📍 Ghent — 2020
I moved around, trying to find a kettle for coffee, not finding a single one in the tiny apartment kitchen. I pinched at my bottom lip, not having the energy to even think about heading out for coffee after how late we had stayed up last night. I knew I looked a mess. My hair was in a bun, but I knew more curls were sticking out than actually in the hair tie. I had lost one sock in my sleep, not bothering to find it when getting up, keeping just the one on.
I opened up the cabinet under the sink, spotting a tiny moka pot in the corner, feeling relief wash over me.
"Thank you caffeine, gods!" I called out quietly, setting it up. Water, espresso, heat. I heard steps coming from the stairs, turning to see a sleepy Harry making his way into the kitchen. He had a cow lick, his hair all pushed straight to the right, slightly purple bags under his eyes. I couldn't help but giggle as he made his way over to me, sleepily tapping my nose.
"Morning madam artist," he said, leaning against the counter, eyes struggling to stay open.
"Morning monsieur muse," I chuckled, "I hope I didn't wake you. I tried to be quiet."
"No, you didn't. My body just naturally choses this god awful hour to wake up at. Is there coffee?" He said, running his fingers through his hair, remnants of paint from last night still lingering on his fingers and arms.
I bit my lip, pointing towards the stove with my head, "It's brewing, though I've never used a moka pot, so hopefully it comes out fine."
He nodded, peeking over at me. He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to my face, thumb running over the highpoint of my cheek point. I fought against the chills he caused, his lazy smiley making my knees feel weak.
"Paint is just everywhere," he chuckled more, a soft crinkle to his eyes.
"I know, on you too." I giggled softly, his eyes seemed to be lost in a moment that wasn't right now.
I walked up the stairs towards our bedroom; the sound of "Walk Like An Egyptian" starting to play could be heard as I made my way up. I stopped before walking in, leaning on the doorway, watching Lina dancing as she painted. She had been up here for an hour and a half, starting her paintings for the art walk she had signed up for.
"All the old paintings on the tombs
They do the sand dance, don't you know?"
She twisted her feet from left to right, her hips moving in the opposite direction of them. She had different paint brushes pushed into her hair, switching brushes as she went; clearly not concerned as to where the paint was going. I watched as she painted out the Amsterdam canals from a photo on her phone. She was so good with her details, so good with making sure even the tiniest cracks could be seen on the ground.
"All the bazaar men by the Nile
They got the money on a bet."
"I see you're choosing to concentrate on landscape vs people tonight." I said, causing her to stop her dancing and turn to face me.
"It just goes by faster than people, people take more time for me, because I concentrate on all their details," she smiled, turning more to me, paint on her eyebrow and nose.
"Have you seen your paintings, Lina? You noticed every single crack on the ground." I chuckled, and she turned back to the painting, tilting her head at it.
"The blonde waitresses take their trays
They spin around and they cross the floor."
"Yeah, but not like humans, like...." she turned back dancing over to me, making me laugh. She got to me and pulled out a paint brush from her hair, "Be my muse?"
Her words made my stomach flip, but I maintained my composure, swallowing and nodding, "Of course."
She grabbed my hand in hers, opening it up and bending my fingers slightly, "Humans have cracks too, but to me, they carry more importance than the cracks on the floor," she took the brush, rolling the bristles between her fingers to make the tip more pointed, "The index finger, having more fine lines than the middle. Makes you wonder, why? Why isn't each finger an exact copy of the other? Cracks on the ground are made from wear and tear, but our fine lines are a part of us since the moment we are born. Some get partnered with scars from our human experiences, others join the lines that form from growing older."
"All the kids in the marketplace say
Walk like an Egyptian."
As she spoke, she began filling in the fine lines on my knuckles with a light blue paint color, "Then, your arms for example, obviously your tattoos make you who you are; they are markings that are uniquely placed and engraved into your skin."
Her fingers traced delicately over the outlines of them, moving into a dip of the muscle on my forearm. She took a different brush from her hair, coated in bits of pink, filling in the dip, "And then, everytime you flex, move, breathe, all your creases, and different ends. They appear, only for some to see, missed by most." She smiled small, guiding me in moving and flexing my arm, filling in the divets she would see, some that I even missed on my own body.
"Hmm, who are you Catalina Sloane? Quirky, witty, funny, pitting vegetables and crunchy carbs against each other. Then speaking so eloquently, it almost escapes you like a poem, looking at everything so delicately, all while walking like an Egyptian."
