The Portrait
Chapter Four
And just like that, I was no longer the suffering artist, alone in New York City. I had a friend. Erin was always there. Not in the creepy, stalker way, but in the way that she just had. I would remeber how she did little things that obviously were no big deal to her, but to me, they meant the world.
I had never had a friend who scoped the papers looking for a job for me. Or kept a box of Earl Gray tea, just for me. Or saved me dinner. Or any of the little things that she did for me. I sit here, alone, and old, and I know that somewhere out there, no matter how hard I look, there is nobody like that. I know, like I know that she loved me.
'Then why did she do this? Why did she leave you?' whispers the empty voice of reason.
"She loved me!" I cry to the empty apartment. "She loved me!"
But there is no answer. Just the sound of my startled, ragged breathing and even that slows to silence after a minute.
She loved me. She told me she loved me. She would never lie. Erin didn't lie. She just didn't, just like she didn't kill bugs. But even my heart cannot dispute the fact the she is gone and I am alone.
I am old but I have loved and as I look over the portraits and pictures and poems and letters, I know, I know, that she loved me. How else can I explain my life? Without her, I had no life. Without her, I only have the memories and as I watch the clouds race over the water, I know that time will one day steal those as well.
But I watch the water and I watch the young man sitting on the dock and I think of how I used to sit on the dock, and I used to sit there. And I had someone to sit there with. But like the young man in red, I too sit alone. And I know if Erin was with me, neither one of us would be sitting alone. And I feel a tear, a single tear, slide down my face, and I realize. It is me that left Erin.
I had never had a friend who scoped the papers looking for a job for me. Or kept a box of Earl Gray tea, just for me. Or saved me dinner. Or any of the little things that she did for me. I sit here, alone, and old, and I know that somewhere out there, no matter how hard I look, there is nobody like that. I know, like I know that she loved me.
'Then why did she do this? Why did she leave you?' whispers the empty voice of reason.
"She loved me!" I cry to the empty apartment. "She loved me!"
But there is no answer. Just the sound of my startled, ragged breathing and even that slows to silence after a minute.
She loved me. She told me she loved me. She would never lie. Erin didn't lie. She just didn't, just like she didn't kill bugs. But even my heart cannot dispute the fact the she is gone and I am alone.
I am old but I have loved and as I look over the portraits and pictures and poems and letters, I know, I know, that she loved me. How else can I explain my life? Without her, I had no life. Without her, I only have the memories and as I watch the clouds race over the water, I know that time will one day steal those as well.
But I watch the water and I watch the young man sitting on the dock and I think of how I used to sit on the dock, and I used to sit there. And I had someone to sit there with. But like the young man in red, I too sit alone. And I know if Erin was with me, neither one of us would be sitting alone. And I feel a tear, a single tear, slide down my face, and I realize. It is me that left Erin.