Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  He suppressed his short meeting-of-the-bodies with Susan and focused on Brittany for his inspiration, although she was only a jumping off point for him. Regardless of what she was to Lewis, whether the entire inspiration in all his pieces, or only a starting point, her image etched itself into his brain and did not let go. He became obsessed with her, a love-hate overwhelmed him, it built concrete castles in his chest, exploded his heart. Their lovemaking increased in frequency and he learned to include it in his paintings, the passion of thrusts and the tenderness of a hand slipping off panties, how a silk blouse hung over the back of a chair.

  Lewis was written up in the local paper as the artist genius of Blattsfield, Pennsylvania. His paintings sold increasingly well.

  One day while sketching the field, while standing in the early light of sun-up, he turned to a new page and laid out a two-bedroom cottage with loft where he and Brittany were to live. All he had to do was buy the piece of woods just west of the field and have the cottage built to overlook what, through time, had become his other obsession, the field. He vowed that he would search the expanding light across the horizon every evening for just the right feeling, the one he had the first time he and Jeffrey ran innocently into the field with wide eyes and open hearts. That feeling of delight and happiness he often confused with the odd melancholy inside him.

  Brittany had pressured him about marriage, usually after lovemaking, sometimes during. “Do you love me?” she’d ask.

  “Of course.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re not going to marry me, that you’re just going to use me then throw me away.”

  “Never.”

  “Do you think we’ll be together forever?”

  “I can see nothing else in my future but you,” Lewis said one afternoon while sitting up in the cool air of a rented Motel room. The bedspread lay on the floor, knocked off during play.

  Brittany stood near the mirror. I saw this all from his memory of it. She had very skinny legs and thin arms. Her about-average-size breasts were firm, but sloped slightly downward. To Lewis, the pinks and pale whites of her, the blonde of her hair and bush, colored the morning in its own light. Her standing there before him brought on a great weight, the heaviness and sadness of never really loving, but of the obsession of need. He told the truth when he said he could see nothing in his future but her, except that she could have been an ornament on a shelf.

  “Then some day we’ll get married?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You sound so sad when you say that.”

  “Not at all, just serious.”

  Brittany smiled. She walked over to him and took his face into her love-scented hands and kissed him.

  He had played that scene in his mind many times, always with the same curious interest, as though he were merely trying to understand it and not hold it as a cherished thought. When he thought of marriage, a thickness of the chest, not unlike that received when he was about to paint, overtook him. And what did it mean? Wasn’t marriage a dangerous thing for most? I would suspect it was even so for Brittany, but she seemed to want it badly.

  “We could be together forever, me in the kitchen cooking or in the living room playing with the children, and you in the loft painting, becoming more famous by the hour.”

  “In the loft?”

  “Of course, all painters have lofts where they paint.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Don’t you want a loft?”

  “Yes, I do.” He looked into her face from his position on the bed. Her hair was like the flames of the sun. Sometimes when he looked at her, she took on the appearance of that little girl who touched his sutured head wound, the little girl who seemed so caring and so sensitive. She held him and he wanted to melt into her hands and face, but it was sadness he would feel, not warmth and happiness, because that sensitivity between them seemed to be gone. Maybe it was never there. Lewis never thought that, I did, I extracted it from how it felt to me. As I said, happy and sad were the same thing to Lewis during that time.

  He told her about his layout and sketch for the cottage. It looked like the one he imagined she thought of when she mentioned the kitchen and the loft.

  “Do you have it here? Can I see it?”

  “In the pad.” He pointed to the chair where their clothes were draped. Under his jeans, the spiral of the pad protruded out over the edge of the chair.

  Brittany went to it immediately. She remained completely nude, unafraid, un-shy about her body. She brought the pad over and sat next to him, handing it over. Her legs spread and one leg was placed along the bed in front of Lewis.

  He looked down into her soft blonde crotch, pink protruding from the puffed folds, a glistening of moisture.

  “Find it,” she said.

  Lewis flipped through the pad and opened to the sketch.

  “It’s beautiful!” She exclaimed. “Just as I pictured it.” She moved closer to him, an acrid smell rose between them.

  At once, Lewis wanted to tear the sketch apart and drop it into the waste basket. He didn’t understand the feeling and suppressed it almost physically.

  “When did you do it?”

  “The other day.”

  “Were you planning to surprise me?”

  “With what?” He knew what she was getting at and wanted to avoid it, but couldn’t.

  “The cottage.”

  “No, I just... It wasn’t meant...”

  “You didn’t mean to let it out.”

  “Not that.”

  “Ohhhh,” Brittany hugged him and shook her head. “You’re so sad-looking sometimes, like a puppy dog. If you wanted to surprise me with the house, you should have. But I know you, you couldn’t wait.”

  “It’s not like that. Don’t misunderstand.”

  Then she got serious. “Misunderstand what?” She pushed away. “You didn’t mean for me to live in it with you, did you?” Her accusation came at him like the shot from a rifle.

