Art Imitates Life (Part One)

Everyone wants a picture perfect ending, where the couple ends up together and lives their dream. But is that possible for the struggling artist and the therapist who see the world differently?

Scarlet: Twenty Minutes After

Narcissistic.

No. 

He isn’t self-absorbed.

Memory Lost. 

No.

Commitment issues. 

Possibly. But not likely.

The subway car seems to be getting hotter. I think the subway is collapsing. 

Breathe, Scar, Breathe.

In and out.

It doesn’t make sense; those are the only logical explanations for him not proposing. I gave him a pass on Valentine’s Day because it is tacky but today was the perfect opportunity. The museum, the Love and Marriage in Renaissance Italy Exhibit, the holding hands, the beautiful painting by Fra Filippo Lippi. All he had to do was drop down on one knee. Even if he didn’t have a ring, I would have said yes. Is this desperation? Am I the problem? Possibly but after ten years, four months, and forty-five days of dating, I have nothing to show other than a calendar full of museum dates and walks around the parks. 

Unless the reason is there and I do not want to see it. Logical or not. He doesn’t love me anymore. I never thought I was like so many of my patients, living in denial. I always tell them to look at the bigger picture; how does your partner make you feel and why are you afraid to see the truth? Maybe I should call this my appointment as I sit on the Q train reevaluating the bigger picture. I sit on these old dirty orange seats going uptown, riding without a clear destination. I close my eyes thinking, how did I get here? 

Today felt like the day we went out on our first museum date all those years ago. He wore a button-up gray shirt, dark jeans, and dress shoes that shined no matter the lighting in the room. His hair was freshly cut, he smelled like a forest in the springtime, and he seemed to have more energy with every step he took toward me. 

It was the opening of the exhibit as an art handler. Will refused to tell me the name for weeks. 

“Scar, you ready,” he said.

He reached for my hand, and I accepted the quest. When we got to the exhibit, I read the gold name painted on the red wall. Love and Marriage in Renaissance Italy. That’s when my heart started beating outside of my chest. My favorite things combined into a single room. We dreamed of spending our summers in Italy in a Villa while eating the best pasta in the world. We dreamed of marriage and romance so we could be closer to each other. I am not the biggest art fan like Will but being with him and watching him smile was like the cream in cannoli. There could only be one reason for him to keep this a secret. I still wonder how it all became my nightmare. 

My nails were not done, my makeup was only a step above nonexistent, and my outfit made me look like I was going to a business meeting and not being proposed to. I wanted to run but I took a breath and continued to walk through Italy in the fifteenth century. I was quiet at first, wondering how I would react when he dropped to one knee. Would I be one of those women who covers their face in shock? Would I cry? Would I bend my knees to meet him at eye level to say yes? I wondered if he would pick me up as we embraced or if he would hug me so tight that would feel every bone in my rib cage.

That is the moment that every woman dreams of, right? And everyone on his staff could not keep their eyes off us, they must have known. 

As we walked he nudged me and whispered into my ear how each painting can tell a story. How the colors dance between a canvas and brush to show what the artist can feel. Once we got to the last painting in the exhibit, I knew it was time. The painting of the Portrait of a Woman with a Man at a Casement was in front of us. As I was thinking of something intriguing to say about the painting, Will bent down on one knee and I gasped when I turned to him. I screamed yes before any words could fall from his lips. He tilted his head and looked at me. 

“Yes, to what?”

Will stood up and held a key ring in his hand. I never cussed so much in my life. I always tell my patients that there are better words to use to express anger, but today, those were the only words I knew. When I was finished, I walked out before I could look at his face. Will has been texting and calling my phone every two minutes. I regret not throwing it on the train track. I hope he knows that I will never answer his call. I hope he knows that we are over no matter how much he apologizes, I will not waste my time dreaming that he would take us seriously. I am single.

Process

When Camron and Olivia decided to collaborate in writing a story together, they were apprehensive and felt out of touch with their writing but knew it was long overdue to create a story together. They both have unique styles of writing, they overthink the details, they never liked group projects, and their lives are chaotically busy outside of the organization. But they kept in mind their love for writing, dialogue, and art which guided them through a fun and challenging project. In one of their monthly meeting, Camron and Olivia came in with characters and plot lines that made each other laugh and engaged their curiosity. They decided on a story about working in a museum and a couple learning to grow together because it was a setting that they both knew very well.