Where To?

Chapter 3

Today's agenda was definitely exercise. I didn't even think that far ahead to think of exercise until Clair made yet another epiphany that the universe is making her do all this walking because she's been in bed for the past three days. Regardless of her 'hangover.'  We made our way to The Mansion, standing in regal white with emerald-like dogs guarding the entrance. Stones line the façade of the entrance, symmetrical stars on each side leading inside. Clair made an oooh sound, impressed by it as I am. I urged her forward, offering my arm to her. She stopped me saying

"Is that another museum?" Her head tilted, ponytail swinging.

"So what if it is? You're not coming in? It's a mansion!" My hands were up at this point, which reminded me of how skinny I was. But I wasn't going to let Clair pass up another museum; she was just getting started, after all.

"But all we do is walk, stop and stare. C'mon Jill, let's take a break." She took my arm, but like, away from the museum.

"Just a quick browse then. We won't, like, linger and stare as long." We had a small tug of war, with my own arm. We were both smiling, but ...my arm. It felt so limp. Clair could definitely save someone drowning and get them to shore.

Clair gave the emerald dog a pet on the head on our way inside. I started to zone out and tap into the displays around us.

As cheesy as it sounds, art takes my breath away; at the back of my head I wish I could make art, but I've already  established my inability for it years before. All I can do is get Marion's paint for him from the other room or wash his brushes and that's about how artistic I can go. I can bet he can stare at the museum right now and sketch out its façade. That was how blessed he was, which was a bit of a shock because the last creative person we've had in the family was our grandad's brother, an architect. Clair, however, doesn't particularly understand, but doesn't want to stomp on Marion, so she just nods along whenever she and the others visit.

In The Mansion though, Clair was drawn to a certain colorful art piece. There was a painting of bird silhouettes scuttling into vague human silhouettes. She stared at that single piece longer than anything in the museum, and then dazed out of it the rest of the browse. Clair even excused herself at one point, saying she'll sit it out, do some meditating like I said earlier. She said she was okay, then walked on out.

"I'm taking that break I've been telling you about!" she exclaimed as she turned away from me. I continued to spiral upwards, taking in every exhibit as far as to even wonder about the strategy of putting one exhibit next to another and why it was so.

I found her out at the patio tables afterwards with a bottle of water, finding birds, she said. She confessed she had been thinking of that silhouette painting all this time, feeling it struck a nerve in her. 

"Tell me, Jillian, when was the last time you, like, had an existential crisis? It messes with you so deeply." Her face was scrunched up in speculation, keeping her eyes on the greenery by the pathway. "I didn't think I'd confront it in a museum, honestly. Of all places."

She tried not to think much of it, a moment of silence in between us as I take a few sips of water. But her face was still uneasy, and then she spoke.

Birds, she felt, were so free and blissful to look at, their wings taking them higher than the trees can reach. She felt jealous, but she's also a bird, she thought. She could travel as far as the wings of a bird can, farther even. And yet, she's still stuck like those human silhouettes. 

It's crazy how much a park can illicit this many feelings from her after feeling so dead. Dead, as in, her hangover weekend and yesterday's tasks, she explained. Clair embodying death, I thought, was like rain in the driest, hottest desert. And it's only ever rained at the Atacama Desert at least five centuries ago. I spared her the trivia, even if I badly wanted to joke about anything to get that wistful look off her eyes. It doesn't suit her, I realized.

"You good?" I asked after some silence. I stared at the trees with her, caught in my own existential crisis.

"SO MANY BIRDS HERE. WHOA." Clair broke off, trying to liven up the air between us.

"It's the universe, oooooh."

And at that moment, a bird flew out from a bush nearby, crossing our table. I swear I almost saw Clair almost jump off her seat.

"SO MANY BIRDS!"

She felt more at ease as we walked to the lakeside restaurant. I treated her this time around, just to lift her spirits. Plus we both loved ice cream – another 'oooh' upon sight – even though what the restaurant had was gelato. I didn't know the difference, I told her, in between spoonfuls.

"Gelato is, like, thicker than ice cream. It's got something to do with the method they make it, if I remember correctly." Clair explained, as she poked her spoon into the cup.

She always gets coffee-flavored ice cream-slash-gelato every chance she gets, while I was forever stuck with my cookies and cream childhood favorite. She ruffled my hair and teased me of me being the little kid of the group, what with my kid-flavored cup of gelato and docile fascination.

She gave me a toothy smile and asked me about the rest of the museum, only to retract that question in hopes of sparing her brain the art she wasn't able to see. I tried to tell her there's a perfectly good patch of sunshine right at the dock of the lake, enticing her pompous habit of taking way too many photos of herself only to post but a few. To my surprise, Clair declared she had enough photos. A quiet but thoughtful resignation in how the corners of her lips tugged upward told me she was still ... feeling things from those birds.

"Too bad, I was going to push you in." I gave her a nudge with my elbow.

"Don't even try it, Jill." she returned it just as hard.

Not even the idea of seeing the rose garden made her feel as energetic as pre-Mansion Clair. At least we didn't have to wander around aimlessly trying to find it, I thought.

I gave her a hug from behind, the similar sensation of giving what little warmth my body can give to a wailing Liv after a couple of drinks into talking about ex-boyfriend River. She was caught off guard, off balance too. I buried a cheek against her hair, telling her she's too awesome a person to get so hung up on birds. I felt her stifle out short laughter, momentary comfort, out of my grip on her, her jacket scrunching at all the movement underneath its surface.

People started looking at us, little grins on their curious faces. 

She did tell me to stop choking her already, so I settled just one arm around her shoulders, pocketing my hand and trying to play the cool girl's equally appealing friend walking around the park.