Lucy Oliva played absentmindedly with a thread hanging from the draping sleeve of her sweater. The hole in her jeans right above her left knee exposed her skin to the chilled air of the museum, frozen in time with frozen guests paying frigid stills a visit.
She scratched her nose as she squinted carefully at the image before her. A young girl in a full skirt gazed at the sandy ground. Sea gulls drifted in the distance, their beaks pointing upwards, skimming the clouds as they went. Lucy wondered whether the girl had anywhere to be, or if she had anyone to notice she was gone. By the looks of it, the girl was free to wander, free to think of her place at the beach, her feet sinking into the tiny bits of ancient rock below.
Lucy bit her lip.
She didn't know how long she had been staring at the painting. Lucy wiggled her toes, and though they were concealed in boots as thick as the night sky, they felt the sharp sand as if they lay planted at the beach. She almost tasted the salty air on her lips. It had been years since she had traveled to the coast. An image of a young girl in a yellow polka-dot swim suit appeared in her mind, watermelon juice running down the side of her mouth.
Lucy stood that way for a while, gazing at the painting before her, yet altogether reminiscing of what was before. She didn't hear the clomp, clomp, clomp of deep footsteps approaching behind her. She didn't feel the gaze of a honey-haired man with spectacles. She didn't notice that the sleeves of his loose-fitting flannel were pushed up in protest, the tomato soup stain on his upper thigh, nor the visibility of his striped crew socks.
Yet the man noticed her. He noticed her chestnut locks, her fingers as they twiddled with a string on her sweater. He noticed her posture, her head slightly looking up in adoration at what lay before her. It was at this he said,
"What do you think the girl in the painting is thinking?"
Broken from a trance, Lucy turned to face the stranger behind her, her mouth agape.
As she turned, the man found himself in her eyes, the questioning hazel orbs. He found her cherry blossom lips, the small mole on the corner of her chin. He took her in as he awaited her answer.
Lucy breathed. "She is thinking about how the seagulls can fly while she can't. She feels the sand between her toes and knows she is grounded. But still she wonders... wonders why she can't fly."
He smiled, and Lucy could almost feel the warmth radiating off him. And for some reason...
Lucy smiled back.
YOU ARE READING
glimpses
General FictionLucy Oliva only sees what is behind her. But Porter Dane sees what is before him. Two estranged, unlikely souls find their missing pieces through glimpses. Together, they learn to take it all in.