by Katilyn S
“What are you talking about?” he inquired. I stared up at him, shocked.
“I mean, like that waitress in there.” I pointed towards the restaurant as a taxi pulled in to the curb. We got in and Michael gave the driver another set of directions.
“What about the waitress?” He was still staring at me in bewilderment.
“She was flirting with you nonstop all night. That’s why I dragged you to the dance floor. I was pretty sure you were flirting with her,” I explained quickly. Recognition dawned in his expression and he smiled.
“I thought we aren’t on a date,” he said. I shook my head in denial.
“We aren’t,” I stated. Michael laughed.
“Oh, so you were jealous,” he managed between chuckles. Blood pooled in my cheeks and I frowned.
“No,” I started.
“Yes, you were,” he interrupted. I glared at him and he stared back with a knowing look.
“No I wasn’t,” I proclaimed.
“I think you were,” he stated. “And I’m not arguing with you about it anymore.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Turning away, I once again watched the city pass by through the window.
Chapter 15-September 4, 2001 (Michael)
On our way to the museum, the silence was palpable. Claire sat as far away from me as she could, anger rolling off of her in waves. I grimaced slightly and watched her with aprehension.
Her cinnamon hair looked a little longer then the first time I saw it; the ends were starting to curl away from her face. Her dark red lips were pursed and her grey eyes hinted at anger and defeat. Her legs were angled away from me, looking long and lithe. The black dress she was wearing started to ride up her thigh and I gulped.
Calm down Michael, I warned myself. I tore my gaze from her and smiled as the taxi pulled up to the large white building.
A wide red carpet donned the steps leading to the entrance. Light were set up along the edges, showing the guest where to go. Velvet ropes lined the ends, keeping the wannabees out. Photographers stood around, taking pictures every moment they got. Lights flashed around me as I noticed the darkening sky; I glanced at my watch which read 5:45. Had we really been at the restaurant for that long?
“Where are we?” Claire asked as I put on my jacket. I looked over at her to see that she was staring in astonishment at the building.
“An art museum,” I replied and slid out of the cab. I held out my hand and Claire took it tentatively.
“A new one?” Surprise colored her voice. I helped her out and quickly paid the driver. He sped off; I turned back to Claire. She was still staring at the cameras and the red carpet.
“Brand new. It’s the grand opening.” I said. She nodded, speechless. Without thinking, I grasped her hand and she started at my touch. She shot an accusing glare at our intertwined hands and I laughed nervously. I extracted it and shrugged. “I was going to help you through the paparazzi.
“I can walk myself up to the entrance, thank you very much,” she seethed, tightening her grip on her purse. “I don’t need your help. Besides, I like the cameras.”
I could tell she was lying but smiled anyway. I started to walk ahead of her and it took her a moment to catch up with me. I tried to listen to her hesitant footsteps behind me, so when they stopped I spun around to face her.
She was a few feet back, a look of panic in her eyes. A group of photographers surrounded her; flashes popped in front of her face. She used her free hand to cover her eyes. Her lips formed my name and I snapped into action.
I ran over to her and stuck my hand out. She grabbed it and I pulled her away from the cameras. The men grumbled to themselves but I didn’t listen as I took Claire away. Her grip loosened as I tugged her up the steps, but I continued to hold on.
Once inside the museum, I released my grip and ran a hand through my hair. Claire let out a breath of relief and smiled tightly at me.
“Thanks,” she said. I nodded and chuckled softly even though she was glaring at me. “You better not say ‘I told you so’.”
“I wasn’t,” I promised. She gave me a pointed look and I laughed again. “I’m telling you the truth. Well, sort of.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.
“I was just going to tell you ‘You’re welcome’,” I explained.
“Whatever.” She shrugged and took in a deep breath. Her eyes started to take in the room and I did the same. Smiling at the familiarity of it, I spun in a circle, looking at everything. The bright walls. The silence of the air. The gorgeous chandelier in the center of the ceiling. I took in a breath and could faintly smell newly applied paint.
“Champagne?” A waiter held out a tray and I took two flutes. Handing one to Claire, I smiled.
“Ready?” I raised my eyebrows and waited for her response. She nodded quickly, still taking in everything. I took a sip from my glass and gestured for her to follow me.
She followed quietly behind me as we walked through the exhibits. Sometimes, she would hold onto the tail of my jacket, hoping not to get lost. We strolled through slowly, taking in all of the art hanging on the walls. Claire seemed very interested and I knew I had scored big for bringing her here.
“I love this one,” she said pointing to a Van Gogh landscape. I nodded and studied it for a minute. I had already seen it, but seeing it again with Claire, made me look at it differently. I had someone to share it with.
Throughout the night, I could feel Claire relaxing as she looked at each painting and made comments. I even got her to laugh.
We were walking past another opening when I saw one of my favorite paintings. I ran ahead and grinned at it.
“Claire, look at this Monet,” I exclaimed pointing at the painting. When she didn’t answer I looked back to where she was.
She was standing at the opening that led to another exhibit. Her eyes were wide, taking in whatever piece of artwork she saw there.