  “Not at first,” he admitted. “Until I could afford it,” he said trying to ease the pain he saw in her face.

  “I thought you wanted me. I thought you loved me.” She bent her head at an angle.

  “I do. But I need to work for a while longer.”

  “Maybe we should just break up for now if you’re not ready.”

  “But I am.”

  “Are you?”

  He began to shake inside. His obsession with needing her in his life clicked in like a light switch being turned on. He couldn’t let her go, but didn’t want to be pushed into marriage either. “I’m just nervous,” he said. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”

  “It will be.”

  “Not if it’s too soon. Not right away.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be married to someone famous,” she said.

  “But I’m not famous. I’ve only just begun to sell regularly, and I’m not sure I can keep it up.”

  “You can.”

  “How?”

  “If you have a wife and baby who depend on you, you’ll have to. It’s the best thing.”

  “Can I take that pressure?”

  “It’ll make you even better.” She leaned into him once again.

  Lewis felt defeated. He wasn’t positive what he wanted. He put his arms around her and felt the soft skin across her back. He wished he could just suck her into his body and have her there, not have to deal with her on the outside world, not have to feel manipulated.

  Brittany pushed him over onto the bed and kissed him. “Forever,” she whispered.

  The word echoed inside the caverns in Lewis’ mind. For the first time, forever fit only his work and not Brittany. For the first time, it was difficult for him to see her forever. Maybe for the rest of his life, until death, but forever dragged more than mere mortal time with it, and he was uncomfortable with the thought. Brittany must have seen forever differently, more temporary.

  As they kissed, his mind slipped off into another realm, the one of sex, whe
re little else mattered but the senses, and that final wild release where all color, all sound, all sensation, met and merged.

  Afterwards, Lewis rolled over onto his back. Brittany took his hand and said quietly, “Forever.” She had not forgotten, and needled him with the word.

  Lewis tightened up. His mind clamped around the word and held it like a vice, not letting it go any further inside him. Marriage was one thing, forever another, and Lewis struggled with the distinction while Brittany slowly fell off for an afternoon nap.

  While she lay sleeping, Lewis slipped off the bed and took a shower. He let the water fall over his face and head for a long time, closing out all other sound, the road outside, the buzzing light over the small vanity, the flapping corner of the shower curtain. He stood in the tub and dried off, looking at his body in the mirror. He seldom stared at himself that way, the real him lay inside the body, in a tangle of color and shape. Outside, he was Jeffrey, strong-limbed, sandy-haired, gray-eyed, like the gray of the sky just before rain. Not black thunder clouds before a storm, but the gray of an all-day drizzle.

  As he dried off, Lewis watched how his arms worked, how his hands grasped, his penis swung, and his thigh muscles tightened. He had done the same careful watching with Brittany, his father and mother, even the kids at school, the boys entering the shower after gym. Once he watched so intently, trying to collect those movements, that he was discovered and called faggot by a few of the boys. That soon subsided though, as they realized Lewis didn’t care about their taunting. He was already introverted and the teasing didn’t irritate or amuse him, so the boys gave it up. At the bathroom mirror, Lewis remembered that time and the difference in movements between one boy and another. In the mirror, though, all he could detect were similarities between he and Jeffrey. He slipped the towel over a wrack near the door and went into the room to dress.

  Brittany slept on top of the blankets, her tiny butt sticking up, one leg bent at the knee. Her body twisted slightly on the bed and her face turned towards the window, her mouth open, her full lips pink against the white pillow case.

  The way the dark blue bedspread was tucked under her, it looked as though Brittany was outlined in blue and that she was lifted, held above the bed by the bedspread. The negative space created an interesting effect. Lewis dressed quickly and began to sketch out the offering, the bedspread holding Brittany out to him, for him to take. Like waiting for the next song on the radio to see what it said you should do with your life, like believing that you heard your name called when it was completely quiet, like any expected God-send or total mystery, Lewis was ready to believe, did believe, that Brittany was being offered to him, handed to him from the dark-blue platter of the bedspread. He drew her fuller than what she was, added weight to her butt and legs, a larger mound to the shape of breast pushing out from the weight of her torso. After he was through, he closed the pad and set it back on the chair. He went over and slid his hand over the small of her back and onto her butt where he cupped each cheek one at a time. Then he leaned over her small face and kissed her, his hand now on her shoulder and shaking her. “Brit, wake up. Brit.”

  “Lew?”

  “Yeah. Are you awake?”

  “Silly question. I’m talking, aren’t I?” She rolled over so she was pushed against him. He watched as her breasts swayed first one way, then the other, and how her arm moved and her legs parted, the blue bedspread still holding her white-skinned body out to him. “I guess you’re awake then,” he said.

  “So?”

  “So, what?” he tightened.

  “So, I guess we better go.”

  “Right.”

  She ran her fingers along his cheek and jawbone. “I had a lovely afternoon.”

  “Me too.”

