Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  “Dammit.”

  “Brittany?”

  “You guessed it.”

  “Only thing it could be. Women are the only things that can do that to a man. I’ve felt it numerous times with Marsha.”

  “And you’re still dating?”

  “Can’t leave her now. Too much investment.” Jeffrey had, of late, adjusted his outlook on life to fit into his studies in business. He often spoke of Marsha’s assets as though each year they depreciated.

  “I can’t leave either.”

  “You’ve invested more in Brittany than I have in Marsha.”

  That was a fact. Marsha always seemed to just be there whether Jeffrey spent time with her or not. His attitude towards her was such that he seldom went out of his way.

  “It’s not just the investment,” Lewis said.

  “I know, I know. I’ve heard it for years. You can’t work without her.”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t believe it, never have. You’re going to work no matter what. You have to. I can see it, Mom can, Dad can. That’s why they laid off soon after you decided to quit school. They know you’re doing what you must do. You have a purpose. Me, I’m going to make money. If I had a purpose like you, it’d just bog me down.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, Lew,” Jeff slapped him on the shoulder, “you’re going to have to find out sooner or later.”

  “Why? We’re still together. It was only a fight.”

  “Can you work now, while she’s pissed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bet you can,” Jeffrey smiled and punched at Lewis’ arm. I’d bet you could do it without her too.”

  “Don’t think it.” Lewis turned towards the bed. He looked for the sketch pad, he’d thrown. It lay bent and spread open, so he picked it up and straightened the pages. He flipped through some sketches and remembered her eyes. An impulse to get it down pushed through him like a strong heartbeat. “Maybe you’re right.” He had relinquished to the logic of his brother.

  “I am.” Jeffrey waited for a moment. “I envy you sometimes. What you have. It’s a gift. We all know it.”

  Lewis looked at him. Never had Jeffrey said such a thing.

  “It must be hard, though,” Jeffrey said.

  “Not so much. Just sometimes. Sometimes I can’t stand it. I can’t stay in this world.”

  “Sounds scary.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where do you go?”

  Lewis looked at the ceiling, at the specs of sand that were purposely in the paint to add texture to the ceiling. “There’s a completely natural world. It’s everywhere. I can feel it. Like I’m always being watched.”

  “Really? Me, too.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yeah. I sometimes think God is watching. I’ll be doing the oddest things and get this feeling like someone’s watching me. Like I’m in a play. This whole world’s in a play, like Shakespeare said.”

  “Mine’s there all the time. Almost. It is nature, though, not God. I don’t think there is a God.”

  “Because of Brit and you? That’s stupid.”

  “No, no. I mean all the time I think that.” Lewis sat on the bed.

  Jeffrey joined him there. “You don’t believe in God?”

  “Not really. I believe in nature.”

  “Trees and junk? Wood spirits, like the Indians?”

  “Maybe not spirits. I don’t know. I just know that sometimes plants and animals seem to just talk to me. Not in words, but in pictures and feelings. It’s hard to explain. It’s not the same as how we communicate.”

  “I could believe it from looking at your paintings. There’s such an organic... ah, closeness, oneness to nature.”

  “Ha, that’s what that article said. You’re quoting.”

  Jeffrey laughed. “It’s true, though. They do. Really.”

  They both laughed then. Jeffrey threw his arm around Lewis’ shoulder and patted it. “You shouldn’t worry about Brit so much. She’s kind of dizzy sometimes. She’ll get over it.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah. But it still doesn’t matter. You’ll paint no matter what. The world could cave in and there you’d be,” Jeffrey made imitation brush strokes in the air in front of them, “painting away with flames and screaming people all around you.”

  They both laughed again.

  “God,” Lewis said, “you seem so fucking optimistic. How do you do it?”

  “Balance.”

  “What’s that mean? You’re balanced and I’m not?”

  “No. We’re twins right?”

  “Okay so far.”

  “This might sound dumb, but ever since I was little I thought this.”

  “Go on.”

  “In most people, there’s a balance of good and evil, right and wrong, optimist, pessimist, introvert, extrovert. Now in twins, the same balance is there, but it’s spread between two bodies. Not always, but with us, one gets more of one thing than the other. So, individually there seems to be a slight imbalance, but together, balance.”

  “A little far fetched. What about people who have an imbalance and don’t have a twin?”

  “Mental birth defect. The only birth defects we recognize are physical, except for retardation. Slight personality anomalies we miss.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

  “I had to come to terms somehow.”

  “With what?”

  “Our differences. I was always jealous of your... gift.”

  “I was always jealous of yours.”

  Jeff laughed. “What gift?”

  “To make friends, play ball. You were always a team captain. Always an important player. Always better at school. You had more discipline. I was never important to anyone.”

  “Except Brittany?”

  “Except Brit.”

  “That’s not true. Eventually, your art will be important to lots of people, you’re just going to be detached from them. But you’ve got to know that what you do will touch them much deeper than anything I could do.”

  “Are you still jealous?”

  “No. There’s balance. I don’t think, at this point, I would want your gift. I’ve gotten used to myself. I’m comfortable.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know. I wish you could be, but I don’t think it’d be you. You’d lose something in the transition.”

