Artistically Speaking
Lucy functions perfectly within her world of art. She is accomplished and in demand, one of the fortunate who never had to work a day job. Well, there was this one side job that lasted about thirty minutes but that’s another story.
Yet when it comes to men, I wouldn’t call her a failure; perhaps impaired or maybe, romantically challenged. We meet for lunch on Mondays and our conversations are all over the board. Lucy and I now understand that it’s best that we hang out alone because our conversations make other more (down to earth) people a bit nervous or at the very least, confused.
Lucy has been waiting it out, saying no, staying home and staying centered for quite some time. But she is a great shining light bulb of fun with an infectious laugh. Her blue eyes have a hint of gold at the bottom and she is rather fond of her elf ears. It’s hard not to be enthralled with elves, fairies; all things mystical and curious. So often the world of cookie cutter humans is enough to bring me down to the depths of despair, and send me looking for an out, or at the very least, a freeway onramp. So it was that Graham decided he wanted to be with Lucy in more then just a friendly way after years of friendship.
I’m not one to pry and the details are pointless, but Graham turned out to be just another man who couldn’t decide what he wanted. I understand it’s the leprechauns who are privy to the pot of gold, but it seems to me, elves have the corner on fun. Perhaps Graham didn’t need gold, or even fun for that matter. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could; not a very good reason when dealing with a mending soul.
After listening to Lucy explain the situation as only she can, it became apparent she needed dialog. She needed something that would set the tone, make a point and place Graham on the straight and narrow road back to the others he was dabbling with. I have been known on occasion to write dialog, and so it seemed that an indirect request had been made. I sat there watching her paint a boat that Hemmingway’s Santiago would have taken out in search of the great Marlin. She turned and looked at me.
“I don’t know what to tell him!”
“What do you want to say?”
“Other than bite me?”
“Might be misconstrue d.”
“Ya think?”
I watched her add reds and yellows, blending with her big brush, deep oranges and blue. She would stop, pace, answer her phone strapped to her elf ear, talk for a second and look at me with quizzical intensity. She sat down next to me and suddenly blurted out, “I just don’t want to wait in line!”
I thought about that for a moment. Graham it seemed was worth waiting for as long as no one else was in line. This was Lucy’s real predicament. I couldn’t really think of it as self centered or arrogant because no one wants to be second or third in matters of the heart. What is it about standing in line with others? Is it that we realize we are not unique in our wants and desires? I don’t mind waiting for a Latte if the barista is off in the back stocking, but put five or six others in front of me and I begin to twitch.
The world moves so fast that most lines progress quickly. But sometimes quickly isn’t fast enough. Sometimes it has nothing to do with quick or slow. We wait and wonder, seeking one that will bring color to our lives, taking our old worn out black and white photo and turning it into a Technicolor portrait of fun and fulfillment. When we believe we have found that person, the one who was meant just for us, we will wait a good long time. One plus one is always an easier equation than one plus four or even fiveA line of defense was needed. Lucy didn’t want to wait in line but Graham was worth waiting for. It seemed simple enough.
“Lucy, I think I have it. You just have to tell him what you told me.”
“What did I tell you? Ya mean about waiting in line?”
“Yeah, it’s perfect. Graham, I think you’re worth waiting for, but I don’t want to wait in line.”
“It doesn’t feel good.”
“Hmm, Yeah add that too”
We went to lunch, ate tacos and worked on her delivery. The world is indeed a stage and it’s important to have your lines down. It seems better to have contrived sincerity then say something you didn’t mean and create another dilemma of misunderstanding. The truth is I love playing theater and working on lines as long as they’re mine. That’s why I have always been a writer and not an actor. Is that self centered and arrogant? Maybe.
We ate and gabbed and when she wasn’t ready I would call for her lines. After several tries it was perfect. After lunch, I did a few errands, went to a Chinese buffet for dinner and called it a night. I’m not sure how long I was asleep, but when my phone rang I looked at the clock and noticed it was 1am. I looked at the caller ID but couldn’t make out the name without my glasses. I answered the phone anyway.
“I’m not so sure I want to do my lines.”
“Why not?”
“Feels fake now that I’ve practiced.”
“Was it real today?”
“Yeah it was.”
“Maybe that’s all that matters.”
“Did you see the moon?”
“I dreamed it.”
“I touched it.”
The phone became silent and I closed my eyes again. How many times did I miss out on the opportunity to become friends with incredible women because I didn’t know what I wanted? There were too many. Lucy was my reprieve. Suddenly I felt a deep loss for Graham, closed my eyes and said a small prayer. I fell asleep and witnessed the moon dancing; reaching out to touch it, I felt her hand brush against mine.
