I love you, and I always will.
Tom L.
Amy read every single word over and over again. But instead of getting excited, she rubbed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She studied every phrase, trying to decipher a code that, unfortunately, she didn’t find. There were no codes. There was no mystery that would make her hope that, perhaps the body they found in the river, was not his. She closed the letter and checked if the Internet worked. She set it up quickly and sent an email to Steven to let him know he could send her the next articles she should work on. Afterwards, she lit up a cigarette and attempted to begin the story she had been postponing for so long... the story of an extraordinary being that visited the planet for a short while, to make the protagonist of her novel happy. She had the argument in her head, she just had to let her imagination fly, let the words flow... and with this privileged view of the ocean, she could do it. It would be easy.
But two hours later, the ashtray was full of stubs and the first page had only one phrase on it.
“You can always remember the kisses that made you forget everything.”
Frustrated, she went back to the porch to contemplate the rain and the scenery. To smoke and to drink tea non-stop. For the first time, she felt the urge to drink a glass of whisky. Later, she made herself a salad and saw a romantic comedy in the big screen of her new TV. Everything was new, interesting and exciting. And best of all... she felt okay.
Before going to sleep, she made sure to lock every door and went upstairs. She looked out the window. The dark and lonely view seemed scary by the light of the moon on the scrambled sea. Amy closed the white curtain and lied on her new and comfortable bed with a canopy. Before going to sleep, she turned the lights on and off nine times, and washed her face as many times... she had moved away, but she was still the same person. She couldn’t hear a single car. A single voice. She could only hear the calm of the night and the whisper of the sea.
“Tom... Tom... tell me everything, please... tell me...” she whispered before falling deeply asleep.
Disoriented, Amy woke up at eleven in the morning. She stared angrily at the alarm clock, that had betrayed her and had not rang at seven as usual. She would have to adapt to her new routine, as hard as it would be. She was no longer in London. Even if this place had something in common with London, its grey skies. She looked out the window to see the truck whose horn had woke her up. She dressed up quickly when she realized it was the moving truck with her belongings. She ran downstairs and opened the door to two young and strong built men that began to unload boxes and some furniture.
When they left, Amy sighed with relief. She didn’t like to have visitors, even less so in this house. Without knowing why, she felt as if it could only belong to her and Tom’s memory, and that no one... absolutely no one should even step on its wooden floors. Before opening the boxes to begin ordering everything, she made herself some coffee and lit up a cigarette. She didn’t have to lean out of her apartment’s window anymore, now she could step out to her porch, sit down quietly and let herself be swayed by the magnificent sea breeze. Even if the day was dark and stormy, Amy’s soul was happy before this new day. Three hours later, she had unpacked all of her boxes, and ordered her books, movies and clothes. She also made sure to place her furniture where she thought they would look bet, even though they didn’t quite match the Butterfly’s decoration. She filled up the kitchen cabinets and the two bathrooms’, and placed on the walls the few paintings she owned.
Back in front of the computer, she read Tom’s letter once more, and with a smile, she tried to begin her novel once more... but again, her muses abandoned her, so she instead began to work on Steve’s articles, that had arrived in an email that had also great wishes from him. She spent five hours working on the laptop, just as if she was back in her cubicle in the newspaper’s office. She sent the articles and got an immediate response from Steve, who sent her more work to do during the week.
Feeling asphyxiated for not finding the inspiration she longed for, she walked for the first time to the beach on a winding road. She looked back, feeling exhausted, towards the hill she would have to climb to get back home, but it was worth it. The weather, though cold, felt great. And lonely. Precisely the kind of things that she Amy really enjoyed. She zipped up her jacket, took off her shoes, and began to walk in the cold sand, among the bubbling freezing water of the sea. She took a deep breath, looked up to the clouded sky and shrieked when she felt the first few cold drops of rain. She might catch a cold, but it didn’t matter... she felt great for the first time in a long time.
But suddenly, she had a dark feeling. It felt like the time she had said goodbye to Tom for the last time. Like when Tanner had been watching her from the street. In this occasion, it was as if someone was watching her from some deep nook she couldn’t see. On the distance, she could see a cave, similar to the one she had seen in her dreams, when she had run terrified from a multitude of butterflies that chased her. She looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone close by, and even so, she still felt that strange sensation of being watched. Confused, she decided to walk back home. However, she regretted her decision immediately when she realized there was another unwanted guest by the porch.
“What are you doing here?” asked Amy, observing the man with his hands full of multicolored paints.
“My name is Paul Geller. And you are a very direct woman, of course. Just like yesterday in the café,” he said, smiling. “You don’t really like people, do you? Well, I do. I love meeting new people, even if I only ever find a few to be interesting. And you caught my curiosity. Well you, and... your cute and sad eyes. Did you go for a walk on the beach? I go often, but with this weather... you can catch a terrible cold. Yeah, I know, I talk a lot, but it doesn’t look like you want to say anything so... You might wonder, why my hands are so dirty?”
“I don’t. I really don’t care.”
