The Dove Keeper

Lesson Four: Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Lesson Four: Image

Over the next few days, Gerard and I got a lot of painting done. Just as quickly as he smashed his art, and I smashed the beer, my days of always cleaning when I went to his place became a distant memory. He was no longer taking his routine afternoon nap, but teaching me about the art he dreamed about. On our feet with the brush in our hand, pallet to the side, we would dream together and consume the art whole, always painting, always living. And if there was cleaning to be done, the brushes getting too caked with our artistic awakening, Gerard was right there, cramped side by side next to me at the kitchen sink, helping with a smile on his face. The only part of cleaning that Gerard didn't (more like refused to) help me with was the dove's cage.

"She knows me," Gerard informed me when I asked why I had to be the only one to scrape bird shit off the metal bottom, when I'd rather be painting right along side him again. "She's helped me and I know how to sense her. You don't yet. It's part of your lessons. You have to learn to be free like the dove." He stroked the smooth off-white feathers with his elegant fingers, face trained on the animal, docile.

I laughed at his statement at first, thinking he couldn't be serious, especially with that last line. Doves were a symbol for freedom, but this one was stuck in a cage most of the time. How could that be free? Real doves - the ones that were white and held olive branches in their mouths - were supposed to fly through the hills and through the clouds into the immaculate blue sky. They weren't supposed to be caged up inside a middle aged man's place, their feathers the colour of unwashed pearls. Doves may have embodied freedom, but that bird and that concept seemed so foreign and contradictory to the one Gerard held on his fingertips.

When my laugh had fallen into the wide room like a shattered echo however, I glanced over at the artist, and saw his serious countenance remain the same. He nodded his head at me, bobbing it up and down like the bird he admired. My smile fell and I started cleaning again, blood vessels bursting like rose buds under my skin.

"You remind me a lot of a dove," he informed me, moments later, his voice coming out in a cool and liquid manner, rushing over my body and into my ears. He placed the dove back on the perch and away from himself, while gliding across the room and over to me, this new dove in his own mind. He gave me a sly look, bating me almost to pry more answers out of him, when my lips fell immobile on my face. He kept drifting along, merely sitting on the couch at last, flinging his legs over the armrest and letting them dangle without rhythm. He still kept his gaze on me by the window through half lidded eyes.

"I do?" I found my voice and began to question, throwing him a skeptical gaze.

I had no idea if it was good or not to be compared to this creature, or what one I was being compared to. I had no idea if I wanted to be the mythical bird that people depended on, but I didn't know if I wanted to be the one still trapped in a cage. I was beginning to fall for the off-white dove in the apartment and her small quirks, just like Gerard had, but I could never make assumptions that this was the meaning behind the artist's words. I could never guess on matters of such importance ever again, especially with Gerard. I didn't need cold hard facts - those were horrible and uncreative. I just needed a basis to form my opinions on, and with Gerard's ever changing and shifting mind, it was like standing in the middle of a frozen lake, about to fall through. I was already starting to feel the chill in the air.