Mind the Gap is a collection of fiction short stories. They vary in style, themes, tone, characters and length. The aim is to provide a different lens colour to look to reality. It's also the sandbox where I tried different voices, where I experimen...
Silke and Kasper are a happy couple. They met fifteen years ago in an art gallery at Schöneberg. She was on her own, contemplating the art work while listening to pop music on her mobile with the headphones on. Kasper was with his girlfriend, a skinny beauty dressed in designer brands.
They met again a few months later. This time Silke was exhibiting her own work and Kasper was visiting the gallery alone.
"Amazing" Kasper commented, from behind her, "Don't you love the colour treatment in this painting? This artist is astonishing". After he drifted away, continuing his visit, Silke nodded to herself. That series had been inspired by a visit to Monte Veritá, in Switzerland. Contemplating them made her happy.
"This is very different from your previous production" Veronica, the Gallery owner, said, approaching her and looking to the painting.
"It is" Silke said with a thoughtful expression, "I am so lucky" she said, turning her face to her friend, eyes sparkling.
"By the way, that guy at the back has been asking about you, he might buy one of your pieces" Veronica said.
She looked to the direction the gallerist was indicating with her chin and saw the man that had been talking to her earlier.
Silke and Kasper started dating that same night.
A year later, Silke entered a creative crisis. She couldn't express herself anymore with her brushes and spent too many hours browsing the webnet for inspiration. Her jeans started to become too tight, her waistline disappearing. 'Oh, I'm ageing, that's all' she had said to herself. Something needed to be fixed but she couldn't point out what it was. 'If at least I could paint' she sighed.
Kasper's job demanded him to travel during most of the week, coming back for the weekends. When at home, he was always patient, supportive and encouraging her to paint again.
By the end of October, on their fifteenth anniversary, he couldn't come back home because of the go-live of a project he was leading. "Why don't you go out for dinner with your old friends?" he had suggested, "It's been ages since you last met any of them".
Thus Silke called Veronica. They went out for dinner to a beautiful French restaurant in Charlottenburg and talked for hours about the old times, eating delicious food and slowly getting drunk.
" I don't know what is wrong" Silke said, "but I just can't paint anymore".
"You don't know? I think you should" Veronica said, her face with a dark expression.
"What do you mean?"
Veronica withdrew her regard for a moment. She could not tell her about all the subtle ways her life and talent were being systematically undermined because her friend would have found a justification for everything. Telling the truth doesn't help to people who are in denial. "Think, honey, think!" she finally said.
A taxi brought Silke home at three in the morning. Checking her mobile she didn't see any call from Kasper. Without turning on the lights, she sat on the sofa in the living room of her pristine home and looked around at the art work. They were all from other artists. 'How odd!', she thought, 'we used to have two of my paintings here'.
Her head was spinning a little. 'What had Veronica meant?' She laid down on the sofa and immediately sat up again, feeling dizzy, then she let her head rest on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. A painting started to form in her imagination. No, it was not a painting, it was a graffiti. Inside her reverie, she approached the wall to read what was written in shiny letters.
"She doesn't like flowers"
Kasper had said that to his mother, during a Sunday lunch at her parents in law's. But the thing is, she loved flowers, it was Kasper who didn't like them!
"If she doesn't like the seaside, why are you taking her to Venice?"
Silke's brother had asked that to Kasper one Christmas while discussing the next summer holidays.
"He doesn't like the salad cut that way, we'll have to do it again"
Silke had said once to one of her friends who was helping her to prepare dinner at home.
"Silke, could you take your antidepressants before breakfast time, please? I don't think it is proper to have them on your plate"
Kasper had requested one morning with a sweet, caring voice.
"Silke, love, I think we could make your painting studio a multipurpose room. It can also be a guest room and, maybe, in the future, the child's bedroom, you are not using it anyway".
Kasper had said that one night, kissing her on the cheek before switching off the lamp on the bedside table.
"There are good parts in it" .
Kasper had nodded with a smile when Silke showed him her attempt to paint again. She had abandoned that painting afterwards, out of inspiration.
Silke froze in front of the mural inside her imagination. She knew now what Veronica had meant. Although she was quite drunk, a strange lucidity was invading her mind. An old black and white film came to her memory. Ingrid Bergman was married to a man who was deliberately trying to turn her mad, distorting her reality. Sadness started to creep up from her feet to her heart. 'How can I've been so blind?' she thought, and more important, 'Will I find the strength to break free from this kafkian situation or is it too late?'
For some reason, the humorous part of her, silent for so many years, awoke in that moment and proposed her some options, like in a TV show:
'Shall I drag Kasper to couple therapy to save our marriage? We could eventually have a child and focus on how to raise him as an overperformer. My mother and Kasper's mother would be thrilled'. Silke slowly shook her head.
'Shall I keep my medication and die in five years time of an autoimmune disease?' Silke shook her head again.
'Should I look for a job and divorce Kasper?' Silke paused, like suspended at the edge of a cliff. Then, she took a deep breath and jumped.
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