We both chuckled as she continued to fill in bits of my arm, "I bet you could do it too. You just have to look closely, pay attention to the things people tend to skip over." She said softly, our eyes meeting in a place I hoped we never left.
"Like the small cluster of freckles you get right here?" I said, reaching for a brush in her hair, yellow, running it softly over her freckles.
"Mhm, like that." She said softly.
"Can I make you breakfast?" I said softly, snapping him out of whatever trance he seems to be lost in.
He lowered his hand from my face, nodding a bit, "Can we share? I don't get particularly hungry when I'm still tired in the morning."
"Pancakes for two, coming right up." I smiled, pushing gently away from him, "So seeing as these cities were mainly on Robin's plans, what do you want to do today? I still need to paint, but that can wait until later tonight."
I moved around the kitchen, finding the mix we had bought the day before and a skillet to cook the pancakes on. Harry took the skillet from me, placing it on the stove and turning it on.
"Well, he would want to see all the museums. There was one he and mum used to always talk about. I believe it was Museum Voor Schone Kunsten. They have really beautiful paintings but then sculptures as well. Giant glass ceilings." He smiled, handing me a bowl as I read the directions on the box of the mix.
"You know I have zero problem with being in a giant building filled with art. Did Robin have a favorite painter or sculptor?" I said, pouring the mix into the bowl, adding two eggs and a cup of water.
"He really liked Josef Cantré. His work always reminded me of those drawings you see patients get shown in psychiatry offices in movies." He chuckled a bit and I shook my head, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Many would find it insulting, but I knew there was nothing but innocence behind Harry's words.
"They do have some similarities," I chuckled, "I love art work like that, drawing one thing but having it look like another. I always find it intriguing that each person will see it differently than someone else. You could see two men and I'll see a vase."
"So you know who he is?" He said as I used a deep ladle spoon to add some mixture to the skillet.
"Yup, he likes to show that he is drawing a woman by putting circle boobs on them." I said, using my hands to form two circles over my own. He began laughing, grabbing the moka pot and starting to prepare our coffee.
"Does he really?" He said as I flipped the pancake.
"Mhm, hopefully they have some of his work so you can see." I smiled at him, bumping his hip softly with mine.
We spent the next part of the morning eating pancakes off the same plate and drinking our coffee. Harry bought the tickets for the museum, excited that Josef Cantré did in fact have art displayed at it.
Moving around the bedroom felt different this morning, a tension could be felt between us; a tension that seemed to constantly be broken by sudden touches. My hand on his arm, his on my lower back; our fingers brushing as we grabbed the sheet fixing the bed. I couldn't help but laugh as he complained about fixing it, fluffing the pillows, grumbling under his breath.
Harry stood at the shared wardrobe, moving his hung up shirts, looking them over. I moved over to his side, leaning my head on his arm, "I have another amazing idea."
"And what idea is that?" He said, his head turning slightly to me, tapping my nose.
"Let's pick each other's wardrobe for the day. I think I trust you enough to handle that." I chuckled a bit, lifting my head up off his arm. I moved towards the shirts he was looking through, pulling out a dark charcoal gray graphic tee, "This...with...these light washed jeans, your light blue and white checkered vans and a hat. Like a dad hat."
He took the shirt and jeans from me, turning to his duffel and pulling out a blue dad hat, "This one?"
"Yes! That's perfect." I smiled, pulling my hair out of my bun and throwing it up again.
"Okay, now your turn, let's see." I sat on the bed watching him push around the couple shirts I had hung up.
"I like this. I like the orange, um, do you have a favorite pair of jeans? I know how girls are about their jeans." He asked, pulling out a cream bodysuit with orange dots over it and I chuckled, getting up and pulling them out of the small drawer at the bottom. They were a pair of light wash flared bottoms.
"I love these." I smiled, holding them against me and he nodded.
"I like that, with some white sneakers, and curly hair." He smiled at me, his dimples making my heart flutter and I quickly rolled my eyes looking away.
"Alright, well then I get the first shower, because these curls, they are a process!" I said, grabbing my bag I had placed all my shower things in and moving out of the room.
"Leave me hot water!" I heard him call out.
"Never!" I called back, giggling as I stepped in the shower.
Lina ran ahead of me with my camera, snapping photos of me, giving her best paparazzi impression, "Harry Styles, Harry Styles! Why are you wearing women's sunglasses? Mister Styles, just a smile, this way, this way."
"You sound just as insufferable as them right now," I chuckled, running a bit to catch up to her, attempting to take the camera from her. She quickly moved her body, running again and snapping more of me.
