The Road of Life

by Lorena Franco

  Sheshookherhead.WeclimbedintothecarandItookherhomesothatshecouldsleep andrestforawhile.IpromisedherthatIwouldreturnthatnightandsleepatherhouse.Itook a shower, changed my clothes and headed to the workshop, where several emails and blank canvaseswerewaitingforme,anxioustobeusedandtocometolifethroughmywatercolors.

  ButIhadnoinspiration...notevenlookingoutatthedepthsoftheforest.Ispentthefollowing hoursstaringatthewallandthinkingaboutmynewlife.Everybodyaskedthemselvesthesame question, what would become of me? As if the future was more important, as if the present meantnothingatall...asiftomorrowwouldgiveustheanswersandsolutionstoourproblems.

  Ihavealwaysbeenthekindofpersonwholivesfortoday,withoutthinkingaboutthepastor whatwasyettocome.Atleastthatiswhatisrecommended.Butatthatmomentintime,Idid careaboutthefutureandIwasworriedabouttheeventsthatwerestilltocome.Foramoment, I would have liked to have had a crystal ball to show me through its images what was to become of me... if, some day, I would get the life I chose back and I would be with my son again.Stuarthadmovedintoasecondplanofimportance,myfeelingstowardhimhadchanged drasticallyandIunderstoodthatithadtobelikethatalways.Maybe,withoutBonnie'scurse,I would have run into Mark in a different way. Everything would have been different, but the essenceofthingsstillremainsthesameovertimeandwitheachandeveryoneofthedecisions wemake;determinedtobelievethattheyarethebestdecisionsforus,eventhoughwecanbe verywrong.Butwealsomakemistakes...themistakesthatwelearnfromand,lookingatthe positive side of things... they are not really that bad. If we didn’t talk about them, our lives wouldbedullandboring.Ihadneverbelievedinmagicand,unexpectedly,magicfoundme.It hadnotbeenwhitemagicoranythinglikethat;Bonniehadwantedtheworstforme,makingme returntosomethingIhadnotchosenformyself.Butifshehadn’thavedoneit,Icouldnothave beenwithmymotherduringthelastmonthsofherlifeandIwouldneverhavereallyknown whatlovewas.ThosebutterfliesinmystomachthatIhadneverfeltwithStuart,eventhoughhe was the most handsome man on the planet... None of that made sense any more. I envied the peoplewhodidbelieveinmagicbecausetheyaredestinedtofindit.Iwasoneofthosepeople andIwouldmakemylifespectacular...althoughIwasstilldeterminedtoreturntoMattandto doso,therewasonlyonesolution.ReturntoNewYorkandfaceBonnie...althoughitwasstill nottherighttimetodoso.

  At five o’clock in the afternoon, Mark turned up at the workshop just as we had arranged.

  Without a word, he hugged me; knowing that it was what I needed at that moment. The attractivewriterIhadfalleninlovewithknewthatmymotherwasdyingandcouldunderstand perfectlyhowIfelt.Hisfatherhadleftwhenhewasonlythreeyearsold.Hegrewupwithout afatherfigurebutwithallofthelovethathismother,MarthaLudwig,couldgivehim.Whenhe wasjustsixteen,Marthahadfallenillanddiedfouryearslater.Hewasleftalone.Intheworld Iwasin,Ihadbeenwithhim;Ihadbeenhismainpointofsupporttocomforthimduringthose hardtimes.IntheworldthatIremembered,MarkhadgonetoNewYorkinsearchofsuccess, whichhelaterfound,butwithoutbeingabletoshareitwiththewomanwhohadgivenhimlife and pushed him to be whom he was. For a moment, I regretted all of the times that I had avoidedseeinghim.CoulditbethatIhadhadfeelingsforhim,despitehimjustbeingtheboy whohadthrownthebasketballatmyface?Weallhaveourowntragedies,Iguess.

  “She’s dying... they’ve cancelled the chemotherapy treatment so that she doesn’t have to suffer any more. In a matter of months... just a few months.” I explained, my eyes swimming withtears.Markstrokedmyhairandkissedmeontheforehead,understandingmypain.How could I explain to him that this was not my life? That I hadn’t seen my mother for eighteen years?Andthatneitherofushadmadetheefforttoseeeachother?

  “I understand your pain. I’m going to be here with you. You will always have me with you.” He said slowly and staring deeply into my eyes. No, this life would not be worth it without Mark... and the strangest thing was that I could not imagine my life in any of the differentworldswithouthim.

