*
*
I’m driving down to Philly to an exhibition put on by the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It is one of the best exhibitions of fine arts in the East coast. It includes 200 of the finest and most dynamic artists, selected from hundreds of applicants—that’s what the brochure says. They make it sound bigger than it actually is. But hey, I was chosen and it’s a great opportunity to showcase my work.
After Pratt, I got little odd jobs here and there, but never landed anything long term. I learned quickly that in graphic design you need connections. You need someone on the inside to pave the way for you. Talent counts, of course. But having your dad as the head of marketing or a CEO of a company, makes securing that job easier.
So, I’ve been working on my resume, talking to a few people, and I hope my involvement in this art show might just give me enough kick to finally land a full time job. It’s been hard. I’m not going to lie. I’m the cliché starving artist. The small designing jobs help, but what’s putting food on the table is…waiting tables. I’ve come this close to packing my things and returning home. But if I want to be the artist I aspire to be, I need to stay in New York.
When I finally arrive at the museum, I’m faced with the ‘artsy’ chaos I’ve become accustomed to. People running up and down the aisles, paintings being dragged here and there… It seems like I’m the last one to arrive. A uniformed personal taps me on the shoulder and says, “Excuse me sir, the event will start at noon.”
“Oh, um…I’m presenting.”
He looks me up and down. “You have to register at customer services.”
“Oh okay, thank you.”
I walk aimlessly trying to find customer service. When I do find it, I make it just in the nick of time. I sign in and yes, I was the last one to arrive. The lady made sure I was aware of it. I walk to my assigned nook and begin setting up my display. I’m next to an abstract and a still-life artist. I haven’t categorized myself yet. I just paint. I like drawing cartoons, actually.
Before I know it, it’s thirty past and this place is packed. It seems more like a fair than an art show. All they’re missing is a carousel and a cotton candy machine. People will stop every now and then and ask about my work, what I do, and that sort of stuff. I reply with scripted pleasantries that we’ve all been trained to say at any moment’s notice to any stranger.
During a slow moment, I consider sneaking out to grab a bite to eat. A Philly steak and cheese sounds superb right now. I’m almost giving into my craving when I see this tall guy with a little girl hoisted at his hip walking towards me.
I clear my throat and straighten up a bit. He doesn’t look like a guy who would ask any questions though. I just hope my stomach doesn’t rumble loud enough for him to hear.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say back.
He strolls about my little display, following the little girl’s pointed finger. She aims at the most colorful pieces I have, babbling things I don’t understand. She’s very adamant and strong-minded about what she’s ‘saying.’ It’s almost like she’s certain he understands every sound that comes out of her mouth. I chuckle to myself and the guy looks my way.
“Sorry,” I offer. “It’s just… she’s very talkative.”
“Yup,” he says and looks down at the mop of sandy blond hair rebelling atop her head. “She’s very insightful.”
I laugh and add, “I sounded just like that when I went to my first art show. But I was around eighteen.”
He chuckles, “This isn’t her first,” he says. I frown questioningly and he adds, “Mom’s an artist.”
“Oh! Right, right.” The little one reminds me of my niece. She’s probably twice her size now. Last time I saw her she hadn’t taken her first steps.
“I’m Jim, by the way,” he says and extends a hand.
“Alex.”
We shake hands. He seems like a nice guy—he is toting his daughter around an art show, on a Sunday afternoon. I’m sure there is a game on ESPN he’d rather watch.
“These are really different,” he says. “But not in a bad way. A good different. I like them.”
I chuckle inwardly. “Thanks.”
The baby babbles again and he says, “I think she like your paintings the best so far.”
“I can see that.” I smile. The little girl has yet to stop jabbering. “It’s an honor.”
He smiles and continues to walk around the display. Unconsciously my mind reverts back to the Philly steak and cheese—my mouth waters just thinking about it. I wonder if anyone would notice if I slipped out and came back. Probably not. I should ask the still-life guy next to me if he could watch my booth for just a minute.
“Hey man,” I hear the guy with the little babbling baby say. I notice him holding his cell phone and for a minute I question if the ‘hey man’ was directed at me.