I chuckled, "Okay, stand there then, let me get a photo of you on my phone. Show my mum what the paps look like in Ghent."
She narrowed her eyes at me, before bringing the camera up to cover her face, pretending to take another photo. I snapped a couple on my phone, looking down and smiling as I went through them. I picked my favorite, sending it to my mum.
H: Look at my new personal paparazzi. They make them different in Ghent.
M: At least they are adorable. ;)
I chuckled at my mum's response, peeking up at Lina, she was adorable, no doubt about it.
"Come on, let's go, we have a lot of artwork to get through."
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We arrived at the museum, making our way through the different rooms. Beautiful colors playing backdrops to different eras of paintings, different paint strokes and techniques. Lina explained how the coloring of the walls helped us to view the paintings in a certain light, explaining how it played to the time they were painted. She shared how she loved how the darker color walls helped to bring out the darker tones of self portraits.
The sculpture room was one of my favorites, blue walls contrasting with white and dark gray marble. All illuminated by an encompassing glass window ceiling, letting the sunlight in. We took in the different sculptures, the cracks that had formed overtime, bringing me back to last night. My eyes traveled over to Lina, watching her eyes move along the statue; until she felt my eyes on her. She turned to me smiling.
"Crazy how they always have to be naked right? And how most of the women have to hide their virtue, but the men have their penis just out for everyone to see. And all so tiny." She bit her lip, a soft giggle escaping her, making me shake my head.
"I'm over here remembering our conversation on how each person generates their own creases and ends, correlating it to the cracks in the statues and you are concentrating on their human anatomy." I smirked playfully.
"Hey, vagina and penises come in different shapes and sizes too! Different tips and different lips," she chuckled. We moved towards the next room, a giant hallway of sketches.
"Have you ever...you know, drawn someone like that?" I asked, removing my hat to mess with my hair before putting it back on.
"Naked? No...I've never met someone that trusted me enough for that, or that I trusted enough to do that with. Especially men. They crave too much of a "paint me like one of your French girls" moment and that's not happening." She scrunched her nose, shaking her head at the thought.
"What about me? Trust me enough?" I teased, throwing my hands up, wiggling my shoulders up and down. She narrowed her eyes at me, a soft flush spilling over her cheeks before she giggled.
"Not at the moment, but....ask me in Paris." She winked, looking away quickly, but not before I saw how red her face had gotten. She moved down the hall quickly ahead of me, but I didn't allow the space, moving behind her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders, pulling her towards me gently.
"You know I'm kidding right?" I said softly, her face turning slightly towards mine.
"It's okay if you're not." She smiled, before looking back straight ahead, "We should be near the Cantré artwork soon, I think one of the next few rooms."
I nodded letting her go, moving to walk by her side. As we continued down the hall and into the next rooms, the sketches grew more detailed, gaining more color or shadowing as we went. I spotted the artwork before Catalina, a rush of memories hitting me when my eyes landed on the particular piece of work. I hated the feeling of my chest tightening like it did. I hated that I couldn't run away from here, because my feet felt like cinder blocks stuck to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only made it worse, because all I saw was his face
"I've been bidding on it for a couple days now, but someone keeps outbidding me, by just five hundred each time. I'll bid a thousand more and they'll add another five hundred. It feels like they are teasing me! There is only ten minutes left." Robin said, hand slamming gently on the kitchen table, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen.
"What if we double it? See what they do now. I'll give you a thousand on top of the next thousand you put." I said, grabbing a chair and swinging it around next to him, the back of the chair against my chest as I straddled it.
"I only have a thousand left from my art budget for the month, I was planning on just making small bids until it ran out." He looked over at me, a twinkle in his eye that warmed my heart.
"Then let's make it big, pops. Gotta take a risk." I wiggled my eyebrows and he left out a hearty laugh, nodding.
"Alright, let's do it." He smiled, turning back to the screen and placing a two thousand dollar bid on the piece of art.
We both sat in front of the laptop, watching the time going down, watching our bid stand as the winning one, no other bid yet being made. As the timer trickled down to the final few seconds, I felt hope for him in my chest; I could feel it radiating off of Robin as well.
But then we heard it. The ding of another bid with no time left to challenge it. I turned to see Robin's shoulders drop, a sadness taking over his face. He sighed, pressing his lips into a small smile, "We tried, and now I still have all my money. So, another one will come again. I'll win it."
"Harry....Harry," I heard Lina say, her slender fingers wrapping around my arm, "Hey, you okay? Your breathing is heavy babes," she continued, her voice low. I felt her fingers trace a pattern gently up and down my arm. All of it bringing me back to the present
"He never got another chance to bid on it..." I swallowed, speaking half to myself, half to her.
