Amidst the Misery

Chapter 8: Someone to Stay

You’ve been fighting the memory all on your own

Nothing washes, nothing grows

I know how it feels being by yourself in the rain

We all need someone to stay

Can you keep me close?

Can you love me most?

Vancouver Sleep Clinic

*****

Jennie feels lost. Metaphorically if not literally lost without Lisa.

Lisa was their map holder and navigator whenever and wherever they traveled. Jennie would point to a random spot on the map and it would be Lisa who’d gamely get them there. With an eerily accurate internal compass and her professional training as an architect, Lisa always had greater spatial awareness than Jennie and could move them along the messy lines of a foreign map with the ease of a Sunday stroll through linear tree-lined boulevards.

Jennie would happily, blindly follow, on foot or ferry, by bus or tram or subway. With Lisa’s hand in hers or their arms hooked together, she hadn’t worried about the destination and only enjoyed the journey, hopping on and hopping off, up and down escalators, slipping past sliding doors in fits of giggles.

Lisa was their cartographer as she carved out new paths to stitch together old streets, their tour guide from monument to monument to quiet moments stolen in narrow alleyways for slow and deep kisses and whisperings of tomorrows and forevers.

Through crowds Lisa would tighten her grip of Jennie’s hand; under the moonlight of an empty beach she’d tighten her hold around Jennie’s waist while they swayed to the distant murmuring of the ocean’s waves; and then in the early hours of day break, she’d tighten under Jennie while softly expelling her name, letting the fading stars know exactly where to find her.

Without Lisa, Jennie somehow ended up on a park bench by a different body of water, on another continent, lost and alone. Wanting and waiting.

The decision to fly to London came after accepting the Whitechapel’s invitation to come see their space. The gallery had reached out to Jennie for a special exhibition they were planning the next summer on colour and light, tapping her as one of the exciting young American artists they’d like to feature.

On the phone, the curator had been effusive with her compliments about Jennie’s compelling use of mixed media, hyperbolic about the way she pushes the heuristic boundaries of emotion in her colour field representations. Jennie felt a blush that couldn’t have been seen through her mobile but when she was casually encouraged to come for a non-committal assessment visit, at her convenience within a two-month window, it was her heart that sped up that she was sure could be heard across satellites.

While Jennie had been flattered by the interest and welcomed the opportunity to expand her showings to Europe, her heart palpitated for a different reason given the city the gallery was located in. As much as it’d be a boost to her public profile, she was more focused on what it’d mean personally to breathe the same urban air as Lisa again.

Her instinct was to immediately say yes, her heart practically lurching out of her chest towards the Atlantic. Certainly, the offer attached to the follow-up email to cover her plane ticket and hotel booking was an enticement to accept. And when Amsterdam and Berlin had also called, making it an ideal mini-trip as though the stars aligned, Jennie thought the universe was trying to tell her something, nudging her along.