Leave It To Chance

Blue.

Blue like water, like the sky, blue like cold air in the morning, blue like the edge of my vision after working overtime for the fourth time this month. Blue like not red.

I had felt a little too sharp, on top of the world, with last weeks breakthrough that the idea of a new painting had seemed fun, a challenge but now with a canvas I could have held in my hands without any strain, bearing down on my heart and mind like a neutron star I felt like a fool.

And there he stood next to me as bright as a sun and twice as close, shoulders relaxed, unweighted by the air above no matter how many cubic tonnes there were. And then of course there were the bugs. Millions of them hanging above us both at all times, they’re tiny fluttering wings, a cacophony of wind and sound.

“You in there?”

Michael’s voice startled me out of my brain and skin but it was nice to hear. This room of the museum was a little busier so a familiar voice cutting through was gentle on my ears.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.

“I can tell,” He leant in close and slung his arm around my shoulders with a carelessness that made my heart ache in my chest, did he know the effect he had on people? “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Very little.” I hadn’t had a single good thought in the past…ever, what could I tell him? Maybe he didn’t know about the bugs, no, everyone knew about the bugs, it felt like this was the type of situation where you had to say something though, anything maybe, please, words, make sense, “I'm torn between sympathy and apathy.”

"Go on." Michael encouraged me with the slightest twitch of a smile at his lips.

"It's either a depiction of absolute loneliness or a bleak view of the painter's view while in misery. I don't know if I should feel what they felt or feel nothing at all. " I hoped it was a good enough answer to satisfy him.

"I like that." He placed his hands on his hips for a moment and repeated the rough shape of my words with his mouth before excitedly pulling out his sketchbook and scribbling something down on a blank page. I felt like an insect under a magnifying glass; warm, small and slightly green.

"Okay! Let's try one more. It's a personal favourite of mine." Michael smiled and took me by the wrist, I followed behind him like a child dragging a reluctant cat that had given in, and he placed me with both hands on my shoulders in front of a portrait painting.

It was larger than any real human could be by a fraction of a half but had been hung slightly lower than the other portraits in this room so you stood at eye level with each other. It filled me with fear for the briefest moment as I thought I saw those eyes look back at me. In reality it was probably a glint off the paint which had been laid so thickly it was almost a sculpture. If I reached out and touched the woman's cheek would I feel skin or paint?

“So…You like this one? It’s very…textured.”

“It is. It’s like she’ll turn and wink at you at any moment.”

I watched him look at it as if I could see into his mind and trace his thoughts backwards to where they came from. His eyes would move with such absolute confidence before glancing my way and I’d look away like I was supposed to, then we would repeat the dance again.

Eventually he turned fully to face me and tried not to sink away under his gaze, “Is there something on my face?”

“No.” I spoke with confidence because it was true.

“Ah,” He nodded and his hair fell in front of his face, he let it obscure his vision for a few seconds before pushing it out of his face; his fingers left slight ridges in their wake, “Then…No never mind.”

Alarm bells rang in my head and everything went deafeningly quiet, my vision blurred for a second and I felt the world slip out from under my feet for a moment before his lips moved again and brought me back up to floor level.

“-you ok? You look pale. We can sit down again if you want.”

I couldn’t feel my tongue in my mouth, as if the nerves themselves had gotten lost somewhere, so I shook my head and hoped the paths opened back up and I could speak again.

“Let’s sit down and then we can continue.”

Michael’s hands were light on my body as he guided me to a nearby bench. It was caring and sweet and only made me feel worse. We were strangers and he was treating me nicer than anyone had in a while. Normally I’d tell people I was okay and they’d believe me and leave me alone, that was safe and predictable so I could just get through life onto my own two feet.

But now there were hands supporting my shoulders and it turned out that was heavier than anything had ever been. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. But Michael seemed like the type who’d cast aside the stones and ask me how my day was.

“Can you talk?”

His question felt like a gong had gone off in front of my eyes and vibrated them out of my skull. They’d land on the floor with a damp thud and roll away somewhere dark.

I shook my head.

“Okay,” Michael nodded to himself and looked away for a moment before turning back to me, “I’m not really that great at psychology but I can give this a try. Does this happen a lot?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d spent so long hiding it that I couldn’t give an accurate start or end date or even define it. Taking a few moments to think or stall in some way, using non-verbal methods instead where possible. Maybe people thought I was weird but I hoped I came across as cool and aloof.

“Wait, that's a stupid question. You can’t talk. Hm okay…you can shake your head though. So yes or no questions should work. Does it normally last long?”

I shook my head. Normally it passed quickly enough. No more than a few minutes if I was lucky.

“Okay! So we can wait it out together.” He leant back with both hands holding the back edge of the flat bench and looked out into the room beyond.

I looked in the same direction but didn’t hold onto the bench the same way. Instead I placed my hands either side to steady myself. I listened to the slight footsteps around us, the quiet whispers between other museum goers, the distant sound of the air conditioning and the sound of my own breathing as it slowly overcame the beating of my heart in my ears.

“Thank you.” My voice was painfully timid to my own ears.

Michael sat up and seemed like he wanted to throw himself at me in some way. He was very physical but seemed to have the awareness to control it. His body angled at me, its shape more and more familiar each look, he always wore long shirts over a t-shirt so I couldn’t get much of a gauge on his body type but he seemed slender, maybe a little toned, his face was sharp but not too sharp and he was always clean shaven so maybe he was a little vain. His hair was longer than most guys, myself included, but only just brushed his shoulders. In that moment I really wanted to rest my hand on top of his but I held back.

“Don’t worry about it. No offence but I’d kinda suspected there was something up with you.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Nah, I’m just really observant,” He gave me his usual grin, “You seem very reserved, kind of the suave detached type.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, I don’t think I could describe myself like that even in my more confident moments. “Really?”

“Yeah for maybe 10 minutes before I picked up on how nervous you are. Be real with me for a moment, you don’t know the first thing about art do you?”