  Two hours later, Mark went home to write a new novel that he had to deliver in three months’timeandIdecidedtogototheFireflybookstoreandbyhisbook: Forgetting that I forgot you. That way, maybe, I would finally find out our story. It would be a way of undressingMark’ssouland,atthesametime,discovermyself.ThepersonIhadchosennotto be.ThecoverwasdifferentfromtheoneIremembered.Insteadoftwosmilingchildren,the profileofaperfectwomanwithprominentandbrightredlipswasonthecover.Muchmore sensual,butIthoughtithadlesscharm.

  When I arrived back at my mom’s house, she was still sleeping. Silently, I looked at her drawnfacewhilesherested.Iknewshewassuffering,thatherpainwasconstantand,evenso, theexpressiononherfaceasshesleptwaspeacefulandcalm.

  Iwentdowntothelivingandsatdownonmyfather’sfavoritechair.Icouldstillremember himsmokinghiscigarwhilehewatchedarugbymatchontelevision.Iopenedthefirstpageof Mark’s book; dedicated to the woman he had forgotten to forget... I smiled, knowing that womanwasme.Thetwohundredandthirtytwopagesofthebookhookedmeinsuchaway thatIcouldnotstopreadinguntilIhadfinishedit.Iimmediatelyunderstoodthesuccessofhis bookand,asIhadhoped,Imanagedtoundresshissoulthroughhiswords;togettoknowour pastandseemyselfhappierthanIhadeverbeeninreallife.ThenovelspokeofOliviaandI knew straight away that Olivia, the woman who had made the male protagonist, Matt, fall in love,wasme.MattandOlivialivedawonderfullovestorythatdidn’tseemtoend;butwhen the main character tells her about his dreams and future projects, she decides to end the relationship,thinkingthatitisbestforthebothofthem.Thesentencethatmovedmethemost wasonpagefiftysix: “If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it’s yours... if it

  doesn’t, it never was”. Matt never managed to forget about Olivia, they both managed to triumph in their professions, but their hearts were broken and cold when it came to feelings toward others. As I read each chapter, I delve deeper into the past of the characters through their memories and their present, which was so sad and solitary, even though they had other company.Theyneededeachother...timedidnotsooththepainoftheirseparation.Atonepoint inthestory,Mattforgetthathehadforgottenthewomanheconsiderstobetheloveofhislife and returns to his hometown to find her, not knowing if she still wants him... And, although everythingisdifferenttohowithadoncebeen,asparkfliesbetweenthemonceagain.Magic.

  Love.Themostpowerfulfeelingintheworld.Evenso,thestorydoesn’tendwell... ”Theysay thatonealwaysreturnstotheoldplaceswheretheylovedlife”, theprotagonistofthenovel thinks. Olivia dies after having hidden her terminal illness from Matt and, in a way, while I wascrying,Ithoughttomyselfthat,forMarkthatdeathmeanttherealbreakofafeelingthathe thought he would never have again. But he returned to Kutztown, we saw each other again...

  andhefellinloveoncemore.Thatwasreallife.Ourlives.IsentMarkaWhatsApp,asking himwhyOliviadied...butthat,eitherway,Ihadlovedthestoryandhadreaditinonesitting.

  And,ofcourse,IalsotoldhimthatIwantedhimtosignitforme...Justlikeanyotheradmirer.

  Eventhoughitwasfourinthemorning,herepliedinstantly,tellingmethathewashappythatI hadreaditandthatIh
adlikedit.HewassorryforthedeathofOlivia,buthedidn’tlikehappy endings...inhisbooks.Becauseinhislife,withme,hedidwantahappyending.Ismiledlike ateenagerand,wishinghimgoodnightandtellinghimthatIwouldhavelovedtohavebeenin hisarms,Iwentuptomybedroomtosleep.Ilookedbackintomymother’sroomtoseehow she was doing. She was still sleeping soundly. I made sure she didn’t have a fever and, as I touched her forehead, she smiled. What or who was she dreaming about? I silently left the roomand,eventhoughsadnesshadbeenthemainprotagonistoftheday,Iwenttosleepwitha smileonmyface.

  I was overwhelmed. And nervous, very nervous. On Thursday the fifteenth, at six o’clock in theevening,IhadmyfirstinaugurationintheEckhausGalleryinmytownand,thefollowing day, in the Lazy Leaf Pottery Gallery. Fortunately, Christine proved once again to be very efficientandtalented.Ihadnothingtoworryabout.

  We spent all of Thursday morning strategically placing all of the paintings, so that the visitorswouldfeeldrawntothem.Thegallerieslightingandambiencewereveryimportant.

