by John Cariani
And then he picked up the painting and said, “Now, I’m gonna hold the painting up real close to you—right in front of your face.”
“Okay…”
Dave approached Rhonda, and when the painting was so close to Rhonda it was practically touching the tip of her nose, he said, “Now just stare at the center of the painting.”
“Okay,” said Rhonda.
“And keep starin’.”
“K.”
“And I’m gonna back away from you real slow.”
“K.”
“But try to keep your focus where it is—right here, right now—while I move away.”
“K.”
“Let your eyes cross. And don’t let ’em focus on the painting.” Dave slowly moved a few stops away from Rhonda. And stopped.
And Rhonda stared. And kept staring.
And she tried to keep her focus fixed on where it had been before Dave started moving away from her. And she tried to let her eyes cross. And she tried not to let them focus.
But she failed on all counts.
“See anything?” asked Dave.
“No. Do it again.”
Dave brought the painting close to Rhonda again and offered a tip: “Try to make your eyes think that the painting is still right in front of your face, even as I move it away from you.”
“K.” Rhonda prepared to make her eyes do what doesn’t come naturally to them as Dave started slowly backing away from her again. “And I’ll give you a hint,” said Dave as he moved. “It’s a common thing. It’s somethin’ everybody knows.”
Rhonda thought Dave’s hint was a lousy one, and she tried not to focus on the painting so she would be able to see what Dave had painted for her. But all she could see were the blocks of colors Dave had painted. “Ugh,” she grunted, “I can’t not focus on it.”
“Okay, no problem. Try again.” Dave brought the painting close to Rhonda’s nose again.
“No.” Rhonda’s frustration was mounting.
“Just try.”
“No—Dave—I can’t see these things, I told ya!”
And then Rhonda pushed the painting away from her, accidentally knocking it out of Dave’s hands and onto the floor.
And they both froze. And hoped the painting was okay.
Fortunately it was.
And Dave quickly picked it up.
And Rhonda muttered, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Dave.
And it really was okay—enough so that Dave had already moved on and had come up with another plan to help Rhonda see what he had painted for her: “Here, how ’bout try this: Trick it!”
“What?!?”
“Trick it!” repeated Dave, smiling a silly smile.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You gotta trick it!” said Dave, all excited about his new tactic.
“How do you trick a painting?” asked Rhonda, looking at Dave like he was nuts.
“Well, you gotta not let it know that you’re lookin’ at it.”
“How do I not let it know that I’m lookin’ at it? It’s a painting, Dave! It’s not gonna know or not know if I’m lookin’ at it!” razzed Rhonda.
“No—I just mean you can’t look at it the way you usually look at things. You gotta change your perspective—’cause your brain’s gettin’ in the way—’cause it’s looking for a solution—but not in the way it’s used to gettin’ a solution, so you gotta get your brain to look at it in a new way.”
“Well, how do I do that?” asked Rhonda, irked.
“Well, you gotta teach your eyes to cross.”
“I don’t wanna teach my eyes to cross!” griped Rhonda.
“Well, then you’re never gonna see it, are ya?” teased Dave.
“Come on! Why don’t you just tell me what it is?”
“No! That’ll ruin the fun!”
“Well—I’m not havin’ fun, Dave, so there’s nothin’ to ruin.”
“Okay. Sorry. That’s no good. How ’bout let’s just forget about it for a while and take a break.” Dave set the painting on the wicker table, propping it up against the wall, and said, “And let’s just do somethin’ else. What do you usually do on Friday nights, after we hang out?”
“I have a Bud and talk to you on the phone.”
“All right, then. Let’s have a Bud. And we can talk. Not on the phone—but in person. Where’s the kitchen?”
Dave started toward the door to the rest of Rhonda’s house—where he presumed the kitchen was—when he suddenly found his path blocked by Rhonda. “No!”
“No what?” asked Dave, confused, because it seemed like Rhonda was preventing him from going inside her house.
“I’m outta Bud,” said Rhonda, looking at the floor and trying to make it seem like it wasn’t weird that she wasn’t letting Dave inside her house. “I only got Natty Light.”
