The Painting

#81 Foundation - Bunus

Summer turned into Fall at White Pine Bed n' Breakfast. Pinecones littered the ground along with oak leaves the color of an autumn sunset. The grass that covered the greenspace like a sea of green faded to brown as leaf littered intermittently covered bare patches no matter how much Tony raked them back.

Days grew shorter as the sun became shy and the moon more bold. Lyle and I stayed up each night to watch her rise into the sky. We sat together on a futon we'd bought at a furniture recycling shop in town and crammed into the back of her hatchback. We drove ten miles an hour down the two lane country road that led to the B&B with half the futon sticking out the back. Lyle admitted it was dangerous but would not back down from claiming that her bungee tying skills were top notch and would earn her a scout badge any day.

We had been back for over a month and true to her word Grace put us back to work the moment we walked in the door. Within a week we were back to our old habits and much to Grace's dismay and joy we volunteered to work breakfast to close.

At our offer she placed her hands on her hips and shook her head at us. "Have you two learned nothing from your break?" She raised an eyebrow. "You need time to yourself, you throw yourself into your work and then that's all you have." Just then an unsuspecting Tony walked through the entrance from the kitchen to the foyer where we were gathered around the check in desk.

Grace grabbed her fiancé by the shirt sleeve and kissed him on the cheek. Tony seemed pleasantly surprised and wrapped his arms around his woman's waist. Upon noticing us he raised an eyebrow to mirror Grace's. "What'd they do this time?" He asked humorously throwing a wink to us.

"They're workaholics!" She turned to the two of us again but mainly she focused her deep brown eyes on me. "Honey I know you're hurting right now, but you can't block it out. See this man?" She pointed at Tony. Lyle and I nodded dumbly not sure exactly where our lecture was headed. "He is here for me so when I get too tangled up in work or try running up an escalator that's going down he knows how to help me refocus."

A smile tugged at Tony's lips. "And she does the same for me."

They shared a knowing look as he patted her back.

"Work is not going to have your back like you have each others. So here is my proposal: you two can work mornings, take a lunch, and then every other day come back for close after three. But Tuesdays and Wednesdays you're off after lunch." She flipped her dark braid over her shoulder. "Sound good?"

We nodded.

"Now go on, it's your lunch break. If I see the two of you back here before three you I'm kicking you out of the cabin and moving the Everly's in. You know they wanted to visit before October but all our cabins were booked."

As we walked back to the cabin Lyle and I pondered what wisdom Grace imparted on us. It was much easier being out of work when we were at Frankie's where there were no expectations or memories.

I'd lived in my cabin for three years – 3 of those months with Lyle. In every room there were a hundred beautiful memories. Times when I was woken by the sun shining through my window where Lyle and I slept in each others arms and all of the portraits covering my ceiling. Yet in the same space Lyle and I shared nightmare after nightmare. It was where I rocked myself to sleep the night day after Beth and Ivy's home was attacked and, where I reminded myself every night that my father killed my mother.

I knew the good to be more abundant than the bad but for some unidentifiable reason the bad took on an extra weight. Like a sponge absorbing the light into the dark it created muddy water. A moat settled around my home.

That was why I wanted to work. I couldn't bear to be at home because it was part of me that had been tarnished and I wasn't sure how I could get it back.

I explained this to Lyle one night as we lay in bed. The nights had begun to sink into the fifties and earlier that day we brought out a cotton comforter I kept in the closet. I pulled it around my shoulders as I spoke.

"I thought I was the only one." Lyle whispered following a brief silence as she allowed my words to sink in. "That's why I left Beth and Ivy's so young, it wasn't because I didn't love them or couldn't live with them. I just couldn't live there. We moved weeks after they took custody of me, but I still associate my memories of my parents and their loss with that home. And now-" She closed her eyes at a loss for words as we both recalled how her adopted parents nearly died at the hands of a corrupt cop and hit man.

"I have to admit," She began gathering her composure. Her light eyes glowed in the dark as she stared directly at me. "Before they... With you there - even just all of us eating around the table it felt right and I started to feel the way I knew a home should feel." She paused again. "That's how I feel when I am here too. There are times when reliving the pain is so intense that I just need to get out of the house. Then other times I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

She reached out to stroke my cheek and I scooted closer to her until I was resting against her chest. Her words grounded me. I didn't want to forget what happened in my home – the cabin or otherwise – strangely enough it were those terrifying memories that shaped me just the same as the good. Dark blocks sat among the faded red ones until they molded into a foundation strong enough for me to sand upon. I was a few inches off the ground, close enough where I wasn't afraid of the fall. But I knew that as I continued – to live in the cabin or anywhere for that matter – the blocks would grow. Sooner or later I'd be three feet up and then five – would I fear the fall then? Or will I have gotten used to it.

Maybe they wouldn't be blocks, opaque by nature. They'd be images – paintings – capturing my memories in a single frame. I thought back to before this began. Paintbrush in hand I'd painted a harsh black over every image that held me up. And why? Just to keep myself from feeling anything remotely unpleasant, though in the task I'd blocked it all out.

There was no way to pick and choose your memories, and for the most part no way to cherry pick your life. Life was a mixed bag. Similar to a 'seconds' bag of peaches; a few were perfect, a few more held tiny imperfections, and although inevitably a few rotten ones lay at the bottom there was always one that you didn't count on. The one with bruised flesh that you came so close to throwing out but at the last minute decided to give it a chance and when you cut into the flesh you found the sweetest taste.

There was no option for me to throw my rotten memories out – if I attempted I was sure the scent would linger in the air. So what would I do with them for now?

Lyle's heartbeat was quiet as I thought. I inched my chin up to see her sleeping soundly. The pale moonlight softened her features.

Time, it would take time to bring out the answer. Lyle was proof enough that time played an undeniable role in finding the truth.

I fell asleep to the soft tap of her heart against my ear. 

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