  Lew stared and listened, letting Jeffrey’s voice sink in. When a silence lingered, he said, “Sometimes I see everything in color, just color, no lines around them to define them, just color slapped onto a canvas at will, everything abstract, then when you pull back, something emerges and takes form.”

  “Sounds weird.”

  “It’s been my world for so long that everything else is weird.”

  “At least you’ve gotten used to yourself.”

  “It’s not just me, though, it’s everything. Like I said, nature has its own voice, look, sound, smell, and touch. Along with that, nature has its own psychic energy, its own sort of ESP.”

  “I know, it talks to you.”

  “Sort of.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “I don’t always know. But it’s there. Almost always.”

  “Like I said before, it sounds scary.”

  “Plants and animals are very special. Like that old white oak, there’s something about it. It’s special. It has its own feel to it.”

  “The clearing where I found you that day?”

  “A different feel. I remember a raccoon there who came up to me.”

  “A wild one?”

  “I was a little kid. I swear it told me not to touch its ears, or head or something, but I heard it. I know I did. Not words exactly.”

  “You’re spooking me, Lew.”

  “No. It’s all right.”

  “You were a little kid. Maybe you imagined it.”

  “No, I know the difference.�
�

  “Do you, if you’re not in this world a lot of the time?”

  “I do. It’s not like I’m dreaming or hallucinating, it’s just shifted slightly. Not much.”

  “Let’s talk about Brittany and Marsha, women, something I’m comfortable with, something I understand.”

  “Okay.” Lewis knew that he had talked more than he normally did. He may possibly have said too much, but it felt good to get it out.

  For me, it felt good also. Whatever Lew felt was good for me, a new experience. There was a relief that came with Lew’s confessions, a relief for Lew and me. But the problem with Brittany wasn’t over yet.

  The next day, Brittany still wouldn’t talk to Lewis. He followed her out of Katy’s Clothes and into the mall, one step behind her. Little came out of his mouth. He had run out of things to say and couldn’t grasp any words except I’m sorry, but those were sounding old even to him.

  Brittany wore a mint skirt and mustard top. She walked fast. It was her break, and she had only fifteen minutes to go down to the food court, stand in line, and buy a soda, which took about ten minutes. She’d have to drink it on her way back to the store.

  Lewis tried to get close, but the way she swung her arms and turned corners, left him little room. Finally, he got close enough to reach out, but when he did, his foot accidentally stepped on her heel and she stopped abruptly. Lewis flew past and halted on the other side of her. “I’m sorry, Brit.” His arms reached out to her.

  “Can’t you just stay away from me? Stop following?”

  “Yeah, buddy,” someone in the crowded mall said, but Lewis didn’t see who it was.

  “But...”

  “But I asked you to leave me alone for a while. Don’t you think I’m hurt, too?” Her face twisted as though she were ready to cry.

  “But, it’s so simple to clear this up.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  As they stood in the mall aisle, people stared as they walked past. Lewis wanted to hide and hoped no one he knew walked by. He heard some of them talking, changing from previous conversations into: “Oh look, they’re fighting.”; “I wonder what’s up with those two?”; and, “You think everything’s all right?” He wished he could tell them everything was fine, but would be much better if they’d just get on with their own lives and leave his and Brit’s out of it. What they needed was privacy so they could talk and straighten things out. But privacy wasn’t on the menu that day; in fact, what was served was frustration and anxiety on a platter of disappointment.

  Finally, with Lewis struggling with words and trying to ward off the fear of exposure in the mall, Brittany just slapped him hard across the face. The stillness held until the initial sting of his cheek subsided. Brittany looked right at him. There were tears in her eyes. Her hand must have stung as much, or worse, than his face. Then, she reached out and touched his cheek tenderly and walked away.

  Lewis watched her walk past. There was nothing more he could do. After standing there for a few minutes, he left the mall and drove home.

  In his bedroom, he set up his easel and began to paint Brittany’s eyes, the globes of moisture pulsing up through tear ducts, filling every cavern in every corner, just before breaking loose and falling down her cheek. He painted them at their brink of overflowing. Light glistened off the tears, slight strands of yellow hair at the sides of her face hung near her eyes, delivering the idea of sunlight to the painting. Reflections of color and shadow glanced off the tears in their own mirror-house repetition, or like a jazz song where there’s always the sound of the original tune underlying the entire piece. Brittany’s eyes became pure pain, exhaustion. The eyes were at their end of understanding and wanted to be left alone. One canvas, one pair of blue, tear-filled eyes, along with a few strands of blonde hair, said it all. Lewis worked on the painting well into the night.

  Jeffrey let him alone, coming upstairs late and going straight to bed without comment or question. As their previous conversation had indicated, Jeffrey had learned to accept Lewis as part of his own balance, sibling rivalry seldom interrupted their relationship any longer.

