just then. “I needed it to complete my end of term project for Professor Grande.” Ethan continued to scowl at the the contraption that had taken over most of our table, so I thought to distract him by showing him my latest masterpiece. “What do you think? It turned out pretty good.”

The picture I’d just finished was a computer manipulation of a sketch I’d done of one of the models from the prior semester. The model had been lounged on a couch with artistically draped sheets accentuating his mostly-unclothed figure. I’d managed a rough drawing of the man himself, but my hand had given out before I’d been able to finish the more detailed, and more complicated, depiction of that damned drapery. But my professor, who was a bitch, was one of those art snobs who swore you couldn’t be a real artist if you couldn’t do drapery, so I’d been totally sweating that aspect of my final project. With my hand as gimpy as it was, I had been struggling to finish. However, with the assist from Brian’s wonderful software programs, I’d just cranked out the whole project in less than three hours. And it wasn’t half bad, even if I did say so myself.

Ethan looked at the printed out drawing and his nose scrunched up. “Why does this part look different than the rest?” he asked, pointing to the bed and drapery under the model.

“I did that part on the computer,” I explained. “My hand just isn’t up to doing that much fine detail work so, instead of struggling through it and doing a half-assed job, I used the computer to do all the finish work. I kinda like the contrast between the hand-drawn figure and the computer drawn couch, actually.”

“Well, it’s certainly unique,” Ethan offered, sounding not completely approving. “Is your professor going to let you get away with that, though? I thought they were pretty strict about the criteria for the drawing classes? Don’t they emphasize classical competence in that discipline?”

Ethan’s comments left me a little annoyed and I bristled as I responded. “I already got Ryerson’s approval to use computer assistance back in the fall. The school agreed to accommodate my disability until my hand was better. They have to, you know; It’s the law.”

“Oh, that’s good. I didn’t know they’d do that,” Ethan shrugged. “Although they’d never let anyone in the music school get away with that. Can you imagine a musician trying to get through the program saying they couldn’t play without the help of a synthesizer? They’d laugh you out of the building. But it’s nice that they’re accommodating you.” Ethan took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch before setting his violin next to the computer. “Considering your limitations, it’s actually not bad.”

Ethan’s less than glowing critique to my drawing left me a little annoyed. He’d sounded so dismissive of my art and my ‘limitations’. Did he not understand how hard I’d struggled to get back to this level of fine motor skills? Just because I wasn’t all the way back to my former competence, didn’t mean I wasn’t a good artist. I looked at the project I’d just finished - one I’d been quite proud of mere seconds before - and frowned at it. Now that Ethan had mentioned it, I found that I was second guessing whether the contrasting styles of the hand-drawn section and the computer-assisted portions really complimented each other the way I’d previously thought. Maybe I was deluding myself about the final quality? But what else could I do with my hand acting up the way it had been lately?

“Anyway, I guess if you NEED the computer, we’ll have to leave it where it is. At least for the time being.” Ethan was already unpacking Misha, the conversation about my art quickly forgotten in favor of his own pursuits. “By the way, I was absolutely brilliant tonight. You should have heard me. Maestro Pettit helped me work through that tricky passage in the third movement and now I’ve got it down so much better. Listen to this . . .”

He set off into yet another musical exercise, glowing as he ran through the passage he’d previously claimed to have been struggling with. I couldn’t really tell the difference between how he’d played it the thousand times before and this rendition, but I didn’t tell him that. I played the dutiful boyfriend and praised him as if it was the best music I’d ever heard. That’s what boyfriends did, right? They supported each other’s endeavors without qualification. 

