The Portrait
Chapter One
I sat down slowly, sinking into my chair overlooking the river and I carefully brought the cup of tea to my lips. Ahh...it was hot. I always managed to burn myself, even though I am now in my sixties and I have been drinking Earl Gray since my teens, I always managed to burn myself.
Erin would laugh every time. I remember her smirk as she watched me over the brim of her coffee. She knew I would burn myself and I did. Everytime. Somehow she always managed to drink her coffee without ever being burned. I could never understand. Really, it doesn't matter. Burned or not, Erin is still gone. She and her ever present coffee have moved on to a place I have not followed, though once, I promised her I would.
The water is gray today. The wind is whipping it into white capped steel and I know that the temperature is close to freezing. The beauty makes me want to paint again. To capture the loveliness, the wildness of it all. As I look at my hands, gnarled and crooked from arthrities, I know that my days of painting is over. Over and done with.
Ahhh...Erin. It is days like this that makes me miss you.
"I shouldn't Erin. I shouldn't." I whisper to the still air.
But I do. I wonder if she made the right choice. Her departure was never what I expected. I never knew that she could do what she did. And now that she is gone, I know that I will never paint again.
It is not the pain in my hands that keeps me from my work. It is not the pain in my hands.
My cup rattles slightly and I place it on the sill. Erin picked these cups out. They were plain porcelin but she asked me to paint them. Over the years they too have disappeared and it is this final cup that I hold so dear. The phone rings. The phone rings and I blink at the shrill sound, but I make no move. There is no one to talk to today. Today it is just me. It is me and it is the water. The water, the water. Erin loved the river. She would walk alongside it, pushing her hair out of her face and looking across the river to a place I could not see. I wonder if I will ever know what she saw, and if sometimes, when she stared at her reflection, did she ever see me?
The phone's scream finally leaves me and my thoughts in peace and I pick up my tea once more. It has cooled enough so that I can drink it. I sip it slowly until the cup is empty and then I set it on the sill once more.
Erin, my darling, my muse, my painting, my love.
On days like this, did you ever think of me?
Erin would laugh every time. I remember her smirk as she watched me over the brim of her coffee. She knew I would burn myself and I did. Everytime. Somehow she always managed to drink her coffee without ever being burned. I could never understand. Really, it doesn't matter. Burned or not, Erin is still gone. She and her ever present coffee have moved on to a place I have not followed, though once, I promised her I would.
The water is gray today. The wind is whipping it into white capped steel and I know that the temperature is close to freezing. The beauty makes me want to paint again. To capture the loveliness, the wildness of it all. As I look at my hands, gnarled and crooked from arthrities, I know that my days of painting is over. Over and done with.
Ahhh...Erin. It is days like this that makes me miss you.
"I shouldn't Erin. I shouldn't." I whisper to the still air.
But I do. I wonder if she made the right choice. Her departure was never what I expected. I never knew that she could do what she did. And now that she is gone, I know that I will never paint again.
It is not the pain in my hands that keeps me from my work. It is not the pain in my hands.
My cup rattles slightly and I place it on the sill. Erin picked these cups out. They were plain porcelin but she asked me to paint them. Over the years they too have disappeared and it is this final cup that I hold so dear. The phone rings. The phone rings and I blink at the shrill sound, but I make no move. There is no one to talk to today. Today it is just me. It is me and it is the water. The water, the water. Erin loved the river. She would walk alongside it, pushing her hair out of her face and looking across the river to a place I could not see. I wonder if I will ever know what she saw, and if sometimes, when she stared at her reflection, did she ever see me?
The phone's scream finally leaves me and my thoughts in peace and I pick up my tea once more. It has cooled enough so that I can drink it. I sip it slowly until the cup is empty and then I set it on the sill once more.
Erin, my darling, my muse, my painting, my love.
On days like this, did you ever think of me?