  “Youlooksonervous,Nora!Thisisn’tyourfirstexhibition...”

  Itwastruethat,bythelooksofthings,Ihaddonequiteafewexhibitionsinthepast.But no,notme...myotherme,inmyotherlife,inanotherworld...Everythingwasreadyatthree thirty,soIdecidedtogoovertotheFireflybookstoretoencourageMark;atleastduringthe firstminutesofhisbookpresentation,thefirstinhishometown.Ihadneverseenthebookstore

  sopackedwithpeople,mainlywomenofallagesanxioustogreetMarkandgethisautograph andapersonaldedicationontheinsidesoftheboostheyhadbought.Peoplefromthetown,as wellasthosefromneighboringtowns,hadcomejusttoseehim.

  Patriciawasathisside,smilingseductivelyatalltimesbut,despitethefactthatshelooked very attractive indeed, I was not worried. I was Olivia, Matt’s Olivia... Nothing or nobody could separate us. I smiled at him from the entrance of the store and with a kind gesture, he invitedmeover.

  “Thanksforcoming.I’llpassbyyourexhibitionlater.”

  “Noyouwon’t,Mark.You’retakingmeoutfordinnerlater.”Patriciainterruptedbrazenly.

  “Patricia,pleasemeetmygirlfriend,NoraStewart.SheistheOliviafromthebook.”

  Fortunately, I managed to hide and control my laughter when I saw Patricia’s confused look.Shelookedlikeshewasinshock,stunned.Sheforcedasmile,rolledhereyes,touched herredhairandwentovertospeaktotheownerofthebookstore.

  “Ithinkshelikesyou...”Icommented.Marklaughed,ignoringthecommententirely.

  “How’stheexhibitiongoing?”

  “I’mreallynervous.”

  “Youhavealotofexperienceinthis,Nora.It’llbefine.”

  Patriciainterruptedusagain,thistimetotellMarkthathisrestwasoverandthathehadto return to his book presentation, to read some of the pages, to speak to his readers-admirers, andtosigneachandeveryoneofthecopiestheyhadpurchased.Iwatchedfromthedistance howMarkhappilyspoketoeverypersontherewhowishedtogreetandtalktohim,withhis bestsmile.Afterawhile,allofthosepresentsatdownandsilentlylistenedtoMark.Fromthe backoftheroom,Ialsolistened;andIhadtoadmitthathiswayoftalkingcaptivatedmein suchawaythatIwatchedhimawestruck.Hypnotized.Theminutespassedquicklyand,before Irealizedit,itwasquarterpastfive,Irantowardtheartgallerywherethefirstvisitorshad beguntoarrive.Fortheoccasion,Ihadboughtanelegantblackdressthatwasappropriatefor mypositionasexecutivevicepresidentofmynolongerfather-in-law’scompany.Ifeltabit morelikemebut,atthesametime,somethingaboutmehadchanged.Iwashappyamongmy paintings, my art... my work. I didn’t want to run from it, on the contrary. I wanted to stay forever. Christine gave the waiters indications as to how to serve the champagne and the deliciousandminimalistcanapés.Bitbybit,thegallerystartedtofillwithpeople,including artcriticsthatmyassistantintroducedmeto.SomeofthemIknewverywell,orsoitseemed and, even though I didn’t really know what to say to them, I made good use of my natural personalitytoconvincethemthattheexhibitionwasoneofthebestones.Ibelievedinmyself, inmytalentandinmy“children”,althoughIcouldn’trememberpaintingthemwhenIarrived, theywerealreadyintheworkshop.Waitingforme...fulloflight,colorandlife.

  “An artistic way of expression... a journey toward a place of happy times” ; just as the criticswroteintheirnewspapersandmagazinesdaysafterward.Athalfpastsix,momwalked throughthedoor.Shehadputsomemake-uponandhadgotdressedupfortheoccasion,buther smilewasforcedduetotheterriblestomachpainsshewasfeeling.

  “Mom...youdidn’thavetocome.”Isaid,huggingher.

  “HowwasIgoingtomissthis?Lookaroundyou,sweetheart...Iamsoproudofyou...”I wantedtocryagain.CrywithhappinessforalloftheloveIwasreceiving.Ididn’tdeserve

  thatmuchlove.

  “Areyouokay?”

  “Imustadmit,I’mabithighonpainkillers...I’mfine,don’tworryaboutme.I’mgoingto havealookaround;IlovewhatI’mseeing.”