“Really? You’re not even a little bit curious?” Amy shook her head bluntly. Paul laughed and shrugged. “I’m a painter. I paint with my bare hands. I’ve been doing so since I was a child. And I would like to invite you to my next exhibition. It’s the day after tomorrow, at 4 o’clock in the Cronin Gallery, on Green Street, by St. Mary’s. Carol has one of the best art galleries in town and the catering is going to be amazing.” He spoke with enthusiasm, smiling through his honey colored eyes. “We will go for drinks afterwards to Murphy’s. It will be great.
“No, thank you,” said Amy, and walked towards the entrance of her house.
“Why not? Are you going to stay in here forever?”
“Do supermarkets here have delivery?” asked Amy, considering that wonderful possibility.
“I don’t think so...”
“Good to know. Goodbye, Paul.”
“No, wait. What’s your name?”
“Amy Campbell,” answered Amy, rolling here eyes and wishing to be left alone by this insisting man.
“Amy. I don’t know what happened to you, that made you this way, but... have you any idea of what you’re missing out? I’m thirty-eight and ten years ago I married a wonderful woman that I had known since I was a child. Her name was Abbey, and we had a lot of dreams... we wanted to have three kids, live quietly in Dingle and be happy. That was all. A year after we married, Abbey got sick, and died two months afterwards. My whole world collapsed, and I locked myself in my house, working. I didn’t want to know anything of anyone, I talked only to myself, and to Abbey... I was losing my mind. Luckily, I got out of that endless well. I got out of the house, did exhibitions, sold my pictures all over the world and, even though I have not forgotten Abbey, and I never will, I have had a great time with other women. And that’s okay. Life was made to be enjoyed, not to lock yourself behind four walls.”
“I’m sorry Paul, I understand you perfectly. You speak... too much. And it’s completely absurd that you would tell your personal life to a complete stranger. But, to be honest, I’m really looki
ng forward to locking myself behind four walls and listen to nothing but the silence and the raindrops falling in the darkness of the night.”
“Wow, wow... are you perhaps a writer?”
“What?” asked Amy, confused.
“The way you speak, so... poetic... ‘Listen to nothing but the silence and the raindrops falling in the darkness of the night...’” repeated Tom, staring at the sky. “Normal people don’t speak like that, Amy. Come on, invite me over for a whisky and I will forgive you,” he suggested, winking.
“Go back to Dingle, Paul. And leave me alone.”
Amy opened the door, went quickly inside and locked herself in, leaving Paul alone in the porch, preventing him from saying anything else. It was getting dark and probably the rain would get worse. Paul, crestfallen, went back to his car, ignorant of the fact that Amy was looking at him through the kitchen’s window. He would probably go with his friends for a drink. That was always a great plan, even for a Wednesday.
Amy, who had felt sympathy for Paul’s story, considered the possibility of going to his exhibit on Friday. Why not? It would make a nice article for the local newspaper in London... Steve would appreciate the initiative that she had kept away from him in the years they had worked together. Perhaps she could talk about Dingle and her new life in Ireland, even if it wasn’t so interesting, or social. Would Londoners care for something like that?
Perhaps this man, with his dirty hands, was right. Perhaps it was time for her to speak to strangers, to someone new... someone other than Tom and herself. To risk, to discover, to wander... to go back to enjoy her life, not bothered by the presence of anyone.
She went back to her studio, hoping to find her muses. And she did. She spent the next three and a half hours writing non-stop. When she went back to check her work, she was pleased to find she had written fifty pages. It was a good start and she deserved a break... why not? She stepped out to her porch, finding the company of tea and a cigarette.
At two in the afternoon in a cold day of Autumn, that would shortly give way to the Winter, Amy stared intently at her closet. She would go to Paul’s exhibit. She would meet people and she would greet Ruby once more, whom she had really liked. She considered it would not be a fancy exhibit, so she chose a pair of tight jeans and a white shirt. She would make a fool of herself if she tried to wear high heels, the streets were just too steep to try and wear them. She instead decided to wear brown boots and her black leather jacket. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and wondered if she should put on some makeup. Try to hide her eye bags and give some life to the cheekbones. For the first time in years, she was considering giving herself a new chance. What if she found love again in Dingle? She shook her head, laughing... she could never do that to Tom. Not after everything he had done for her. This house... the inheritance of his parents, used on her benefit... Why? What kind of future did Tom glimpse? What images had traveled to his mind, that would make him plan such a thing?
“What did they do to you, Tom?” she wondered, staring at her reflection and picturing once more the motionless body of her twenty-five years old boyfriend, lying on the cold metal stretcher of the forensic lab. Again, she remembered the crying of Tom’s father, and the dismay of his mother... both of them dead now. Gone. There was nothing left from that past.
She tried to lighten up a little. She put on some makeup, adding even mascara, out of habit. She colored her cheekbones and put on lipstick. She left by three thirty in the afternoon, leaving behind the four walls of her new home, and drove all the way to Dingle.