  CHAPTER 9

  SOME THINGS HAPPEN MORE QUICKLY than others, and for humans, whose time is often measured relative to action, the movement of time can compress months into weeks. So, in two short months of spring, Lewis’ paintings became popular sellers in the Philadelphia and Blattsfield galleries, and were picked up the J. J. Max Gallery in New York. All told, more paintings were sold in those months than the entire year prior. All this at age twenty-two. During those months, and because of his sales, Lewis procured the land for the cottage, his father helped him hire a contractor, and the building had begun. At Lewis’ insistence, the least number of trees were cut. Two. We all felt the pain. I believe firmly, no, I know as fact, that Lewis also felt the loss as well.

  Daily, he called Brittany to ask for her hand in marriage. His obsession with her had not lessened, even though he found Jeffrey’s prediction true. In fact, without Brittany, he painted from a low drone of pain which heightened his emotions and his sensitivity to his art. Further, her absence gave him more time in which to paint.

  Each day, Lewis walked out to the building site, always passing me, usually touching me where he had dug the tattoo into my bark, sometimes elsewhere. The cottage was small, quaint, and went up quickly. Lewis sat in the woods for hours, out of the sun, watching. He sketched the progress, two sketches ended up as paintings, one a close-up of a young boy of about fifteen or sixteen perched between two roof rafters nailing up a cross brace being held by someone who looked to be his older brother. The father, at least for the painting, stood watching from below. The other painting was produced from a sketch made early in the morning. Even in the painting you could feel the cool, dew-damp air, the notion of the warmth that would come with the sun. All on the site was quiet, a pair of squirrels sat atop a small stack of two-by-sixes exploring the new arrival, a lone bird perched on the tip of the roof peak. In the painting, Lewis felt accepted by the woods, as part of common thought.

  Towards the end of the second month, Jeffrey rustled his way through the woods, rather than take the skinny road which had been used by the contractor and his sons and helpers, and which would eventually be paved with stones. He came upon Lewis sitting on the stone fence, still undisturbed by the new cottage which sat back in the woods about fifty yards from the fence and field.

  “News flash,” Jeffrey announced upon arrival.

  Lewis, unshaven and slightly rumpled, looked up at Jeff with baggy eyes. “Hi.”

  “You look rough. Ever hear of sleep?”

  “Not lately. What is it?”

  “The news of the day, received from reliable sources. Not the best news though, “Jeff sat next to Lewis, “depending on your viewpoint. Kind-of mixed news, actually.”

  “All right,” Lewis sounded tired, “give it to me.”

  They stared at one another for only a second, until Lewis was reminded of himself looking badly, as Jeff had suggested. Jeff looked fine, fully rested, shaven, dressed in khaki, loose-fitting pants and yellow golf shirt.

  “Brittany’s pregnant,” Jeff said quietly, almost as though he were sorry he had made the trip.

  Lewis turned back quickly, his eyes wide, more alert to his world than he had been in days.

  “It’s true. About three months or so.”

  “She must have known...”

  “The day of the big fight.” Jeff finished the sentence.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Don’t be dumb, she wanted you to be sure. When you balked about marriage, she probably felt betrayed or something. Who knows how women think?”

  “But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to.”

  “I know. You told me, and I believe you. Brittany’s another story.”

  “God.”

  Don’t ask him for help. You don’t believe in him anyway.”

  Lewis’ shoulders slumped noticeably.

  “Sorry, wr
ong timing for jokes, I suppose.”

  “What’ll I do?”

  “Don’t know. She still refusing your calls?”

  “Yes.” Lewis stood up and turned around, first taking a step in one direction, then the other. “We’ve got to get married.”

  “Hold on there. Don’t go off and rent a tuxedo yet. Decide what you want. This is too important for you to just make a quick decision. Make up your mind first.”

  “I’ve gotta marry her.”

  “You don’t have to do anything.” Jeff stood and took his brother’s shoulders in his hands. “Look, you’re tired right now, worn down. Too much has gone on the last few months. Maybe you can’t handle making the decision right now. You should rest. Sleep on it for a day or two.”

  “No. I’ve wanted to marry her, she just hasn’t listened.”

  “Remember, she’s known about this for a while. You just found out. She doesn’t feel the same urgency, obviously. Besides, she’s still not talking to you.”

  “She has to.”

  “Not so far. Listen to me. Rest and think. Think of why you balked in the first place. This is big stuff. The rest of your life.”

  “Exactly.” Lewis took off down the road, Jeffrey close behind protesting all the way.

  When they reached the house, Jeffrey stopped at the porch and sat down on the top step. There was nothing else he could do. He sat, looking exactly like Lewis on the outside, except that he was cleaned up, but on the inside he was all human, not a trace of common thought, animal or plant. Yet he had his own strength and optimism. And he was still connected to Lewis.

  In less than an hour, Lewis came out the front door, clean-shaven and dressed in freshly washed jeans and tee-shirt.

  “You look better,” Jeff said, turning towards the sound of the opening door.

  “I feel better, to tell the truth.”

  “What a difference appearance makes to your psyche. Boosts it.”

  “I guess.”

  “Before you go, give me five minutes?”

  “Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

  “I know better. It’s been Brittany, whether I liked it or not, for far too many years for me to have an effect now. Just like your painting, you know what you want.”