“Me?” I point to myself.
“Yeah… What’s your booth number?”
“Oh um… 43,” I tell him.
“Thanks…” He says and returns to talking to the person on the phone. “I’m on 43…. Yeah…. It’s to the across from the painting with all the chairs….. Yeah, the one with the lake-ghost thing in the middle….”
I couldn’t help overhearing, “It’s the Michelangelo Pistoletto’s Cittadellarte.,” I interject.
“It’s the Michelagelo’s Pisto-one,” he says and mouths ‘thanks’ to me. “Yeah…..Right across from it….Okay……Yup….bye.”
He closes his phone and says, “Thanks.”
“Oh, no problem.”
He marches to the middle of the long walkway and lifts himself on the tip of his toes, like he needs it. He already tower over most of us. But soon enough his hand goes up, waving to someone. When the person he’s signaling to comes into view, my mouth falls to the floor. I probably I look like one of those cartoon characters who’s just seen a ghost.
They hug and I am rooted to the ground because I can’t believe my eyes.
“Pam Beesly?” I choke out.
Her gaze finds me with my mouth agape and all and she says, “Alex?” equally surprised.
The guy looks between us and it seems he’s trying to solve a mathematic problem in his head.
Pam and I hug and it’s a bit awkward at first, but it feels right. To me, at least. And she looks great. She’s dressed in soft dusky colors, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was never glamorous like most New York girls. But she didn’t need the glitz for me to notice her the day she walked into class nearly three years ago.
I’m still stunned. I never thought I’d see her again. I had a big thing for her. She was just so…great—a curious mix of strength and vulnerability. I tried to get her to stay. I think she’d have done great in New York. She had what would take to get a job. She was a complete package. All she needed was to retake that computer class and she’d be on her way.
But she turned me down, left New York, all for some stupid boyfriend back in that little town and she….. Oh. My. God. That’s him! He’s the guy. And the little girl is her…
I shake the thoughts running through my head and manage to look composed. “How have you been?” I ask.
“I’ve been good, you?” She says.
“I’m doing better now.” From the corner of my eye I see Jim tightening up a bit.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she says. “And you’re….Presenting!”
“Yeah, I finally got a spot this year.” Those feelings from so long ago are starting to bubble up. “What about you? What have you been up to?”
“Well…” She looks behind her. “I got married.” My hearts breaks a little, even though I’d guessed. “This is my husband, Jim.”
“We’ve introduced ourselves earlier,” he says and smiles at me with tight lips. The wide grin from before disappeared as fast as a snowball tossed into hell.
“Alex and I met at Pratt,” she tells him, all cute and sweet. “And this is my daughter, Cecelia,” she informs me gesturing to the little girl nestled in his arms.
“Oh wow.” You know when too much information is given to you at once and you feel a bit overwhelmed, snowed under, weighted down, and all that jazz? Well, that’s how I feel right now. “She’s cute,” I manage to say. My vocal cords are in a knot.
I’m not usually this pathetic. If this was anyone else, it would have been fine. But this is not anyone. This is Pam.. She got to me in ways I didn’t begin to understand. And seeing her right now has a dream-like quality in my head. I was devastated when she left. I didn’t mind how she ‘rejected’ me before. But her leaving was like getting burned and then putting my hand straight back on the fire. And now she shows up here, married and with a baby? Just show me the way to hell.
“Thank you,” she says.
There’s a beat of silence and it’s mostly because of me. I try to pull myself together, but my tongue has apparently turned into a lump of wood. “So, what are you doing here?”
“Well, I’m taking this art class back in Scranton and the professor advertised this event so…. Here we are.”
“That’s great. I glad to hear you’re still painting. You were so good.”
“I did okay,” she says sheepishly. “Not as good as you.”
“No Pam. I’ve never seen anyone draw people like you do.” This one time on the subway she sketched this woman and she’d captured all these minute details. I’m not much into detail. My paintings are very broad and existential in a way—that’s what I tell myself, at least.
“Thank you,” she says and smiles. “You did great here.” She gestures towards my little exhibit and takes a few steps towards the one on the far left and says, “I remember this one. You did this for that abstract class.”
