Chapter 17
The gallery was
transformed into a gala with a red carpet and balloons and posters of
advertisements. It’s like a movie premiere but without all the
paparazzi nonsense. There were photographers, but they were hidden in
the shadows, snapping away.
Click. Pose. Click.
Pose. Click. Pose.
The curator wasn't
even there yet but they still kept clicking away. Everyone seemed to
be wearing black, a clean slate in a room of darkness. Was there a
stage? I hope so, since I was wearing all black and could definitely
use my skills to progress my date. She would love it.
On the stage
rehearsing Tennessee Williams and dancing in my mind to Brahms Piano
Quartet Op 25: Allegro.
*********
Miss Cline guided me
with her palm in my hand and we enter the gala. The gallery has a
modern roof concept. There was art hanging from the ceiling,
something with digital lines. Something I didn't quite understand.
I'm young now, so
understanding takes time and patience to find when art is true to
you. Art is perception of life. You cannot have perception and life
if there is no art because all three walk together in a swirl of
powerful emotion and thought processes. Thought love to share with
the people examining each and every paint gloss and finish and brush
stroke. Miss Cline is overlooking the realist portraits.
I never took a visual
art class and don't plan on taking one, but Cline informs me of
Surrealism and Realism and Dadaism and Modernism. The concepts glide
way over my head. I'm a simple man with simple prayers and I pray
that there's coffee somewhere. I can try the hazelnut and dark roast
that they usually don't let us buy anywhere near here. This shit is
the good shit and I plan on sitting beside the coffee pot to get the
good view of the people around and satisfy my addiction of warm
goodness that pours out of the canister in Gothic brilliance.
Cline would call it
realism; I call it taste test from a machine that reads bar codes
printed on the face. There's three floors and each of them have
coffee on it so I let Miss Cline do what she must to satisfy her
artistic need while I sip and sip and then begin heaving back
lukewarm coffee. I wish I had friends like that, but I have coffee
and Miss Cline right now and that is all that matters to me. She's a
doll-face and I listen to her and we peck and kiss and she grabs my
hand and leads me to a quiet part of the gallery and we make out.
If this is the natural
effect of art on a woman, I’ll buy three paintings please. I'd put
one on the ceiling over top the bed and we can look at it for hours
till we both get wet and start to drool over modernism or whatever
looking down at us. I have culture but I didn't go to class when I
was supposed to. I was too busy playing with action figures and the
occasional video camera. I would nap in class and wait till the lunch
bell to ring so we could play cards for nickels and dimes and I was
safe with the friends I had at that time. Luck maybe, or maybe that's
why, now, I always go for a soda or coffee or chocolate covered
coffee beans. My wakefulness depends on it.
*********
We're making out and
someone takes a picture of us and I asked him for the photo. The
camera was vintage tech. It was one of those cameras that spit out
the film. You have to fan it in the air. The gentleman just fanned
the picture and there we were, lips locking, looking into each
others' eyes with illusion and delusion and what I come to think is
artificial love, but I like her.
I like her a lot and
I'd be stupid to ruin this now but chances are I will and when you
really sit down to think about it, all we have in common is our
residence. No, I can't think this way, I mustn’t for I need her
presence right now to help me cope with the thoughts in my head. She
points at the picture in the area and I've never seen something so
interesting. It's a painting of sex, but with a halo on each head and
a baby in the middle. OH, she wants a baby now...I can't do that, or
am I over thinking this a little bit? I am critical and I just can't
wait to get back to the cabin or drink as much coffee as possible.
OoOooo, mint coffee!
*****
This place is heaven.
I sip the caffeine from a paper cup and she's saying things that I
don't understand. Art is her major for god sakes and my Major was
kicking my ass in the Army. As someone once said, opposites attract
and that comment rings in my ear, truthfully. On different levels.
How did we even get here? Oh yeah, she drove.
“Wanna go?” She
asks and I say, “If you wanna,” and she nods.
I ask if she wants to
purchase any art and she says “No, I can make better myself.”
There's nothing better
than bettering yourself. I am anxious and believe that the cabin has
more tales to tell and I've got my pen and notebook ready.
She unlocks the door
and we are in the John Smith. She offers me a piece of gum and I lick
my lips. She leans over the clutch to kiss me and we swap gum and
hers is bubble gum flavoured. MMMmmM we say simultaneously and yum. I
blow a bubble and she pops it with her tongue and we just end up
making out again. While in traffic, and it's a green light.
Miss Cline parks the
car in the barn and its cabin fever time. I unlock the door and she's
all over me. I love a woman who knows what they want in a man.
However, my mind was focused on reading and writing in the attic.
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