Adrian walked down the hall to Nathalie's apartment absently tossing ideas around in his head. Something had been nagging at the back of his mind the past few days but he couldn't decide what. Maybe Nat would be able to guess.
Notes and melodies enveloped him in swirling eddies of sound as he stepped into her studio apartment. Nathalie was a dancer. She danced constantly. He settled into his accustomed chair, waving when he thought she could see him.
"I finished a painting today," he said loudly over the music. Nathalie didn't say anything. "I think it's good. It has this couple walking through the park at sunset, the sky all purpley-red. Everything is in a sort-of shadow, except towards the front where you can see fading fall leaves scattered around. There's some snow on the ground, but it's more like an enveloping frost lacing everything in ice than snow. The man is talking, explaining something, and his words float out into the sky, written in that old-fashioned typeset and sort of float there like little black birds. It's this wonderful mixture of browns and blues and purples with a little gold tossed in here and there for good measure. All the colours are kind of muted and shadowy, making it look sort of dreamy and surreal. It's got this mood to it like some insane weaver grabbed hundreds of multi-coloured hope and beauty ribbons and attacked a great tapestry with them, letting the ribbons weave in and out running rampant and... oh, god it's so beautiful. You should see it sometime."
He glanced around the sparse studio as Nathalie continued her graceful ballet. He knew not to expect any sort of answer from her, though he half-hoped she would respond in some way. She used to, but over time she'd grown more involved with dancing and less involved with him. He could remember when dancing was just a hobby for her, something to be treasured in little off-moments. She had talked to him then, when he came over while she practiced. She would laugh and joke as she executed each precise, fluid motion. Gradually, though, dancing had taken over her life.
Adrian watched her in fascination. She was a graceful, lilting flower moving through field upon field of violins and cellos and pianos. Not too long ago she had been his flower. Now she surrendered herself to the music and its movements, and nothing else. He tried to place the exact moment their friendship had changed, but couldn't. There was no real moment, he thought. Adrian sighed, his eyes following Nathalie's every action. She hadn't even said 'hello' when he walked in. Usually she at least waved... He frowned. Something was not right about any of this.
Tiny strains of music worked their way into his mind, edging around barriers to allow more bits through. Rippling waves of music crashed against his entire body until he couldn't stand it any longer. He dashed across the room and hit the stereo's 'off' button as hard as he could.
"What are you doing?" Nathalie demanded, sounding angry and annoyed. "Why did you turn that off?" Adrian faltered. He hadn't expected that sort of reaction. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"I've come here every afternoon for the past two months and now you ask me what I'm doing here? You used to want me here." His eyes pleaded with her to tear away her anger and be the girl he knew again. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he whispered.
"So, you have nothing better to do with your time so you come here and waste mine?" Her eyes crackled with emotion.
"I never wasted your time. I talked to you while you danced. You used to enjoy that."
"Well that was before. I can't afford to have you hanging around here all the time having me do things for you."
"What have I asked you to do for me?" Adrian asked. This was not going the way he'd hoped.
She sighed and changed the subject, her voice tinged with acid, "Why did you come her anyway? I don't remember inviting you."
"I came to tell you about my new painting," Adrian said quietly. He pictured it sitting in his dark apartment, the evening shadows beginning to set in. He wished he could be there again.
"What new painting?"
"The one I just told you about. Weren't you listening?"
"I don't remember you saying anything about a painting, or walking in for that matter," Nathalie said.
Something clicked in Adrian's head. What if she hadn't noticed him at all before now? Had she heard anything he'd told her? He stared at her, shocked by his own thoughts. He had to leave. "Fine," he said, "if I bother you that much then...well I won't come back, okay? Okay." He grabbed his jacket and walked out.
He didn't fully realize what had happened until he reached his apartment and saw that wonderful painting still sitting on his easel. He set it on the floor and put another blank canvas in its place. He sat there for hours painting, perfecting and re-perfecting his work until the picture was complete. Finished, he stood back to examine it.
It was an angry swirl of vivid colour revolving around a central stark black figure standing alone on a roof ledge, the background a vague scarlet haze. It was filled with sharp, contrasting colours and blurred images that lent a bitter, hateful feel to it. The main colours were fiery orange and red with yellow woven through it so the edges seemed to dance around like angry flames.
Adrian picked up his earlier painting and stared at it. He held the sides firmly in both hands and folded it in ward sharply, tearing it down the middle, and threw the pieces in the corner. The canvas lay tattered on the floor, cast into the realm of neglected memories.
©1999 m. hughes