“All right,” said Dave. “Then, let’s get us a coupla Natty Lights,” and he started inside again.
“I’ll get ’em,” said Rhonda quickly, heading Dave off again.
And before he knew it, Rhonda had opened the door and closed it behind her and was inside her house getting her and Dave their beers.
And Dave was by himself on the porch.
And he wondered why Rhonda didn’t seem to want to let him go inside her house.
Maybe she was a hoarder, he thought, and she lived in cramped, crowded squalor or something, like people he had seen on TV.
But then he decided that Rhonda wasn’t a hoarder.
Because she didn’t seem like she was a hoarder.
But neither did the people on TV who were hoarders.
And then he stopped wondering if Rhonda was a hoarder, because the porch was cluttered, but it didn’t look like a hoarder’s porch.
And he sat down in the plastic chair at the wicker table and was about to flip through one of the SnowGoer magazines that was on it when Rhonda emerged from inside with two cans of Natty Light.
She tossed one of them to Dave.
And Dave said, “Thanks.”
And Rhonda said, “Sure.”
And Dave cracked open his beer and took a sip.
And Rhonda sat back down in the plastic chair that she had been sitting in earlier and cracked open her beer and took a sip.
And they didn’t talk.
And Dave wondered again why Rhonda didn’t seem to want to let him go inside her house.
And Rhonda hoped that Dave wasn’t wondering why she wasn’t letting him go inside her house.
And then asked, “So … now what?” to distract him just in case he was wondering why she wasn’t letting him inside.
“Huh?” asked Dave. “Oh—”
“You told me to do what I usually do around the house on Friday nights after we hang out, and I’m doin’ what I usually do around the house on Friday nights after we hang out. Kinda. I mean, I’m outta Bud. So I’m havin’ Natty Light. So that’s not usual. And I’m talkin’ to you in person, instead of on the phone, ’cause you’re here. So that’s not usual either, so … I’m not doin’ what I usually do, you know.”
“Well, I just mean—do normal things, like drink your beer and hang out with me, like you’re doin’, and just don’t focus on tryin’ to see the thing I painted for you.”
“Okay.”
“Just look at it once in a while, real casual-like.”
“Okay.”
“While we hang out and drink our beers.”
“K.”
And Rhonda and Dave hung out.
And drank their beers.
And Rhonda checked out the painting casually every once in a while.
And sometimes stared at it.
And Dave would tell her to let her eyes cross.
But she couldn’t.
And it wasn’t long before she was frustrated again, because she wasn’t seeing anything but a jumble of little blocks of reds and blues and purples and blacks and grays.
And she said, “Dave—t
his is stupid. I’m not seein’ anything.”
“I told you—it can take a little time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a little time, I gotta go to bed. I gotta work in the mornin’, I told ya.”
Dave really wanted Rhonda to see what he had painted for her, so he said, “Well, how about this? How ’bout just start guessin’—just look at it and just say whatever comes into your brain.”
Rhonda was skeptical of Dave’s latest scheme, but she really wanted to know what he had painted for her, so she gave his suggestion a shot and sat up and got ready to guess when she suddenly said, “Ooh!” because she felt like she may have actually seen something.
“What?” asked Dave, excited.
“I got somethin’!”
“Yeah?” Dave sprang to his feet and joined Rhonda, because he wanted to be close to her when she saw what he had painted for her. And, as he hopped up, he felt that strange lightness fill up his insides again. And he also got a knot in his stomach, because he wondered what she’d think of what she was seeing.
“Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah!” enthused Rhonda.
Dave’s heart was swelling, because it seemed that Rhonda liked what Dave had painted for her.
And then she told Dave what she was seeing: “Roadkill.”
The lightness inside Dave started to fade. And get heavier.
“What?” Dave winced.
“Roadkill.”
“What?!?” Dave looked at his painting to see how Rhonda could possibly have been seeing roadkill.
Rhonda motioned toward the jumble of blues and reds and blacks and purples and grays she saw on the canvas and said, “I see a road. And a dead raccoon in the middle of it.”