  Iwatched as mymother stopped tolook at each ofthe paintings andespecially the one I had titled “MATT”. It was a special piece, the first one I had painted when I had arrived in Kutztown,evenifitwasalreadystarted.Diverselinesofabrilliantgreencolorfusedtogether tocreateandabstractshapedstarintheright-handcornerofthecanvas.Momnoddedhappily, pointingateachoneofthelineswithherfingerbutwithouttouchingit.

  “WhyMatt?”Sheaskedme.

  “Ifyouwouldhavehadagrandson,hisnamewouldhavebeenMatt...”

  “He’stheresomewhere,Nora.Searchinsideyourself.He’sthere...”

  Ilookedatthestarinthepaintingandmylegsbegantoshake.MynecktensedupandIfelt likeIwassuffocating.ItwasthelastthingIwanted,butIstartedtocryinfrontofallofthe peoplewhoweretheretolookatmypaintings.Someofthemlookedatmeinconfusion,others didn’tevennotice...butmomheldmyhandandnodded,understandingthepainthatIfelt.She wouldhavebeenthebestgrandmaintheworld,andMattwouldhavelovedhergreatly.

  MarkwalkedinwithPatricia.Hesighedand,bythelookonhisface,Icouldtellthathe hadn’t been able to get rid of her. They both looked at each one of the bright colors of the paintingsandsmiledinunison.IhadbeenexpectingthatfromMark,butnotfromPatricia.

  “I had no idea you were such a good artist.” The person who had been one of my best friendsinanotherlifesaidtome.

  “Itry...”Ireplied.“Wouldyoulikesomechampagne?”

  “Please. This piece would look great in my living room... I’m going to have a look.”

  Patricia walked over to a piece that I had called “DREAMS”. The sky blue color was predominantaswasthebrightyellowofthesun.

  “Howwasyourpresentation?”IaskedMark.

  “Okay,likealways.”Hereplied,notmakingabigdealoutofit.Uponseeingmymother,he walkedovertoher.

  I never found out what they spoke about but, after a few minutes, I could see how happy they were contemplating my painting “MATT”. They hugged each other and stayed in that position for a few seconds. Mom looked at me and then looked at Mark gratefully. She was alsohappytoknowthatIhadamanlikehiminmylife.

  Ateighto’clockintheevening,aftergivingashortspeechandthankingthosepresentfor theirinterestinmywork,IleftChristineinchargeofclosingthegalleryandfinishingupthe negotiationsofthesalesofmypainting
s,alsorecommendingthatshegetagoodnights’rest, giventhatthefollowingdaywehadtobeintopformtofacethenextexhibition.

  Mark,momandIwenthome.Duringsupper,wespokeaboutMark’sbookpresentationandmy exhibition.Ithadbeenanexhaustingday,butonefullofsatisfactions.

  “Iamsohappytoseeyoubothsucceedinthislife...”Momsmiled.

  “Well...youcanachieveanythingwithabitofeffort.”Isaid.

  “And with talent. And you’re talented, Nora.” Mark commented as mom gazed at us, she musthavebeenabletoseethesparksflyingbetweenus.

  After supper, mom preferred to go up to her room to rest. It had also been a day packed withemotionsforher,butshepromisedmethatshewouldbeattheLazyLeafPotteryGallery thefollowingdayformynextexhibition.Itwassmallerthantheonewehaddonethatday,but wasalsofilledwithverypowerfulandspecialpaintings.AlthoughIdidnotconsiderthemas mine,giventhat,justlikethepaintingsintheexhibitionIhaddoneearlier,theywerealreadyin theworkshopwhenmy“mefromanotherlife”arrived.

  “Are you looking at my ass?” I asked Mark who, still sitting at the kitchen table, was watchingmeasIcleanedthedishes.

  “Me?No...Noway...”Hereplied,laughing.

  When I finished, I walked over to him and kissed him. I had been so looking forward to doing so... in fact, just like a fragment of his book said: I would have lived forever in his kisses,hislips...foralleternity.Wewalkeduptomyoldbedroomand,makingaslittlenoise aspossible,weundressedeachother.Theroomwasonlylitbythepowerfulbrightlightofthe moonthatshonethroughthewindow.Mark’senigmaticgazelookedevenmorepowerfultome andinasurgeofpassionIthrewmyselfontopofhimonmysmallbed.Hebrushedthehair awayfrommyfaceandwecontinuedtokisspassionately.Skinonskin,sweatingandexcited; being with him was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Sweet, generous, and impulsive,makinglovetoMarkwas,onceagain,likereturninghome.Asifithadalwaysbeen there... only that it was in another invisible place that I had not been able to see from my world.