  “We should do this more often.”

  “It’s expensive.”

  “Not if it were in our own home.”

  “Then marry me.” He couldn’t believe that he’d actually said it.

  Brittany’s mouth gaped open and stayed that way for a long while. “No.”

  Lewis’ face wrinkled quizzically.

  “I mean, no, like you can’t be asking me, not no like N-O.”

  “But I am.” Another surprise.

  She sat up. “Oh my God. Lewis, you’re actually proposing.”

  He lowered his head. He wanted her and didn’t want her. This may have been the only way, what he must do.

  “I accept. I want to. I’d love to.” Brittany bounced on the bed, her arms waving as though she were in a parade, stark naked, waving to a million on-lookers. “There’s nothing in the world I’d rather do more.” Then she asked, “When?”

  Lewis hadn’t thought about it. “Later, when things are ready, once I feel set.”

  “After the house is built?”

  “I haven’t even looked into it yet. I have a sketch, That’s it. And not a very good one.”

  “Maybe our parents will help out.”

  “My mom and dad can’t do much.”

  Brittany became solemn faced. “Are you trying to put this off?”

  “Not long.”

  “Only until everything’s perfect.” She crossed her arms. “Well, it’s not going to ever be perfect.”

  “Not perfect,” he protested.

  “Then when? Have you even thought about it?”

  “Yes.” But he hadn’t. “A year.”

  “A year? That’s long enough for you to change your mind. You’ll get more sales, more women will come around. Bam, I’m out-a-there.”

  “No, Brittany.” He moved to touch her.

  She scooted over and got up from the bed and began to dress.

  Lewis turned. “Don’t be like this. I just have to get some things straight.” He was a hurtling ball of asteroid inside, watching the earth rush into his face at increasing speed, feeling his body overheat with air friction. “Any time you want then,” he said, his arms outstretched and pleading. “We’ll talk about it and decide together.”

  “I don’t think you mean it. You’re not ready.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is?” She halted, her jeans halfway up her legs, her breasts hanging like two bells swaying, ding-ding, ding-ding.

  Lewis found it difficult to think. He couldn’t lose her, and getting married didn’t seem right. Not yet. Not now. He needed to build first, try to get the field perfected. His hesitation worsened the situation. He was looking at Brit’s breasts, not really letting the conversation sink in.

  “Well?” Brittany asked.

  “What?”

  “That’s what I want to know. What is the problem? Why aren’t you ready?” She pulled her pants up and buttoned them, then picked up her bra and slipped it over the bells. The blouse was next.

  Lewis stared. He went to her and took her arm. “I’m sorry.” It must have sounded like he was breaking up, sorry about letting her go, when he was only trying to erase the tension.

  “Ohhh,” Brittany squealed and pushed past him, her blouse half buttoned. She grabbed her purse and walked out.

  Lewis stood there wondering what had happened. How could he let her go? Then it dawned on him. She had to be waiting outside. He drove. Lewis picked up his sketch pad and followed in her footsteps outside the door and down the stairs. He saw her get into the car, so he rushed down two stairs at a time.

  She sat in the car with her head down and her hands folded in her lap. He had never seen Brittany in such a state and didn’t know what to do, where to begin. He got in. “Brit.”

  “No. Don’t.”

  He quieted. His hand touched her shoulder.

  “Please, Lewis.”

  He removed it. “What can I say?”

  She was quiet. Her head lifted and she looked out the side window.

  “Brit, what can I do? I don’t know what happened in there. What do you want?”

  “Nothing,” she said into the window.

  “But...”

  “Just take me home. Eno
ugh has happened. And the afternoon had started out so perfect.”

  “Can I see you tomorrow?”

  “I’m working at the store.”

  “I’ll come to the mall to see you.”

  “No. Not for a while. I want you to be sure.” She turned her head to look into his eyes.

  Lewis felt her eyes penetrate him. They appeared similar to an angry animal’s. He wanted to sketch the look, but didn’t. There was little else to do but start the car and drive her home. All the while he drove, she was silent. This was the first real fight they’d had. Brittany usually didn’t think much about anything and, therefore, didn’t take issue often. She wanted this marriage, he thought. And he did, too. So why was he balking? He feared that if she left, he couldn’t paint. How could he? She had been such a part of it for so long. When he pulled up to the front of her house, he reached out once again. “We’ll marry as soon as you want.”

  “No. You’re not ready. I wouldn’t want it that way.”

  “But Brit, I am ready. I don’t know what was wrong back there. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Sleep on it, Lew.” She looked at his hand, still clutching her forearm. “I’ve got to go.”

  He let go and she stepped out of the car. He watched as she walked to the house without even a glance back. His heart fell. When she was inside, he turned the car and drove home. At home, he threw his sketch pad across the room. He slammed the bedroom door.

  In no time Jeffrey came through the door to see what was up. “What is it, Lew?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You came in in such a rush, my papers flew all over. So, what is it?”