Dave was dumbfounded. And a little aghast. He screwed up his face and looked at the painting, trying to understand why Rhonda would think that he would want to paint roadkill—and why he’d ever want to give her a painting that depicted roadkill. “What? No, that’s not what it is!” he cried.
“Okay.” Rhonda took another guess. “Um … then … how about … a dead bloody deer in the middle of the road!”
“What?!? No!!!” protested Dave.
“Okay! Relax!”
“It’s not a dead deer in the middle of the road!!!”
“Okay, then moose!” Rhonda was now just kidding around. Because she had no idea what Dave had painted for her. It just looked like a splatter of paint on the canvas, to her—and not unlike roadkill, actually.
“What?!?” Dave didn’t like Rhonda’s guesses. And he didn’t like that she seemed to be kidding around. Because he had worked really hard on his painting, and it seemed like she wasn’t taking his efforts seriously.
“Yeah! Dead bloody moose in the middle of the road!” Rhonda motioned toward the painting again. “See? There’s the road and a bloody mash of moose. And this could be the car that hit it.”
Rhonda looked up at Dave, who was baffled by her guesses. “What?” he whined. “Are you serious? That’s what you see?!?”
“I don’t know! Relax!” she answered, finishing her beer and chucking the empty can in a bin full of returnables in the corner.
“No! I’m not gonna relax! ’Cause that’s not somethin’ I’d want to paint!!! That’s not even close to what it is! Dead moose?!? Come on!!!” cried Dave.
“Well, that’s what I see! I don’t know what it is!” said Rhonda, wondering why Dave was taking his painting so seriously. “And don’t get mad! At me! It’s not my fault I can’t see what you painted!”
“I’m not mad!” And Dave wasn’t mad. He was just frustrated. And he went over to the painting, picked it up, and looked at it, pained that Rhonda thought it was roadkill. And then he asked Rhonda, almost defeatedly, “You really don’t see what this is?”
“No,” said Rhonda, feeling stupid for not being able to see what Dave had painted for her.
Dave genuinely believed that Rhonda wasn’t seeing the image on the canvas he was holding in front of him. And he sighed. And said, “Well…” And he looked at his painting again. And then he looked at Rhonda again and gently asked, “Can I give you another hint?”
“Yeah!” said Rhonda, like she was saying “Duh!”
Dave kept looking at Rhonda. And started shifting his weight back and forth on his feet as he summoned the courage to do something he hadn’t done in a long time.
And then he dropped the painting on the floor and walked straight toward Rhonda—who was still sitting in her chair. And he looked right at her. And that strange lightness filled up his insides again and seemed to compel him to go to Rhonda and give her his hint. And gave her his hint.
Which was a kiss.
And probably the shortest kiss two people have ever shared. Because not even a second after he started kissing her, Rhonda pulled away from Dave and got up out of her chair so quickly that it tumbled over backward.
And the strange lightness Dave had been feeling faded again and was replaced by an awful darkness and heaviness.
Because now he felt like something was wrong. Very wrong.
Because Rhonda’s face was all turned in on itself. And she looked scared. And confused. And angry. And she hissed, “What are you doin’? What was that?!? Why did you do that?”
Dave gently answered, “’Cause I was givin’ you a hint.” And then he smiled weakly.
Rhonda scoffed and then inhaled sharply and then calmly and seriously said, “Well, you can’t just do that to someone. Like that.”
Dave realized that maybe he shouldn’t have given Rhonda the hint he gave her. And he felt ashamed.
“And don’t ever do that again! Ever!” hissed Rhonda. And she started pacing. And tried to figure out what to do next. She was not at all happy that Dave had just done what he had just done. It was too fast. Too soon. And she suddenly turned to him and roared, “And GET OUTTA HERE!!!” And she stormed into her house and slammed the door behind her.
Dave was stunned. And stood motionless. He felt like he had a boat anchor inside him.
And he tried to figure out what had just happened. And why Rhonda had gotten so angry at him. And why she had yelled at him.
