Painting

Hal was gone. Helen dragged herself listlessly from room to room, from day to day. Missing him like an amputated limb, she suffered pangs of phantom pain. 
 
They had moved into the ‘Senior Estate’ when Hal had taken a turn for the worse, and they had laughed about the name, wondering  whether or when they would ‘graduate’ from the senior class. Nonetheless, they’d tried to make the most of their changed circumstance. They’d taken Tai Chi and wine tasting classes and signed up for a painting course. Although Helen struggled to master basic brush strokes, Hal was a natural and often continued his ‘work’ back in their living room. His paintings brightened their small space, and Helen treasured these gems.
 
But now Hal was gone, and all Helen could feel was his absence, as though vital organs had been scooped out and replaced with gelid grief. She picked up a paintbrush and held it – just to feel something he had held in his hands.
 
As if hypnotized by the slender handle, she pulled out a thick sheet of paper and placed it on Hal’s easel. Reflexively, she squeezed some of his colours onto the waiting palette and started dabbing them onto the paper.
 
The doctor had told her to revisit happy places and times, and Helen found herself painting the beach where she and Hal had spent their honeymoon. It was morning, and the sky swirled like pink lemonade. Turquoise waves lapped languidly at Helen’s feet and she could feel the sand between her toes, taste the sweat on her skin, smell the salt and sunscreen. She easily recalled the excitement of starting a new life together and the prospect of a shared forever.
 
As she looked down the beach, she noticed a reclining figure gazing in her direction. Intrigued, she moved closer but could not make out the face.
 
Suddenly, her front door lurched open yanking Helen back from her reverie. The health aide bustled in with the evening meal.
 
‘Hi Helen, good to see you, and how are we feeling today?’ she said with saccharin sweetness. ‘Gosh, you’re painting. I guess that’s good… what exactly are you painting?’
 
Helen was caught off guard and sheepishly admitted that she was painting the spot where she and Hal had honeymooned.
 
‘Oh! It’s supposed to be a beach? I guess I can kind of see that. But what’s that grey blob?’
 
Helen turned back to the painting. She didn’t know how it had got there, but there was, indeed, a shadow painted on the beach just about where she had seen the mysterious figure. 
 
All she could stammer was, ‘Uh…I don’t know…’
 
‘Well, don’t forget to eat your supper and take your pills this evening. See you tomorrow.’
 
Relieved to be alone again, Helen looked back at the beach scene. Was she imagining things? Or was that a person camouflaged by the unexpected shadow? Her artistic abilities were meagre, but something about the image she’d rendered was viscerally recognizable.
 
She decided to take a break and start again the next day. Washing the brushes out, she thought she felt sand between the bristles. This filled her with an inexplicable optimism. 
 
Back at the easel in the morning, the languid figure beckoned her, and, before she knew it, she was immersed in the painting. As she worked, the sun rose overhead and the hot sand dazzled her. She saw that the figure was closer now. There was something familiar and comforting about its shape, and Helen felt happier than she had in a long time.
 
Once again, Helen’s trance was derailed by the blustery arrival of the health aide who began to nag about eating but then interrupted herself to say that the painting was coming along nicely.  She liked that Helen had changed the blob into a proper person with its own shadow- much more realistic. 
 
Helen’s eyes swiveled back the painting and were greeted by a welcome sight. The person in the painting smiled affectionately back at her. And now, in what had become the lengthening shadows of afternoon, there was the faintest hint of a second silhouette.
 
‘If you don’t eat your dinner tonight, I am going to have to tell the doctor,’ threatened the health aide, as she melodramatically slammed a microwaveable meal on the counter. Usually irked by such patronising behaviour, Helen hardly noticed. She didn’t even hear the door slam as the aide stomped out.
 
Helen turned her back on the food and continued painting. Now dusk was falling on the beach and the sky was a powdery purple. A full moon flooded the sand with silver light. The breeze had dropped, and there, waiting for her, was Hal. Enveloped in his arms at last, Helen was at peace.
 
The next day, the health aide returned and began clucking about the uneaten food. She was surprised to see the painting standing unattended and walked closer to take a look. She had to admit that it had turned out surprisingly well, and now that there were two people lying side by side on the sand enjoying the moonlight, the vibe was a lot more positive. She wanted to compliment the artist, but Helen was nowhere to be found. Helen was gone.  


28 Jan 2020