Dots and Zeros [Completed]

12. Sam

January 17

Life with Madeline is exactly how I want it. Exactly what I want it to be. We wake up. She goes to work. We spend the evening together. She watches me paint, I watch her sleep. But only sometimes. It's not in a weird way, I swear. I'm not weird.

It's perfect; everything I could've wished for.

'Can we do something else this evening?'

I look at Madeline by bending to the right. I'm sitting behind a canvas while she's posing. Nothing, ridiculous, she's just sitting. Sitting on a chair, in front of the window looking over at other buildings.

She's wearing sweats. Her hair is loose and flows down her back. Hands on her lap. Facing the right for me to get her side profile right.

I'm working on a series of paintings showing normal things in front of interesting backgrounds. Bags of groceries on train tracks. Bottles of shampoo and soap in a forest. A woman sitting on a chair not doing anything in particular with the skyline of New York City behind her.

'What do you mean?' I ask.

'I feel like I've been posing every single night for the past week. Every single night.'

'You have a problem with that?'

I put my brush down in the jar of water. The paint on it spreads and colors the water.

'Why don't we watch a movie or something? Like a normal couple.'

'Being normal is boring. And I'm painting you. Are you not flattered?'

'Should I be? Because you're such an incredible artist?'

'Yes.'

'That was sarcasm.'

I don't respond.

I'm not sure what she thinks of me. She loves me. But she doesn't love all of me. I don't know how to feel about it. This part doesn't feel perfect.

'So you want to watch a movie? What movie?' I say.

'I don't care. Any movie. Whatever is on TV.'

She stands up from her chair. I follow her to the kitchen.

'What's wrong?' I ask.

A sigh on her part. She opens some cabinets, looking for something, while answering.

'It just feels like you don't really love me. That you only love the sight of me.'

'What makes you think that?'

'I work my ass off at work every day. And then, when I get home, I have to sit to be painted. Like I'm an object and nothing more.'

'That's not what I mean with that. It's a compliment, really. I'm trying to capture you're beautiful aura as well.'

She finds a bag of chips and puts them on the counter. She then grabs a large bowl from the cabinet above the sink.

'I don't know if I want to be complimented on something I didn't have a hand in. Beauty. It's stupid. I don't want to sit for your paintings anymore. Let's just go on dates and stuff like a normal couple.'

I basically always paint in the evening. She doesn't want me to do so anymore. At least not every evening. That's fine. I can do that for her. I'm not difficult. I've never been difficult.

Like a lost child I follow her back to the living room. With the bowl of chips in her lap she turns on the TV.

'Let's be normal for one evening. Okay?'