Unfortunately, Professor Grande ended up agreeing with Ethan’s opinion about my end of term project. He gave me a ‘C’ on my drawing, commenting that the contrast between the computer assisted portion and the hand-drawn portion was ‘disconcerting to the eye’. And, since my professor was on the panel who got to decide which students were selected to show their work in the end of year showcase, and the work I’d submitted for that was computer-assisted as well, I wasn't chosen. It was a huge blow to my artistic ego, to say the least. I was so angry about it I even went back to Ryerson to complain, but was shot down.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor, but while I’m required to offer you accommodation for your particular disability, I don’t control the individual professors’ grading for such projects,” Ryerson hedged. “If a professor doesn’t feel your work is as good as the other students’ - even with the accommodations we are allowing you - there’s nothing I can do about that. You have to compete on the same playing field as everyone else, you know. I can’t force them to show you any favoritism.”

So that was that and I was excluded from the year end showcase. 

I came home in a real temper that afternoon, but Ethan wasn’t being very sympathetic. He was too distracted by the fact that the Heifetz Finals were only five days away. He let me rant about Grande for only about ten minutes before he cut me off. 

“I tried to warn you, Babe,” Ethan said with a dismissive shrug. “Grande is known as a real stickler for technique. Maybe you should just concentrate on your animation stuff for now, you know? You’re really good at that and it doesn’t matter as much that you’re not able to draw that well.”

“I draw just fine!” I growled, throwing down my sketchpad in frustration. “I just can’t do it as fast as Grande demanded. If I’d had more time, I could have done it all by hand, but she wouldn’t give me an extension.” I picked up Felicity and plopped down dejectedly on the couch while I petted my cat. “Besides, my work was fine. The concept and balance were perfect. There was nothing wrong with my technique on the portions that I did by hand. Grande is just prejudiced against modern technology. Hell, she’d probably have failed Warhol too. And I don’t want to just do animation; I want to be able to create whatever art moves me.”

Ethan had already tuned me out, though, and was digging through one of his piles of sheet music. “Have you seen my copy of Dvorak’s Symphony No. 8? I was thinking I might work on that for the next CD compilation I’m putting together.”

I didn’t bother explaining to him that I wouldn't know Dvorak from Debussy. He seemed to have already found what he was looking for anyways and was lost in his music. Meanwhile, I was left to wonder if maybe they were all right and I was kidding myself about my quest to be an artist. 

I looked over at the computer that I’d been so happy to get back just a few days before and frowned. Was it just a crutch? Was I fooling myself about the level of my talent? Was my father right; was this whole art school thing just a pipe dream that would never pan out? 

With a growl of discouragement, I tossed Felicity off my lap and got up. I just couldn’t handle sitting around all evening and listening to Ethan’s violin caterwauling. I needed some fresh scenery. I needed a friendly ear; someone who would listen to me bemoan my fate and offer some sympathy. 

I needed my best friend.

“Of course I have time for a beer with my favorite blond artist!” Daphne immediately agreed when I called her as I fled the apartment. “Come on over. I’ve got a six-pack with your name on it.”

Two hours later I was more than half drunk and still moaning about my damned professor. Daphne, though was far more supportive than Ethan had been. She seemed almost more pissed off at my treatment than I was. 

“That’s just a myopic view of art, if you ask me,” Daphne insisted for the twentieth time. “Doesn’t she understand that computers are the future? If she can’t see the benefit of including computer-driven art in the modern world, she shouldn’t be teaching.”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m just not cut out to be an artist,” I grumbled. “I mean, she must know the art market better than me. Maybe she’s right about the contrast between the hand-drawn stuff and the computer-generated stuff being ‘disconcerting’? What the fuck do I know other than the fact that, at this rate, I’ll never be able to support myself with my art.” I chugged the last of the beer I’d been working on and tossed the empty onto the table with the rest of the dead soldiers there. “Maybe I should just give up, quit school, and work full-time. At least then I’d wouldn’t be wasting my time struggling to make art that nobody wants to see.”

“No way!” Daph insisted, going so far as to slap my biceps with her hand to emphasize her point. “You can’t just give up. Who cares what one stupid teacher thinks. She’s not the arbiter of the art world. I love your stuff.”

