The Graffiti Artist

Josh pressed the nozzle of the spray-paint can and concentrated on the hiss as he sprayed a golden line on the side of the boxcar. Amongst the stationary metal behemoths that frequently acted as his canvases in the train yard, he painted in peace. Just him, the blank walls of metal and that satisfying hiss.

His creation this time; an alien with skinny arms and a pot belly, sat in a little flying saucer shaking his fist in the air on top of a background of black space and gold stars. Its head was cocked to one side with one eye squeezed tightly shut and the other bulging dramatically, all outlined in gold.

Josh finished outlining the work and hopped down from the railing on the boxcar he had been using as a perch to study his creation. It had taken him about a half-hour in the dimness of the night.

Putting his gold paint can into his backpack, he took out his silver one and sprayed his own personal tag on the bottom right corner of the painting.

Josh snuck to the nearest road and turned toward downtown, intent on checking his other usual painting haunts. While he used to be able to paint with impunity in Prince Albert, security cameras began to sprout up in some of the more public places.

He passed by several bits of profanity sprayed onto the side of a store on the edge of the downtown core. These were his handiwork but they were painted as one of his alter egos. Specifically, he painted these vulgarities as “Andrew.” Josh pictured Andrew as being a little punk much like himself when he was 12. These random bits of profanity, meant to be an affront to anyone who saw them, were put on walls that weren’t highly visible, but that would rankle the business owners enough to want them removed or painted over as quickly as possible.

Josh hated painting vulgarities and anarchy symbols, but he was adamant about sticking to character when painting as any one of his various personas, and Andrew loved painting this type of stuff. Andrew had no time for the art of graffiti. He just vandalized.

“Samantha,” on the other hand, was purely political. Josh pictured her as his dream graffiti partner if he could wish one into existence; a petite, purple-haired girl of 16 with the tiny features and massive cleavage of a Japanese cartoon who was always in a mini-skirt and fishnet stockings. She hated authority. That meant she graffitied all of Prince Albert’s monuments and municipal buildings, the most difficult job among the taggers who lived within his consciousness.

She preferred stencils and anti-authoritarian themes.

Catching a glimpse of an unfamiliar tag on a building down a little side street, Josh went to inspect it and grab a photo with his phone. He did this with all the graffiti he spotted that wasn’t his. It was an illegible tag with long drip lines running down the wall from where the painter had held the can for too long. He smiled and shook his head at the sloppy job. Even Andrew could do better than that.

Josh sauntered back out to Central Avenue and past city hall to where he could see what he came this way for; the gleaming white wall of a new business getting ready for its grand opening. For that lovely bit of freshly painted wall, Josh planned to summon “Henzo,” a tall, muscular guy with wildly spiked hair who was the anime-esque partner to Samantha. He was 19 like Josh and he wore a sort of modified karate gi with the arms ripped off. This was in sharp contrast to Josh’s actual appearance; a lanky kid with a buzz cut who mostly wore jeans and t-shirts.

Henzo painted all the prime spots on businesses in Prince Albert with his signature tag, a stylized lightning bolt with an arrow on one end thrusting out of a circle and surrounded by a starburst.

Henzo claimed things with his tag. He spread it all around Prince Albert to show that it was his turf.

“Enjoy your new paint job while you can,” Josh heard the voice of Henzo saying in his mind. “That wall will look a lot different soon enough.” This was followed by over-the-top cackling as Josh pictured Henzo tilting his head back and laughing, much like the anime villains Henzo was modelled after.

“Let’s paint a giant ‘fuck you’ on it,” Andrew said, but Samantha quickly shot down the idea.

“We’re not wasting a wall like that on your stupid, childish swear words,” she argued.

“Better than one of your goddamn stencils,” Andrew retorted. “At least I actually make my art. You just spray over cardboard.”

“I wouldn’t exactly categorize what you do as ‘art,’ Andrew,” Henzo chimed in.

“Take it easy, you guys,” Josh said out loud as he headed toward home.

When he got there, he slipped into the house and stole downstairs to his bedroom. He crawled into bed where he stared at the ceiling and remembered his mom.

“You know it’s okay to cry, right?” Samantha’s voice came from within the depths of his mind.

He rolled over onto his side and patted his head. “Quiet now.”