Even though she never considered that it would be possible to get lost in Dingle when she first got there, the narrow streets disoriented her. Finally, she managed to find St. Mary’s Church. Right in front of it, the gallery was already surrounded by a lot of people. She parked outside and, with trembling legs, thinking of all the strange people she would have to face, she walked towards the gallery. The doors had been opened. Amy walked in, and many curious eyes fell immediately on her. She was, after all, the unknown woman that had recently moved in to the infamous Butterfly house on the cliff. She felt awkward. Their stares were not kind, but questioning. It was even worse when they began to whisper to each other. Amy chose to ignore it, and focus on the wonderful abstract pictures that were right in front of her. Full of life and color. She thought of Paul’s dirty hands, that carried those bright colors like tattoos on his skin.
“The woman of few words has decided to come to my exhibition. What an honor!” said a familiar voice, coming from behind.
“Paul,” said Amy, nervous.
That day, Paul’s hands were free of paint. They were perfectly clean. Big and strong. Powerful, agile, and rough. But this was something Amy didn’t know yet.
Just like her, Paul had chosen a white shirt for the occasion, and jeans that look really well on him. Amy could smell the aroma of his perfume. She tried to memorize it. Soft and manly. Unforgettable.
“Can I tell you something?” asked Paul impudently, without waiting for an answer. “You are the most beautiful thing in this room. Even more so than my paintings, and I assure you... that’s something difficult to achieve.” He smiled, managing to make Amy blush.
“Everybody is staring at me.”
“Bah, don’t mind them. They’re closed minded. Wait until more young people get here, they will welcome you with arms open, Amy.”
And they did. Paul’s friends arrived shortly after, including Ruby, who approached Amy immediately.
“Is your car’s hood working properly now?” she asked amused.
“I haven’t opened it again. Just in case,” laughed Amy, glad to see her. She reminded her so much of herself, so many years ago... her laughter, her will to live, her attitude. Ruby was sociable, she always had something to say, and more than anything, she seemed happy.
“Paul is this town’s great artist. He has had exhibitions in Paris, Rome, Los Angeles, New York... he is very famous. Well, not really. Because he doesn’t want to be. His paintings are famous all over the world. It’s an honor for Dingle that he chose to display them here.
“How so?” asked Amy surprised at the information she knew nothing of.
“This is the first time he has had an exhibition in Dingle. I wonder if it has something to do with you...”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Amy, staring at Tom, who was chatting amiably with a couple.
She felt a sudden curiosity for Paul. A curiosity that made her wonder if she wanted this stranger to have a role in her life. She had only ever experienced that when she met small Tom, alone and helpless, completely friendless on the yard. Ruby kept socializing, and Amy was left alone in the middle of the room. Bored, she took a glass of champagne from a waiter and kept looking at the paintings.
Steve had accepted her proposal to write an article about the exhibit and her new life in Dingle. It might interest their readers, to know more about the life in Ireland of one of their favorite writers from the newspaper. What she hadn’t considered, was that Paul had such a good reputation, and that he was considered a minor celebrity in Dingle.
“Do you like them?” asked Paul suddenly.
“I like this one, specially,” answered Amy, pointing to a painting that was primarily yellow.
“It’s Abbey,” said Paul, thoughtful. “What does it look like?” he asked.
“A star.”
“That’s right, Amy. It’s a star, made from abstract shapes. This is how we imagine our loved ones when they leave this life. As stars that look after us during the night, that protect us. And, if we’re patient enough, and if we wait until Dingle’s sky clears, we can see them.
Amy was paralyzed by Tom’s beautiful speech. She was lost in his mouth and his deep eyes, that stared with grief at the abstract star that he had painted while thinking of his dead wife.
“It’s so pretty,” she finally acknowledged, trying to hide her thoughts.
“This is so boring. I promised you fun and
you will get it. Would you come with us to the pub in half an hour?”
“I don’t know, I should go back home,” hesitated Amy, crestfallen.
“As you wish.”
“Are you not going to insist?”
“Insisting doesn’t always work, I think,” said Paul with a crooked charming smile, that Amy imitated.
Forty minutes later, Amy found herself in Murphy’s, drinking a beer with Paul, Ruby, and other six friends of Paul’s. She, quietly, was silently cursing the moment she had forgotten to pack in her bag some disinfectant liquid. But her obsessions were forgotten as the time passed and the jars of beer got emptied. Slightly dizzy, she stood in the middle of the dancefloor to dance among the crowd, to the rhythm of a young and unknown rock band. Paul stared at her from afar, while Ruby talked to him about finishing her business degree and about her ex-boyfriend, Harry, who had written to her again, telling her that he could not live without her. But Paul wasn’t paying attention to Ruby... he only had eyes for Amy, who had decided to begin living again that day, perhaps because of what he had told her. Perhaps thanks to him. He smiled and apologized to Ruby to go aid Amy, who had been surrounded by a couple of men who seemed to have noticed she was drunk and alone.
“Get away from here,” said Paul to them, taking Amy gently by the waist.
Where Oblivion Dwells Page 4
