He moves on as if not giving the picture another thought in the world. The woman is now again as alone as the chair in its dull colorless world, and all that seemed vibrant and unmoving in its life has turned to rain.
The woman lost in her thoughts finds the nearest seat to survey what has given her senses an explosion of lonely feelings. She notices that the room she occupies, with the rest of this crowd, is not shaped in the regular shape of a room but it has many corners, and in some parts, lower ceilings, with slopes and slants zigzagging the ceiling. It jumps at her. The room itself is art. How can a room designed to display someone’s creation be there to try and distract the viewers from the art.?
“If I was an artist, I would just have my viewing outside. People will not be distracted. The people will think this artist has some special meaning by having her exhibit outside” she whispers to herself.
She jokingly says in another tone of voice as if pretending to be someone else “I will buy that painting” she softy giggles to herself.
A voice echoes from behind her and it booms even at its whisper and seems familiar. The man she met at the chair portrait has approached her again. The woman glances with a confused but humble look upon her face she says
“I didn’t notice you this time” she said then shrugged.
“You noticed me now though. hi, my name is Tap Robertson, though that is not important.”
The only sound that can be heard amongst the muffled of side conversations and the gentle hummingbird hum of the air conditioning is Taps breath. He seems to be breathing hard, as if he had just run a marathon. He grimaces and says,” Excuse me.”
She wonders at his sudden exit and realizes she never gave her name to him. He scuttles away like a crab racing for its shelter from the waves. What could it be? Is he in pain?
“Do I?” She says in her head, the only voice that really listens.
A light clicks on in the attic of some faraway home, an attic no one has been to in many years not for lack of use but for lack of want. There arises a strong desire to keep her thoughts out of memory, as she realizes what the fuss was over.
“Shy” a single word, said through a smiling set of teeth.
Tap glances back trying to catch her gaze like this will mean the difference between how he will act. She squints under the light, and he notices, he gives a wry smile. She reminds him of a familiar scene so fresh yet so distant within his vision. She holds the same posture and same feel within his eyes, and she is slowly backlit by a gentle light coming from a ceiling lamp. It was as though the spot she had chosen was a place for the piece that didn’t arrive, she blended perfectly amongst the backdrops of the and the many artists’ attempt to be divine.
She looks at him and turns away as not to catch his eyes. She reminds him of a wet dog turned out into the sultry night looking for a warm doorstep. Searching with his little dog nose amongst the sea of slightly faked tanned skin. He fades in and out of the light as he floats across the room, and he falls face first while standing into his emotions.
As our eyes meet, we danced, dance the dance of a thousand dreams, the dream with an event that can carry on and echo within the tallest mountain. The once in a lifetime kind of day that always slips through our fingers.