"Hey...you mean Robin?" She said softly, my eyes dropping down to her. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, running my teeth against it.
"Yeah," I breathed out, feeling tears stinging my eyes, quickly trying to blink them away. I turned away from her, inhaling deeply.
"We don't have to talk about it....but, it's also not a horrible idea." She said, her words I knew were spoken so carefully.
"He died two months later...two months. Eight weeks. Just, gone. We sat down...at the kitchen table...he was....he was okay. It was okay. It was supposed to be okay." I pushed her hand off my arm, throwing my sunglasses back on, walking away from her.
"Harry! Harry, wait!" I heard her voice in the distance, my legs carrying me quickly through the crowds. Everything felt like a blur, I had no idea where the exit was. No idea where I was heading, but my feet seemed to know where to go. Until I was there, back in the blue sculpture room. I inhaled deeply, spotting a security in the back corner. I quickly made my way over, planning on doing the one thing I truly hated doing.
"Excuse me...I was wondering if I could get the room to myself....for just a bit," I said, pulling my money clip from my back pocket, pulling out three hundred bucks and handing it to him. His eyes landed on it, then me, before nodding while taking the money.
"I need everybody out please..." he began calling out, and soon the room was empty. I walked over to the center of the room, lowering my body down until I was laying on the flat cold floor. I removed my glasses, pinching at the bridge of my nose. I hated that I couldn't speak about my emotions. I hated that I went on everyday pretending that I was okay. I hated that I pretended that he was still around and would round the corner at any moment.
But he wouldn't be.
I inhaled sharply through my nose, staring up at the ceiling, the sun hurting my eyes, but at least the tears wouldn't come this way.
"Ma'am, the area is closed off for now..." I heard the security start, Lina's voice quickly interrupting him.
"Oh, I'm with him....pop star is my bestie. Right pop star?" I heard her call out to me, my hand raising up to give the security a thumbs up. It wasn't long before she was lowering herself down next to me, laying down.
"I'm starting to think we need to cancel any future trips to museums now. Just scratch them off all future destinations. Pretend they don't even exist. They seem to trigger existential crisis syndrome in both of us, and personally, running through crowds of people....so early 2000s."
I chuckled, turning my head towards her. She searched my face, big doe eyes taking me in, in a manner that made me want to shift closer to her. She reached over to remove my hat, placing it on the floor so her fingers could run gently through my hair.
"Mmm, I think we can give it a final try in Paris," I said softly.
"Maybe after you act like a French girl for me." She joked in almost a whisper, making me chuckle.
"I miss him, Lina. I keep waiting for him to turn the corner. Everyday. It's not healthy. It's been three years," I choked out, letting the tears fall.
"Time doesn't mean anything, Harry. Grief isn't measured in time. It's...more complicated than that. I mean look at the both of us. Three years versus two months. I can speak so fluidly on it, while you...can't. I still have moments when I wake up....and walk down the hall to her room..." she said slowly, her voice dropping so low, eyes glazing over.
"And you think she'll be sitting there. Doing whatever mum like thing she would normally be doing." I finished for her, watching her nod her head.
"But I open the door and it's just an empty room, with an unused bed....that still smells like her." She swallowed, her tears falling too.
"There was a day...I opened his car door. It no longer smelled like cedar...." I whispered, closing my eyes tight and for the first time since his passing, I cried. I sobbed in a manner that made my chest feel like it was rattling. I felt the warmth of her body engulf me, her arms soon wrapping around me. I felt so safe, so cared about. Her fingers traced circles on my back, my face finding a safe place in her neck, her sweet chocolate like scent taking over my senses.
We stayed this way, until the security guard cleared his throat in the distance, almost as if letting us know that our time was up. We separated our bodies, her hands coming to my face to wipe my tears away. I reached up, tapping her nose softly, causing a small chuckle to escape from her.
"You know what sounds good for lunch?" She said softly.
"What sounds good, Catalina?"
"Ice cream." She smiled, wiping her own eyes.
"I am completely onboard with that sentiment....thank you, Lina." I said softly, and she simply nodded, before we moved, working our way up to our feet. She smiled gently at me, before slipping her arm through mine, as we walked out of the sculpture room towards the main entrance.
For once...it felt okay, to not be okay.
And I had Catalina Sloane to thank for that.
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I hope you all like this chapter and how the story is going by so far. It really is my baby, ✨
𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 & 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎.
- 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚢 💋
@𝚑𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚜