Regina Saxony
on the topic of last december
“Regina, what does ‘construed’ mean?” Ilya asks sweetly, whispering so that he wouldn’t disturb her peaceful painting. She used to be so violent with each stroke, so passionate, now, it was subdued and studious work for her. It was a sign she was really coming into her own and developing that balance of perfected insanity and whimsical surprises.
Regina bites her lip, trying to think of the right way to word the definition so that he would grasp the topic in the right light. ”Construed. Fabricated. Made up.”
“Thanks.”
She continues to paint and he continues to read, this is their alone time. Though they are forced to be corralled in the same room at night and early in the morning when he wakes up screaming, they are separated by the towering canvas and the pages of a book Regina turns her nose up at.
“What happened when I was gone?” He asks, his bubbling anxiety comes to a head.
Mixing paint on a thin, veneer palette in some kind of fervent dedication, but cautious all at once, Regina chuckles. “I only wrote to you every other day, Ilya dear.”
Ilya shakes his head, propping himself up more so, his back yearning for some activity other than bed rest. Stretching, he sputters, “No what happened to you?”
For a while, she remains silent. The sound of paint slicking onto a canvas invigorates the room. Had it not been for the glowing embers of the sooty birch logs Ilya would be engulfed in that stabbing silence with the few saviors only heightening his nerves. “Well, I was a dumb little girl.”
“Elaborate.”
Regina sighs, staring behind the divider of the canvas for protection. “Well, you left last December before things got bad Ilya. I’ve been alone for a long time since Pavla passed.”
After an indefinite period of stillness passes, she clears her throat once more, “And I worked long hours, I was hungry, and I was in here, painting the summer away and writing to you while these idiots rioted in the streets. I’m not the cheery little thing that would sneak out of my mother’s home and stroll in the park with you, Ilya, not anymore.”
Ilya exhales, “Well I’m not the boy with rosy cheeks that can stroll around the park anymore, Regina.”
And after that stream of conversation, they remained tight lipped for the remainder of the winter’s eve.
Regina bites her lip, trying to think of the right way to word the definition so that he would grasp the topic in the right light. ”Construed. Fabricated. Made up.”
“Thanks.”
She continues to paint and he continues to read, this is their alone time. Though they are forced to be corralled in the same room at night and early in the morning when he wakes up screaming, they are separated by the towering canvas and the pages of a book Regina turns her nose up at.
“What happened when I was gone?” He asks, his bubbling anxiety comes to a head.
Mixing paint on a thin, veneer palette in some kind of fervent dedication, but cautious all at once, Regina chuckles. “I only wrote to you every other day, Ilya dear.”
Ilya shakes his head, propping himself up more so, his back yearning for some activity other than bed rest. Stretching, he sputters, “No what happened to you?”
For a while, she remains silent. The sound of paint slicking onto a canvas invigorates the room. Had it not been for the glowing embers of the sooty birch logs Ilya would be engulfed in that stabbing silence with the few saviors only heightening his nerves. “Well, I was a dumb little girl.”
“Elaborate.”
Regina sighs, staring behind the divider of the canvas for protection. “Well, you left last December before things got bad Ilya. I’ve been alone for a long time since Pavla passed.”
After an indefinite period of stillness passes, she clears her throat once more, “And I worked long hours, I was hungry, and I was in here, painting the summer away and writing to you while these idiots rioted in the streets. I’m not the cheery little thing that would sneak out of my mother’s home and stroll in the park with you, Ilya, not anymore.”
Ilya exhales, “Well I’m not the boy with rosy cheeks that can stroll around the park anymore, Regina.”
And after that stream of conversation, they remained tight lipped for the remainder of the winter’s eve.