***

Like he often did, Josh virtually sleepwalked through the next day at school. His goal was to be as unnoticeable as possible while he soaked up the little bits of information that interested him, mostly science and math. The rest of the time, he doodled new tag ideas in his notebooks, much to Andrew’s chagrin, who always argued that a simple “fuck you” would do in most cases.

Everyone in Josh’s mind was really just looking forward to getting intimate with the blank wall downtown that night.

***

With the house silent and everyone asleep, Josh dressed in his usual nighttime attire of black jogging pants and a matching black hoodie, gingerly picked up his backpack full of spray paint cans and tiptoed past his grandmother snoring in the family room on the hide-a-bed that always gave her a sore back. He creeped up the steps making sure to skip the third and seventh ones and out the door into the cool 3 a.m. air.

For this excursion, he rode his bike downtown and stashed it in a back alley. Positioning himself behind a dumpster, he checked to make sure the street was empty so Henzo could do his work.

Josh emerged from behind the dumpster and started toward the wall. Just before he reached the wall, headlights came around a corner behind him, immersing his body in light. He quickly changed trajectory so he was walking beside the wall instead of up to it.

“Please don’t be the cops,” Andrew repeated in his head as Henzo faded into the background.

The car slowed and crept up beside him; Prince Albert Police.

The cop in the passenger seat lowered her window and leaned a round face surrounded with curly hair brushed back into a ponytail out of the car at him. “Good evening,” she said. “Or, should I say good morning?”

“Hi,” Josh mumbled.

“Just taking a late night walk, are we?” The officer smiled at him.

“Yeah,” Josh replied, trying to keep his voice and his backpack steady.

“Not out to do any late night painting? There’s been a lot of that going around lately.”

Josh’s heart started galloping and he was suddenly sweaty. “Me? No. Just going home from my friend’s place. We were just playing video games. Got late.”

She nodded. “Where does your friend live?”

Even though Josh had grown up in Prince Albert, he still didn’t really know the street names. “In the East Flat,” he said.

“And where do you live?”

“East Hill, by Kinsman Park.”

She furrowed her brow. “So, how did you end up downtown?”

“You idiot!” Andrew screamed inside of him.

“I was just going for a bit of a walk. Like, restless or whatever. My friend just lives a couple blocks that way.” He jerked his thumb behind him.

The cop turned her head back into the car and quietly consulted with her partner.

Sweat streaked down Josh’s skin under his clothes. Seconds ticked by as the cops conferred and Josh’s heart continued to thump in his chest. He shifted slightly on his feet and heard two cans clink together. He froze and held his breath.

Finally, the cop turned back toward him. “Well, alright. We’ll let you continue on your way home or wherever it is you’re going. Hopefully we won’t see any new, unwanted art on this wall tomorrow.” She pointed her chin at the blank wall behind Josh.

“Yeah, no.” Josh nodded. “Thanks. Have a good night, officers.” He started to lift his hand to wave at them.

“No! What are you doing?” Andrew silently screamed.

Josh stopped and just smiled at the cops instead.

The car turned right and drove off and Josh turned completely around and ran back to the dumpster he had been hiding behind before. He waited. Just as expected, the cops pulled around again and drove past the wall. From his hiding spot, he watched them drive off again.

Cowering behind the dumpster, Josh decided to call off the tagging mission. He stood up to go grab his bike.

“Wait,” Henzo said. “Now is not the time to be weak. You know why we do this. You owe it to your mother’s memory. She would want your father to succeed.”

“He doesn’t care,” Andrew sneered. “Go on. Leave, chickenshit.”

“Guys, you’re not helping,” Samantha said, shaking her head inside of Josh’s. “Look, Josh. I know you’re scared. But you handled those cops so well! They totally bought your story. Just let Henzo do this tag and I’ll do that thing you like tonight. I’ll even wear the outfit.”

“Okay,” Josh whispered out loud. “Let’s do this.”

Josh’s frame filled up as he imagined Henzo’s muscular body swelling up inside his own skinny frame. He strode to the wall and took out a can.

The usual soothing hiss now sounded like a jet engine. He deftly maneuvered the can like a paintbrush. In just a couple of minutes he finished the piece and took a step back so they could all admire it.

