a bit, but I know you won’t.”
“I will.”
“Bastian, seriously. I know this is really the first time we’ve hung out in person, but we’ve talked endlessly online, and that last question was the most personal you’ve gotten. I’m not gonna bite. I just want to get to know you.” Her words are genuine. I wish she understood this is a huge step for me. I haven’t spent this much time talking to anyone in years—other than Nate, and he sure as hell doesn’t count.
I debate whether to open up to this woman. I want to know her and her me, but I’m not sure at what cost. Sylvie’s been evading my dreams. I miss seeing her, and I wonder if she’ll leave completely if I allow another woman to be present in my life.
The reality is I need some human interaction, so I choose to take the plunge and be honest.
“I’m not good at this, Sera. I’ve been closed off to the world for half a decade. I’ve made huge strides in the last three weeks, but it’s a process I need help with.” She waits patiently for me to proceed. I know the questions she has; they’re the same questions everyone has. “I’ll try to answer any question you have, but you will have to ask them, and I’m not guaranteeing an eloquent response.”
“I don’t want to pry, Bastian.” She lowers her gaze to the table.
Sighing, I reach across the table to lift her chin, forcing her green eyes to make contact with mine. “You’re not prying. I just need help. Why don’t we just rip the Band-Aid off and go straight for the gusto. Ask the most prying question in your arsenal.” I reassure her by taking her hand on top of the table with a gentle squeeze.
“Wow. Okay.” She searches for the words to phrase the question that will open up my past. “Why did you quit painting?”
“My wife passed away about five years ago from Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. It was very aggressive and consumed her faster than the doctors could treat her. It was brutal to watch. I can’t imagine the torture she endured.” I have to look away and gather myself before continuing the jaunt down memory lane. Sharing them seems like a betrayal of some sort.
“We grew up together. She was my best friend—well, her and Nate. I’ve always painted from inspiration; usually, I found it in her, at least as an adult. When she left, I lost that part of me. I didn’t even attempt to pick up a brush.
“After the funeral, I came home and rid the house of anything Sylvie. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t have her stuff around without her there, too. When I got rid of it, all my canvases, brushes, pallets, oils, acrylics…they all went, too. Without her, there was no me. Without Sylvie, I had no muse, no reason to live, no reason to paint, no reason to do much of anything.” I shrug as if what I just told her was part of the normal grieving process. I don’t want to go any deeper than that, but I doubt she’ll let me off that easy.
“Were you suicidal?” Her eyes round in disbelief over the words escaping her mouth, and then her delicate fingers cover her lips as she waits for my answer.
“I’ve thought about death a lot, but I’m a coward.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pain here in this realm is a known entity. It’s excruciating, but it’s become familiar. I’m always too afraid to pull the trigger for fear it doesn’t end here. If there is an extension of life on the other side of this, wouldn’t I just have to continue to endure what I’m already suffering with? Only in that realm, it would be unfamiliar and even more alone. If I had a definitive answer that there’s nothing more beyond this life than darkness, I might have had a different outcome. I guess the pain never got bad enough to take the chance.” She’s staring at me in utter shock. “I’ve never told anyone that, not even Nate. I’m sorry to have placed such a burden on you.”
“I’m honored you felt like you could tell me.
“I will.”
“Bastian, seriously. I know this is really the first time we’ve hung out in person, but we’ve talked endlessly online, and that last question was the most personal you’ve gotten. I’m not gonna bite. I just want to get to know you.” Her words are genuine. I wish she understood this is a huge step for me. I haven’t spent this much time talking to anyone in years—other than Nate, and he sure as hell doesn’t count.
I debate whether to open up to this woman. I want to know her and her me, but I’m not sure at what cost. Sylvie’s been evading my dreams. I miss seeing her, and I wonder if she’ll leave completely if I allow another woman to be present in my life.
The reality is I need some human interaction, so I choose to take the plunge and be honest.
“I’m not good at this, Sera. I’ve been closed off to the world for half a decade. I’ve made huge strides in the last three weeks, but it’s a process I need help with.” She waits patiently for me to proceed. I know the questions she has; they’re the same questions everyone has. “I’ll try to answer any question you have, but you will have to ask them, and I’m not guaranteeing an eloquent response.”
“I don’t want to pry, Bastian.” She lowers her gaze to the table.
Sighing, I reach across the table to lift her chin, forcing her green eyes to make contact with mine. “You’re not prying. I just need help. Why don’t we just rip the Band-Aid off and go straight for the gusto. Ask the most prying question in your arsenal.” I reassure her by taking her hand on top of the table with a gentle squeeze.
“Wow. Okay.” She searches for the words to phrase the question that will open up my past. “Why did you quit painting?”
“My wife passed away about five years ago from Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. It was very aggressive and consumed her faster than the doctors could treat her. It was brutal to watch. I can’t imagine the torture she endured.” I have to look away and gather myself before continuing the jaunt down memory lane. Sharing them seems like a betrayal of some sort.
“We grew up together. She was my best friend—well, her and Nate. I’ve always painted from inspiration; usually, I found it in her, at least as an adult. When she left, I lost that part of me. I didn’t even attempt to pick up a brush.
“After the funeral, I came home and rid the house of anything Sylvie. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t have her stuff around without her there, too. When I got rid of it, all my canvases, brushes, pallets, oils, acrylics…they all went, too. Without her, there was no me. Without Sylvie, I had no muse, no reason to live, no reason to paint, no reason to do much of anything.” I shrug as if what I just told her was part of the normal grieving process. I don’t want to go any deeper than that, but I doubt she’ll let me off that easy.
“Were you suicidal?” Her eyes round in disbelief over the words escaping her mouth, and then her delicate fingers cover her lips as she waits for my answer.
“I’ve thought about death a lot, but I’m a coward.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pain here in this realm is a known entity. It’s excruciating, but it’s become familiar. I’m always too afraid to pull the trigger for fear it doesn’t end here. If there is an extension of life on the other side of this, wouldn’t I just have to continue to endure what I’m already suffering with? Only in that realm, it would be unfamiliar and even more alone. If I had a definitive answer that there’s nothing more beyond this life than darkness, I might have had a different outcome. I guess the pain never got bad enough to take the chance.” She’s staring at me in utter shock. “I’ve never told anyone that, not even Nate. I’m sorry to have placed such a burden on you.”
“I’m honored you felt like you could tell me.
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