“Claire,” I called out.
“Wow,” she mouthed, ignoring me. She walked towards the exhibit, wanting to see more of the paintings. I wondered which exhibit could have her so interested. I followed behind her, quickly but silently, not wanting to disturb her. I turned the corner and finally saw what had captured her attention.
“Oh,” I murmured and froze in my place.
A large mural stared back at me, covering the full wall of the exhibit. It was very colorful and stood out from the rest of the paintings in the room. On the top half of the wall, you could see tall buildings, trees, people, animals, etc. It was a peaceful half and looked pleasing to the eye.
On the bottom half, the painting turned dark and dangerous. You could see the grease and grime underground along with a subway train, rats and sewers. The only colors were black and white, making the half look bland but disgusting.
I didn’t have to go to the plaque on the wall to know what the name of the painting was. It was named “New York: The Beautiful and the Grime.” I smiled to myself and turned away from the painting.
I noticed that a lot of people were walking up and down the room, comptemplating the mural. Most of them were nodding, pleased with it. Couples were whispering about it, talking about the different halves. I could tell by the fingers they pointed at the mural.
Finally, I found Claire. She was standing at the end of the mural, close to the plaque. I wondered if she had found out who painted it yet. She was studying it intently, a faint smile gracing her lips. She let her eyes wander until she found me. Excitedly, she waved me over, smiling widely.
“Michael, look at this painting,” she cooed. I nodded. “It is so inspiring. I wish I could have done something like this.”
“It is pretty cool,” I agreed. Claire gasped and I glanced at her. She was staring at me with astonishment.
“‘Pretty cool? This is amazing!” she exclaimed. “I have to know who the artist is.”
I was about to stop her, but then realized it couldn’t hurt anything. Her finger
scrolled through the words until she found the sentence she was looking for. Then, after reading it, she laughed.
“That’s funny,” she giggled. “It says that ‘Michael Herring painted this’.”
She looked at me, a silly expression on her face. I was serious as she started to read again.
“He works as a fire fighter at Engine 38,” she paused. “Wait, that’s...”
“Me,” I finished for her. Her eyes found mine again and I shrugged. “I painted this in my free time. That’s why I was invited to the grand opening.”
“You paint?” she asked. I nodded sheepishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The topic never came up,” I reminded her. She grimaced and looked down at her hands, tracing over the tattoo on her wrist. “And I only paint murals like this. I don’t like small things like you do.”
“Oh,” she muttered and sighed.
“What?” I wondered. She didn’t meet my eyes as she wrung her wrists.
“It’s nothing,” she uttered under her breath.
“Tell me,” I urged and hooked a finger under her chin, making her look at me. Her grey eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed.
“It’s just that I have always wanted to meet someone that knew and loved art as much as me. I have never found anyone like that until now. You know so much about it and you even painted that,” she pointed to the mural. “But, I can’t be with you. I just can’t....I guess stress has just been setting in and I haven’t realized int until now. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
She looked so vulnerable right then.
Against all better judgment, I cupped her cheek with my hand and she froze. She stared into my eyes, making me forget everything about myself. Before I could decide against it, I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers. She gasped before melting into me. I snaked my arms around her waist and she hooked hers around my neck.
The kiss was better than I thought it could ever be. Her lips were soft and they fit against mine perfectly, like a puzzle piece. She shuddered violently and it took me a moment to figure out she was crying.
I tasted the salty tear on my tongue and pulled back. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and I frowned.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, not wanting to break the bubble around us. She nodded and mumbled something under her breath. “What did you say?”
“Just hold me,” she muttered again and pressed her face to my chest. Sobs racked at her chest and she wrapped her arms tightly around me. I looped my arms around her and stood silently as she cried, wondering if I did something wrong.
Chapter 16-September 5, 2001 (Claire)
“.....I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I finished and looked into his green eyes. Fire burnt passionately in them and he cupped my cheek with his hand. I froze and swallowed loudly.
He wouldn’t, I thought right before he pressed his lips to mine. Startled, I let out a gasp. Then, without thinking, I melted against him, my body fitting against his perfectly. I looped my arms around his neck and he wrapped his around my waist. I kissed him back with abandon and freedom.
I loved the way his lips moved against mine; they was firm but soft. A tear slipped down my cheek and before I could stop them, they were flowing down my face. I shuddered and he froze, tasting the salt water on his tongue. He pulled back; I could feel him studying me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern masking his voice. I nodded and murmured my reply. “What did you say?”
“Just hold me,” I said a little louder and tried to muffle a sob. I pressed my face into his chest, letting myself get lost in his spicy scent. As I sobbed, I snaked my arms around his waist and kept him anchored there. He loosened his grip on me, but didn’t let go.
If only he knew.
“Claire.” A voice interrupted my dream and I flicked my eyes open. A guy was sitting beside me, fingers resting against my cheek. As my vision became clearer, I could see the guy’s black mop of hair and his frightened green eyes. Michael.
