Finding Paris

Vincent

The darkness greets her from her seat on the beat-up old train. She waves back and it enters her and seeps out to leave her empty and gray.

I rode the train to go to the near meadows where an old lady grows a whole field of wildflowers. I felt the desire to paint and since I am feeling out of color this past few days – I don’t know if it’s worth noting but I haven’t seen him since that day at the park – I decided to go to the wildflower fields owned by old Maria. I knock on her little blue hut with round windows painted white.

“Hi there! You go paint?” She asks. I see her little wrinkled face light up at the sight of me. She wipes her hands on her faded apron and leads me to what is supposed to be her living room although by the amount of old records stacked up in there, you’d think it as a secondhand record store. She hands me a cup of tea, Earl Grey, I could smell and a plate of bread I am sure she baked herself.

I find an empty spot and sit on a rocking chair. I start eating and she shuffles through her records for about five minutes until she finally decides on a Bart Howard’s Fly Me to the Moon.

“How are you, Maria?” I ask. She turns to me quite surprised by my sudden inquiry.

“It’s been a while. I’d like to paint your wildflowers, if that’s okay with you.” I look into her eyes and see her mouth slowly open to answer me.

“He’s not returning, is he?” She asks me with a pleading look which she does not direct to me.

“He’s not.” I simply say. I finish my bread and tea, gather my things and go out to paint. I hear sobbing from inside and I force myself not to go in. She has to cry it all out until she gets tired of it and moves on. I paint my favorite wildflowers hoping that she gets tired now so she could move on. I paint my favorite wildflowers with bees sucking the nectar out of them and think of him. Where could he be now?

It has been an hour now. I finish painting and clean my brushes and palette by the faucet on the side of Maria’s hut. I go back inside and see her on the rocking chair with Howard on repeat.

“Do you want this?” I ask and hand her my newly finished work.

“It’s beautiful. He taught you well. Hang it by the fireplace.”

I do as I am told and packed the food she prepared for me. I reach for the door when she whispers, “visit him with me some time.”

“I will, but not now Maria. Good bye. Drink your supplements. I arranged it according to days so you would not forget. Take care of yourself.”

“For us,” the words echoes in my head.

I head to an empty compartment in the train and let myself fall down to the seats. I close my eyes as Howard drifts me to sleep.