“Yeah.” Can’t believe she rememberes.
She sighs. “So, you’re this big artist now, huh?”
I chuckle. “I’m far from anything right now…haven’t landed a solid gig yet.”
“But I’m sure you will.”
She said those words simply, sincerely. “I hope you’re right,” I say “It’s been tough out there.”
“But you’re so good.”
“It’s not as easy as I thought it would be.”
“Oh,” she says.
Just then, her little girl begins calling her from his arms. Or at least I think she’s calling her.
“Mamma,” she repeats. Pam turns around and the little girl almost throws herself at her. Pam happily takes her in her arms and hoists her on her hip.
Jim, who’s been quiet all along, says, “I’m going to get us some water.”
“Okay,” she says and smiles.
“Be right back,” he says, making his way through the crowd.
The little girl, now quiet, lays her head on Pam’s shoulder. The baby appears to be an extension of Pam—like a limb, just like the impressionist painter, Mary Cassatt, portrayed in all her mother/daughter paintings.
“I still can’t believe you’re here.”
“Why?”
“Well, I didn’t think I would see you again.”
She places a stray curl behind her ear and says, “Yeah, I guess. But ‘never say never.’”
We laugh. One of our professor back at Pratt used to say that at a few times every lecture. We kept tally this one time and I think he came close to fifteen! The air between us goes quiet, perhaps even awkward, but I decide to break it with the obvious statement of the day, “Jim’s a nice guy.”
“Yeah, he is.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t seen you in like three years, but it seems like a lot longer.” So much has happened to her and it seems like I’m still here, living the same life I did three years ago.
“I know.”
“Do you regret it?” The moment I say it I regret it. I hope she doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Like, not staying?” I try to explain myself. “You would have landed a job right out of Pratt.”
“No” she says, not thinking twice about it. “I do wonder what would’ve happened if I did stay, though.” She looks down at the baby in her arms and back at me. “But then, I also wonder what wouldn’t have happened.”
“I see.” And maybe she has a point. At least one area in her life is fulfilled.
“I’m slowly easing my way back,” she says, lifting her shoulders in a barely-there shrug. “It’s a bit harder this time around, with the baby and all. But Jim’s really supportive.”
“I’m happy for you.” I am. Really.
“Thanks.” She offers me a kind smile.
“But we had fun, huh?” I say.
“We did,” she nods. “Remember the whole fiasco with Sarah?”
“Oh yeah, I hear that they are still not speaking to each other.”
“Oh wow!” She shakes her head. “Hey um… Have you heard from Kellie?”
“She went back to Virginia. Her dad knew someone, that knew this guy, and he got her a job in this marketing company.”
“Good for her!”
“Yeah…”
We continue going down memory lane, but moments later Jim comes back with three water bottles in hand and offers me one. I take it, but I’m not thirsty anymore, or hungry for that matter.
The little one has fallen asleep on Pam’s arms. Her cheeks are flushed and her little body drapes limply over Pam’s shoulder. Jim takes the baby’s Sippy cup from the backpack his carrying and fills it with water. He then lifts the little girl from Pam’s arms and carefully places the Sippy cup up to the little girl’s lips. Instinctively the baby girl lazily begins to gulp the liquid down.
“Well it was good seeing you,” Pam says.
“Yeah, you too.” I say. “It was nice meeting you, Jim.”
“You too.” He says, adjusting the little girl over his shoulder.
We wave bye and I watch them disappear amongst the crowd. This was harder than I thought it would be. Seeing her again was… different, because she was different. She’s in a good place right now. She seems happy and who can compete with a guy who calls Michelangelo’s Cittadellarte the one with all the chairs, but still come to an art show anyways?
I just hope I get lucky down the line and finally land a job. But only time will tell. And for now, I’ll hang in there.
Loose Ends by Dedeen
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so so much for all the kind reviews! I really appreciated it. You guys rock.
EmilyHalpert Beta-ed this. She's something else!
I own nada.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks soo much for reading! Can't wait for the new season to begin... the spoilers are just so juicy!