“Huh?” I groaned and straightened up. I noticed I was sitting on the couch and there was a large blanket wrapped around me. I shivered even though it wasn’t cold and grimaced as I popped my neck.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice frantic. I laughed hoarsely at the question.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I questioned. Michael shifted his gaze to his hands which were somehow intertwined in mine. I took my hand away and tried to get him to look me in the eye.
“You were screaming in your sleep,” he stated. I covered my mouth with my hand and stared at him in horror.
“I was?” I tried to remember any screaming in my dreams. There wasn’t any.
“Loud. And you said Alex’s name multiple times along with ‘dad’.” He searched my eyes before handing me a cup of coffee. Black.
“How did you know what coffee I like?” I asked suspiciously. He laughed and shook his head.
“Alex told me,” he said and pushed himself into a standing position.
“What time is it?” I looked around for a clock, forgetting that I hadn’t put one in the living room yet.
“Around six in the morning,” he told me. I groaned and took a sip of the coffee. The bitter taste washed down my throat and I felt more awake than I had a few minutes ago.
“God, that’s early,” I commented.
“No kidding,” Michael replied. I glared up at him and stood up.
“Why are you still here?” I accused walking around him to my room. I heard him follow behind me.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay after the museum last night,” he paused. “I guess we both fell asleep.”
“Where’s Alex?” I inquired pulling a drawer out from my dresser. I grabbed a pair of shorts and a tank top and shuffled into the bathroom.
When I came out, Michael was back in the living room sitting on the couch. I sat down beside him, warming myself with the steam from the coffee mug.
“Where’s Alex?” I repeated and looked over at him.
“He left about five to go exercise,” he explained and smiled at me. At that moment, I could still feel his lips on mine. I shook the thought from my head and shifted a little bit away from him.
“Oh, okay,” I said and took another drink from my coffee.
“God,” Michael groaned and took the mug from me. He set it on the coffee table and took my face in his hands.
He crushed his lips against mine and I almost lost all coherence. His lips moved with mine as if they had a purpose. They were just as I remembered them; soft, but firm. I locked my arms around his neck and he snaked his around my waist.
I don’t know how long we sat there kissing, but sooner than I wanted, I pulled back. Michael opened his eyes and watched me warily. I leaned back and swiped at a tear running down my face.
Michael caught my wrist and pulled it towards him. He used his finger and traced the outines of the music notes inked onto my skin. Then, he took my hand and pressed his lips into my palm.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to enjoy the moment. Suddenly, my eyes flicked open and I snatched my hand away. I tucked it against my chest and rocked back and forth.
“Claire,” Michael whispered in agony. I shook my head and stood up. I started to pace back and forth in front of him muttering under my breath.
“I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I can’t do this,” I moaned. Michael shifted so he was facing my and grabbed my waist as I passed in front of him. He turned me so that I was facing him.
“Can’t do what, Claire?” he asked. I shook my head, unable to speak. “Claire, you have to talk to me.”
“ I can’t do this....us,” I explained quickly. I could tell he was confused by the sadness in my eyes.
“Why not?” I could hear the disappointment in his voice and I tried to stay strong.
“It’s a long story,” I said. He laughed; it was short and mocking, unusual for him.
“I told you, I like long stories,�
� he shot back and pulled me towards him. I collapsed on the couch beside him, my breath hissing through my clenched teeth. “I have time.”
“You won’t want to hear it.”
“Claire.” I could hear the exasperation catch in his voice. “Try me.”
“You won’t be able to handle it,” I said. I was trying desperately to get him to drop the subject. Unlucky for me, it wasn’t that easy.
“Claire, you tell me right now. You are mine and I care about you. Let me in,” he pleaded. “Please, Claire. Just let me in. Let me know your life. I want to know you.”
“Okay,” I whispered, feeling defeated. “Here goes nothing.”
Chapter 17-September 5, 2001 (Michael)
“My mom was nineteen,” Claire started after taking in a deep breath, “when she had me. My dad was twenty-nine; ten years her senior. He was her college professor. When my mom found out that she was pregnant, she was genuinely happy. She said that she had always planned to keep her firstborn, no matter how old she was. After my dad found out, he proposed and they got married the winter before I was born. In March of 1976 I was introduced to life.
They found a little home in Atlanta, Georgia, thinking that they could do it. They thought that they could have jobs and have a family at the same time. But, by the fall of 1976, my mom had dropped out of college. She said that it was too hard with a newborn. She always promised she would go back after I got old enough. She never did.”
Claire paused and looked down at her hands. She fiddled with a bracelet around her wrist before continuing.
“When I was seven, everything was going fine. My dad was paying for everything and my mom had a part time job at a restaurant. Then, she found out she was pregnant again. My dad ordered for her to get an abortion. He said that they didn’t need another baby in the house. My mom disagreed and it was the first time I had ever seen my dad hit my mom.
But, my mom didn’t care and went ahead to have the baby. Later that year, my brother, Alex was born. I was so happy. I had someone to play with, other than my stuffed animals. I was told that I had to wait for Alex to grow up before I could play with him.