The aftermath of the yell was the quietest quiet and the stillest stillness he had ever experienced.
And he realized that he hadn’t breathed in a while.
And so he exhaled.
And wondered how long he had been holding his breath.
And then he scoffed. And laughed sardonically. And he didn’t do much sardonically. Because he wasn’t a sardonic guy.
And he faced the door that Rhonda had just retreated behind.
And he raised his arms up a little, palms open, and looked upward as if he was asking the universe or God or anyone who would answer what the heck had just happened.
But the universe didn’t answer. And God didn’t answer.
And Rhonda wasn’t there to answer.
So he dropped his arms and his head and sighed, “Jeezum Crow,” which was a euphemism for something his grandmother didn’t like him to say.
And he grabbed his snowmobile helmet and his gloves and his balaclava. And was about to go when he stopped, turned, and looked at the door Rhonda had just slammed behind her—which she was on just the other side of, standing still, trying to make sense of what had just happened. And Dave thought about opening that door and going inside and apologizing and trying to make right what he had made wrong.
And he thought about going inside and apologizing to Rhonda and trying to make right what he had made wrong.
But then he figured he’d deal with everything another day when she was less upset, and he turned to go. And he pulled the wobbly wooden porch door open.
And then he pushed on the levered latch on the silver aluminum storm door, and when Rhonda heard it pop open, she almost called to Dave and told him not to go.
But didn’t.
And Dave was just about out the door—when he stopped, because he realized that he wanted his painting. If Rhonda couldn’t apprecia
te it, there was no reason for her to have it. So he went over to it and picked it up and was about to head out the door again when he got really hot inside. And—angry. And he wasn’t the kind of guy who got angry.
And he suddenly strode up to the door Rhonda was standing on the other side of and facing, and yelled, “HEY, RHONDA!!!”
Rhonda jumped a little. And she wasn’t one to jump. But she was surprised by how loud Dave had just been. And by how angry he seemed.
And his anger made her angry. Because he was the one who had crossed a line. He was the one who had kissed her out of nowhere. She was the one who was supposed to be angry.
So she roared back, “WHAT?!?” Dave was surprised to hear Rhonda’s voice coming from so close to the door, and he jumped a little. Because Rhonda was louder than he was—which wasn’t surprising. She outdid him at just about everything.
But what he had to say was important. And he wasn’t going to let her cow him.
And he dug deep and found the strength and the courage to say what he needed to say.
“YOU KNOW,” he yelled, “WE HANG OUT EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT LATELY!”
“YEAH?” Rhonda roared back. “SO?”
“WE GO SLEDDIN’!”
“YEAH, AND?”
“AND THEN I GO HOME!”
“YEAH!”
“BUT I DIDN’T WANNA GO HOME TONIGHT! I WANTED TO COME OVER! ’CAUSE I WANTED TO GIVE YOU SOMETHIN’ I MADE FOR YOU … BECAUSE…” Dave felt the lightness grow inside him again. And it made his heart swell and it made him feel like someone else—someone braver—had taken control of his body and was making him say, “’CAUSE I LIKE YOU, YOU KNOW!”
Rhonda froze.
And she didn’t know what to make of what Dave had just said. Because the words he had said were beautiful. But the way he had said them made them sound so ugly. So she didn’t respond.
Dave didn’t know what to make of Rhonda’s non-response. And it was too late to take back what he had said. Because it had been said. And it had definitely been heard. Because he had yelled it. And the only thing he could think of to do was yell some more.
So he did.
“AND I THINK WE OUGHTA BE TOGETHER! OR GO OUT! OR SOMETHIN’! AND—” Dave suddenly interrupted himself and realized that he didn’t want to be yelling at Rhonda. Because he loved her. And he went to the door and rested his arm on it and leaned his head on his arm and said in a more civil tone of voice, “And that’s why I kissed you.” And then he pushed himself away from the door and just stared at it for a second. And then continued, speaking to the door as if it were Rhonda. “I just—I wanted you to know how I felt about you, and I didn’t know how to tell you, so I just kissed you, and I’m sorry if—”