The Wide Wide Ocean

Chapter 52

I let Evie's hand go. I was afraid she would be uncomfortable. As I knew her. I knew she would never say a thing against me.

Are you alright, I asked her.

No.

Tell me a truth, I asked of her. 

I want to see him, Evie told me.

There was something bare in her voice. A bit shameful but longing and sad. Ryan was a pathetic douche. He treated her so very badly. Despite the kindness, she had always shown him. Despite claiming to love her.

You think it's pathetic don't you, Evie said.

I turned to her, smiling.

Not at all, Evie.

I paused, trying to find words. We had walked across the grass and now stones were cracking under our shoes. The campus was a bit quieter and we were walking through the main gate.

Love forces us to do things which we or anyone can explain. Sometimes they are good, sometimes not... but how can we call them pathetic if they are led by heart, Evie.

Even if it is as stupid as getting back together?

I sighed. Not in disappointment. Rather in pain. But she did not know that.

Even then, Evie.

I felt Evie pause in her thoughts.

Missy?

Yes?

I turned to her. She seemed worried. I wanted to take that feeling away from her. I felt helpless when I realised, I couldn't.

Would you be mad if I did get back with him?

...no. You can trust me, Love. You can tell me anything and I won't judge you-

I know that... but-

It's okay, Evie.

She sighed. In a manner so full of exhaustion I wanted to hug her.

You'd be the first to know.

It seemed like a promise. It was. Somehow it was a promise I did not want. I wanted to live blissful ignorance. Thinking that he is no longer in her heart. But that would not be the truth and both knew it.

Swear it, I thought.

I swear, she said.

We walked on the street, cars passing us, living their own lives as ours were crumbling beneath our careful fingers.

Missy?

Yes?

I turned to her and her green eyes which were softer than pillows and warmer than oceans.

Have you ever fallen in love...?

It was a question pulled from the air. For once I did not know what she was thinking. It bothered me. But I answered nevertheless.

Yes.

It did not seem to be enough for her. But she did not ask further. I did not know how to explain this feeling to her.

Yes. I have fallen. But when I reached the bottom, I found her.

I am not convinced my mom ever really loved art. Not even the time she had brought me to a gallery for the first time. But nevertheless, most of the time we spent together... was in a gallery. Even when I was in college, we never spent a day at home, like with I did with dad and Emma. 

I cherished the moments we spent in the gallery. The way mom asked me about the artist or the pieces in a small voice, half-whispering. I always answered her silently, as we were both trying not to interrupt the calm atmosphere of white walls, fresh air and wonder in front of our eyes.

That week, I felt the urge to relive one of those afternoons once again. I drove that weekend home. Even though it was the only time I could spend with Evie. While I took mom to our favourite gallery for a new exhibition, Evie was at home with her dad. I wondered if they were playing chess. Evie's mom used to love watching them play. She had always thought they both looked very clever.

That month, they displayed Pollock. Not the original of course. But photographs of his art, himself, his life, the town he lived in... a biography of his life, his soul and the essence of his art in pictures and pieces. Something told me, he'd be very pleased with his life's story left to be discovered by eyes. Any artist would, right?

I've never understood these paintings, mom confessed.

I suppose Pollock's art was strange to her. To the naked eye, it was just a rain of colours, romanticized by the high society. But to a soul and mind... I found it fascinating. I wanted mom to see it too.

It's about the movement, mom, I whispered. Pollock didn't paint what he saw like the realistic artist like Coubert or Repin.

Coubert? That sounds familiar, Mel.

We've been to his exhibition.

Really?

In June, a year ago.

Was it when you got a job in the theatre?

I smiled.

A year after.

Oh, mom exclaimed in whisper.

She smiled. I noticed that my mom's smile was always the same. It was one of the constants of my life, seeing my mom smile with that smile.

Can you believe it was such a long time ago when you were staring at those paintings? So excited.

I can't, I confessed.

We both sighed. It was such a long time ago, wasn't it? It felt surreal. I was little, I still couldn't say the names of french artists properly... actually I wasn't able to say Mrs Johnson's name properly either. For whatever reason. I still liked to paint my shoes with flowers and waves. I still had a birthmark on my stomach that had disappeared over years.

We used to have time. But perhaps now, our time together was worth more than ever before.

I hugged my mom around her shoulders.

We stared at Pollock's paintings as my mom remembered that softly smiling girl she had once photographed and as I remembered the silent presence of motherly love.

Follow SeraphineDarcy for more updates :)