Muse

4

It seemed like hours before people started to pool out of the auction area, chattering amongst themselves. Everyone dressed posh, upper class. The women carrying luxury bags through their arms, and men carrying luxury women. My eyes wondered through the dozens, my lunch break coming ever so slowly as I had to wait for Lottie to come back from hers before I moved out of my chair. I was almost daydreaming, my head resting in my hand for a while, my wrist started to get quite sore.

"I must ask," A deeply familiar voice beamed from just in front of me. The man from earlier, the one I couldn't keep my eyes away from, had stepped in front of me. My heart fluttered, an attractive man who was talking to me before I spoke to him? I laughed at my own thought dialogue, always over thinking every single interaction I have with someone. "What is your favourite piece in this gallery?"

I was taken aback. He wanted my opinion on the artwork here. Something that was never asked of me, by anyone here. I was quite excited to share. A whimsical piece with the perfect mix of human nature as part of nature. The romanticism era of art has truly produced some of the most beautiful works I've seen. The 1800's was a lifetime and a half ago, part of me desires to capture  the raw emotion displayed in the paintings of the time in my own.  "Thomson's Aeolian Harp, at the moment."

He raises his eyebrows, almost as if he was in shock. He leans up against the desk putting his elbow down to lean on his fist. "Why?"

"Oh," I, still quite taken aback by the fact that someone was asking me this deeply on my opinion on the artworks in the gallery. Normally that's something they'd ask the director, the gallerist, they even have an award for the packers favourite artwork. "I enjoy the way it's beautifully painted, and I'm really inspired by that period of artworks."

He raises his eyebrows again, this time in acceptance, a little "Hm" escaping his lips. They almost curl up, his lips. The corners of his mouth raising ever so slightly, as if he was holding in a laugh.

"Well, thanks for the insight." He sighs and pushes his arm back up from the desk, swinging his head away before turning back to me. "See you next time...Veronica."

I stare as he walks back through the door wondering how he could possibly know my name. Until I realised I have a name tag pinned to my coat. A lot of people do that – thanking me and then calling me by my name – and every time I always have a split second where I think, is this person stalking me? Have I met this person before? The name badge is a dead giveaway however. Sometimes I wonder if a name badge is even a good idea. Although seeming harmless, is it not a breach of privacy? If I could use a nickname or even an alias wouldn't it be less dangerous?

I return my gaze back down to the computer screen, blankly staring at the document laid in front of me. My mind is frazzled, it's far too close to my lunch break to even think about continuing on with my work. All I can think about is how I'll have to travel to the other side of town to grab Aaron's perfectly ground coffee. Perhaps I'll grab a blueberry muffin while I'm there, in the event that it's not unbearably overpriced.

I hear a scuffle behind me, a waft of sweet floral perfume following Lottie to her chair. She straightens out her blazer before smiling at me. "Alright, your turn, enjoy your lunch!"

I check the time displayed on the bottom of the screen. Twelve twenty eight. I sigh, no time for me to actually enjoy my lunch, most of it will be spent on the tram between other people mindlessly waiting for their stop. I smile back at Lottie, slowly standing up from my seat. "I have to grab Aaron his coffee, I probably wouldn't be having anymore lunch breaks if I didn't."

•••

It all felt the same, the way I'd come home from work and set my things down. I hadn't been there in months, during those months part of me was even destined to go back, I hadn't done much productive activities in the time I spent at home and was eager to start doing something regularly. Until I came through the door with half a bottle of room temperature water and a stack of papers tightly clasped in my hands, I realised nothing had changed. I was still doing stock counts at home, I still was extremely tired the second I walked through the door, and I still wanted to do something more.

Blossom greets me, tail wagging high in the air as she spins happily in little circles. I chuckle to myself at how adorably excited she gets when I come back home after a long day. That's something I missed. Something I could bare to see every single day, now actually leaving her at home alone was sometimes a less severe – but still present mental torture.

"Hello beautiful," I bend over to scratch her behind her ears as she jittered with excitement and breathed quickly with all her mite.

I stand back up and place everything down on my dining table. Stock counts were the things I saw in my nightmares. Forget vampires, ghosts, serial killers, even crazy ex partners. My bad dreams were filled with stacks and stacks of papers filled with tables, that were filled with numbers. I feel sick just thinking about it. I am almost sure that Aaron never sends Lottie home with any paperwork, so how come it is me that has to do the gruelling task without being paid for it? Staring at the paper for longer and longer, I realise how much I really don't want to do this.

I let out a deep exhale and turn to the kitchen. Opening the cupboard to my trusty hoard of two minute noodles, pulling one out and putting it on the bench before filling my kettle up with water from the tap. A cup of noodles a day keeps the stress at bay, for a few minutes. That's all I really needed.

I sit down in front of the papers and stare longingly into them. If I didn't do them tonight, that would be my very first day back, and I would've fucked it already. The thought wasn't compelling me to do it still. Maybe if I did something beforehand to calm my tension I could slowly ease my mind into thinking I could take it.

The kettle dinged as the water bubbled and the steam sung, I made my way over and poured the water in the cup along with the little sachets that came with the noodles. I decide to grab one of my sketching diaries, maybe I could start on a small scribble or even create a basis for a fully fledged work. Either way, it was something that I could do on my own accord, something I wasn't forced to do. It reminded me of my mother, and how she'd always be sketching in her little sketching diary while my brother and I would dance around the house causing an abysmal amount of noise and undoubtedly mess that came with it.

I make my way into my room, quickly directing myself straight to my wardrobe, sliding the doors left to reveal my little collection of artworks and supplies I tucked away at the bottom of it. One piece catches my eye, one of the ones my mother hadn't finished before she passed. I knelt down to take a closer look. It was eerily similar to the painting I had described to the man who asked me about my favourite painting today was. Not exactly visually, it had all the components of the other painting, humans in nature and a beautiful scenery, but I couldn't help but notice the romance that lingered off it. Reminiscent of 1800's romanticism undoubtedly. I wonder what was going through her head whilst she was painting this.

I'd love to know how her fingers manipulated the brush so blissfully, without fault.

Things I would now never know the truth behind. People whom she's met can tell me all about what she told them, but truly, why would my mother ever reveal what was really going through her brilliant mind? Looking at the piece it reminded me of the days we would spend together, walking hand in hand through our local reserve, feeding the wandering ducks and searching for ladybugs to make friends with. She always said how the ladybugs would always mean something good would be coming. Perhaps good weather, good fortune, love.

My arms encompass the canvas, holding it against my chest to my beating heart. My shoulders began to slouch in as I lay my head onto the painting as if I was holding my dear mother again. The room was empty and seemingly getting bigger and bigger, before a tear escaped my eye, rolling down my cheek and onto the carpet floor. The world felt lonely without her in it.