Y'all best be reading in a British accent, ya hear? I know you can do it!
It makes it THAT much more fun!
(Is it just me or does the text get randomly bigger?)
******
Little. Very Little. Yes. Perfect amount.
The canvas reeked of the sweet tickling paint, the smell of rain-washed tires. It took my breath away. The color, on the other hand, if I may be narcassistic, was glowing. The prince's lean figure in his glistening RAF uniform with glittering metals on his bosom was a beacon of majesty next to his bride, Kate, in her stunning evening gown that gave humanity to the portrait.
I made the familiar motions of strokes onto the figures with my white color. The perfect amount.
"You look wonderful, your majesties." I said, trying to swipe the red paint off of my cheeck (and I KNEW it was there!!)
"You're doing a fantastic job, my dear." said the prince. He was amazing at standing still. I really appreciated it.
"Alice, you have been painting for fifty minutes straight, would you like a respite for a cool drink of water, perhaps tea?" Kate asked.
"I . . ." oh shit, how did you accept an invitation to tea with royalty? I plastered my smile on my face, trying to recall as many Sherlock Holmes, American Girl, Shakespearian, Roger and Hammerstein examples of etiquette as I could in less than a second. ". . .need to pee."
Did I say that?
"Oh, well, in that case," she turned to a lady that waited on the sofa, reading a magazene, "Sage, dear, would you show the artist to the loo?"
"Yes, your majesty."
We exited. Buckingham palace was its own meuseum. Each wall stretched on forever in golden-ridged alleys and portraiture hung there waiting to be stared at and loved. I loved them all.
I blushed.
"Sage- may I call you Sage?"
"Yes."
"I'm an idiot aren't I?"
"Oh you're so funny! You just relax, I can understand your position, young lady. It must be so much pressure to act orderly in front of someone of their social stature."
"You read me like a book."
"Try this exercise: denounce the size of the social caste of the prince and princess by imagining them as two people you are comfortable around."
"That doesn't help," I said, pushing open the door of the restroom, it was the size of a front room of a house. Five separate doors that lead into little rooms with all of the appliances in it. "I'm not comfortable around anybody, I'm kind of a widow. Artists are usually like that- at least in America."
"Okay- of the two, who are you most threatened by? Who makes you the most nervous?"
"Neither. . . I'm just. . .distracted."
I proceded to wash my hands. I looked at my reflection, I thought, for a second, that Brian was looking back at me. Blinking, I found that I was staring at the line of red on my cheek. I scratched it off with watered-down fingers.
I was distracted. By him. Could this still mean. . . after all of this?
Alice?" said Sage.
I wasn't myself without. . .him. Did I love him? Or did he love me so much that I couldn't see my ambitions so clearly anymore? Did I make a mistake. . .where? Coming or going? Am I in the process of forever remembering him or beginning to let go of him?