As Henzo retreated into his consciousness, taking his confidence with him, Josh bolted for his bike and pedaled home as quickly as he could.

His head had scarcely hit the pillow before his alarm sounded. Josh slapped at his phone until it shut off. While his body pleaded with him to return to a supine position, he knew he had to resist or he would fall back asleep. He had a full day of work with his dad, so he got dressed and trudged upstairs.

His father, a short, stocky man with a fringe of red hair and a matching bushy moustache, was already halfway through his breakfast. Josh’s little sister sat across from him pecking at some waffles while his grandmother sipped a cup of coffee.

“You look tired,” his father observed. “You get to bed late again?”

“Yeah. I was out late just taking care of some business.”

His father nodded.

“Business? What kind of business do you need to take care of that keeps you out so late?” his grandmother inquired.

“Not real business, grandma,” his sister piped in around a mouthful of waffle. “Just playing video games with his stupid friends.”

“Better get some breakfast into you, then,” his dad said. “We’ve got lots of work today.”

As if on cue, his father’s phone rang. He lifted it up, cleared his throat and forced himself to smile before he answered.

“Gary’s Graffiti Removal. This is Gary. … Yes. … Oh. By the liquor store there? I know the place. I’ll stop by in about half an hour to have a look. … Sounds good. Bye.” He turned to Josh. “A new business downtown got tagged last night.”

“Oh?” Josh raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah. His grand opening is tomorrow. Guy’s real desperate.”

“Oh, I just hate all these graffitiers here in P.A. now,” his grandmother lamented, shaking her head. “They make the whole city so ugly. Where did it all come from all of a sudden? It’s like one of those turf gang wars or whatever you see on TV.”

“You know those graffitiers are what keep us in business,” Josh’s dad said.

“Yes, I’m aware of that. I hate it but I guess I’m grateful for it, too.” She shook her head.

“Me, too, grandma,” Josh said.

“You better eat something, Josh. We’ve got to get going soon,” his dad said.

***

When they pulled up to the new business, a deli-style restaurant, a small man with a bald pate and worried eyes came out to greet them.

“Can you believe it? Can you believe what they did to my wall?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Oh, I can believe it,” Josh’s dad said. “They love any light-coloured wall. I usually recommend businesses use dark colours on their exteriors if it’s feasible. Something else you can do is a mural. If it’s one of those really good, expensive ones, they tend not to tag or paint on it. Some kind of artists’ code, or something, I think.”

The shop owner stared at Hendo’s tag and sneered. “I don’t know if they would understand any kind of artists’ code. This is definitely not art.”

“It’s not that bad,” Josh said, leaning against the truck with his arms crossed. “I mean, it’s a bit sloppy, but the guy was probably rushed. It’s a pretty open area to do something that big.”

Both the shop owner and his dad turned to look at him like he had just started speaking a foreign language.

All graffiti is ugly,” his dad said, raising his eyebrows at Josh. “That’s why we’re here to get rid of it and get this place back to looking good … y’know.”

“Sorry,” Josh said. “I guess it is kinda ugly.”

“Don’t you worry, sir,” his dad said to the restaurant owner. “We’ll get this thing off your wall.”

As Josh got to work scrubbing off the graffiti, Henzo sneered inside his head. “This guy should be honoured that we put something worth looking at on this boring wall.”

“Oh, we’ll get him,” Andrew said. “If he wants ugly, we’ll give him ugly.”

“You know, this wall would be a great spot for some art … I mean real art,” Samantha noted, adding: “No offence, Henzo.”

“Art?” Josh whispered aloud.

“Yeah,” the voice of Samantha said. “I bet you could do something really nice with this wall. Like one of those murals your dad was talking about. Your mom always loved the murals around the city.”

“If I had more time, I could cover this entire wall with something that would blow this city’s minds,” Henzo proclaimed.

“Not you, Henzo. I was talking to Josh.”

“You really think I could do one of those murals?” Josh asked.

“What?” his dad said from over by the truck where he was putting away equipment.

“Nothing, dad. Just talking to myself.”

*****

An author, journalist, freelance writer, ghostwriter and songwriter, Rob Swystun currently lives in Winnipeg and spends time tending to his fish tank, cavorting outdoors, and trying to keep his many houseplants alive to varying degrees of success.