“Well you’re the only one who does,” I bemoaned. “Even Ethan didn’t really like that drawing.”

“Well that’s pretty shitty of him,” Daphne insisted. “If anyone, your fucking boyfriend should stand up for you.” I merely shrugged, “You know what, fuck Ethan! What does he know? The prick.”

I chuckled at Daphne’s immediate repudiation of Ethan. She was such a great friend. I could always count on her to support me against all-comers no matter what.

“Well, that’s not precisely true,” I admitted, feeling like I should stand up for my boyfriend at least a little. “He didn’t SAY he didn’t like the picture; not in so many words, at least. He just . . . I don’t know . . . I just got the impression that he didn’t think it was that great, you know?” Daphne was still scowling and ready to jump on Ethan for not being 100% supportive, so I rushed to defend him. “Lately he’s been too distracted by preparing for the competition to really care much about what I’ve been going through, so I suppose I shouldn’t give him too hard a time. He spends every spare minute practicing. He really wants to win this thing - he keeps making all these grandiose plans about what we’ll do with the money if he wins, you know? - and he’s putting all his energy into that. I can’t be too hard on him that he’s not being more supportive of me and my art struggles right now.”

“That’s bullshit, Justin. I don’t care what HE’S working on right now - he should still be supportive of YOU. If not, what’s the point of even being in a relationship at all?” Daph maintained adamantly. Then she paused a minute, thinking through what she wanted to say next, before seemingly just giving up and launching into the subject. “While Ethan’s putting all his efforts into this competition, and his pie-in-the-sky plans for his winnings, has he been doing anything at all to contribute to the bills and rent and shit? Because the last time we talked, it seemed like he was letting you take on all of that and . . . Well, you still seem pretty stressed out and sorta tired looking and . . . Did you at least talk about the budget thing?”

“Yeah, we talked about it,” I assured my concerned friend. “That whole missing money thing was a total mistake. He admitted he’d had to buy a new bow for the Heifitz and that’s why our finances were so skewed that month. But he’s been better this month. He’s been showing me the bills that are coming in . . .” I could tell that she wasn’t totally convinced, though, so I tried to reassure her as well as myself. “Really, he’s been much better. I mean, I’m still working, like, a ton, and money is still tight, but at least he’s trying, right?”

“Trying isn’t good enough, Justin,” Daphne refused to relent. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been sleeping that well lately,” I confessed with a shrug. “But now that classes are done for the summer I should be a little less swamped. I’m only taking one seminar class over the summer, which shouldn’t be as tough as the class load I was taking this semester. And I’ll be able to pick up more hours at work, so things should be easier.”

Daphne still didn’t seem totally convinced, but at least she didn’t give me any more shit, and the conversation turned to other topics for the rest of the night. It wasn’t till much, much later in the evening, when I was admittedly a little sloshed, that I disclosed to her about my trip to go see Brian to pick up my computer. She was sympathetic about that too and I might have admitted to her how nice it felt to see my Ex again. How generous and kind he’d been - buying me that printer and even driving all my stuff over to Ethan’s for me - and how I’d felt so at ease with him. Daphne kiddingly hypothesized about how Brian was still sweet on me. We both got a good laugh at that because, that soooo wasn’t Brian. But whatever, it was nice to laugh about something.

I ended up sleeping over at Daph’s because I was too drunk to walk and too broke to afford a cab. I just barely remembered to text Ethan to let him know where I was before I passed out in Daph’s bed. But when I did finally make it home the next morning, I was greeted at the door by a seething Ethan.

“How dare you go see that slut behind my back, Justin! I don’t care if he did buy you a fucking computer. If you’re going to sneak around on me, fucking your Ex, then you can just get the fuck out now!” He was screaming at me before I’d even made it all the way up to the top floor landing.

Since I didn’t have a clue what to say, or how to defend myself, I just stood there and let him scream at me for a good ten minutes.