Read Online Instructions for a Broken Heart by Kim Culbertson - Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Culbertson
Ads: Link
the sweeping columned stone of the Uffizi Gallery, Jessa leaned down and plucked a piece of paper from the ground at her feet. It was a computer printout of a painting, a portrait, maybe Roman or Greek. A funny-looking little man draped in sheets, his head adorned with leaves, holding a glass of red wine. “Room 43” was scrawled across the top in green pen. Underneath the blurry black and white of the photo, someone had written:
Bacchus. (c. 1595) Patron deity of theater. And wine.
Caravaggio. Dark and light. Considered enigmatic.
Humanist.
“Hey! Did someone drop this?” Jessa called up ahead to her group, waving the sheet of paper over her head.
Jade shook her head and went back to her conversation with Christina. Kevin frowned. “Maybe it’s Tim’s? He went for a gelato.”
“Actually, it’s mine.”
Jessa turned and found Natalie, standing with her hands clasped by her side, looking nervously at the paper, or maybe she was really looking nervously at Jessa but couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh.” Jessa handed it over. Natalie wanted to see a Caravaggio painting? Jessa loved his work, all that dark and dangerous paint, always playing with light. But Natalie? Jessa would have pegged her as a Raphael’s-little-angels sort of girl.
Natalie smoothed the paper, folded it once and slid it into her bag.
“Why that painting?” Jessa blurted. “I mean, that one in particular?”
Natalie shuffled her feet a little, cleared her throat. “Just something I want to see here. It’s just…” She fiddled with the skin around her nails. “My dad used to have a print of this in his office. Something my mom gave him in college. As a joke. She used to call him Bacchus. They were both theater majors. And, well, sort of partiers, I guess?”
“His work was very controversial.”
“Whose?”
Jessa pointed at the paper. “Caravaggio.”
“Oh.” Natalie shrugged. “I just sort of want to see it in person, that’s all.”
Sean came up along side her with three cones of what looked like pistachio gelato. “Oh.” His eyes darted between the girls. One of the cones dripped a green drop of melty gelato onto his shoe. “Um, here.” He handed a cone to Natalie.
“Anyway, thanks.” Natalie nodded to Jessa, taking a dainty lick of her ice cream.
With the eyes of a cornered animal, Sean held up a cone. “I’d offer you a bite but you hate pistachio.”
“I’m kind of gelatoed out.”
Jessa watched them wander away and join Hillary in line, where Sean handed her the third cone. Jessa’s eyes strayed again to Natalie, who was laughing at something Hillary had just said to L. E. Wood and taking small bites from her cone.
Natalie seemed like a girl entirely free of angst, as if she didn’t have the time for the sort of silly nonsense when there was so much hair product to experiment with. Jessa bit her lip, a distressing thought creeping in, a candle flicker of fear. Maybe Sean just wanted to be with someone who liked pistachio ice cream as much as he did, who would want to share the Junior Mints at the movies, or who when asked didn’t really have an opinion about most things.
***
Jessa’s heart thumped against her chest as she roamed the ornate rooms of the Uffizi, her eyes trying to pull in everything at once. She tried to stay mostly by herself, determined not to let the other groups’ stupid questions or the stupid penis jokes of the boys from her own group ruin the gallery for her. The David had been a bit of a disaster earlier that day, but Jessa knew that putting that big of a bare butt, even a marble one, in front of a bunch of teenage boys pretty much annihilated any chance of an artistic experience.
But here, this place—this was what she had dreamed of seeing, all these paintings in one spot. When she was a little girl, her family used to visit her grandmother in Arizona. Her grandmother always had a huge glossy Art of the Renaissance book on her coffee table. While her parents talked in
Bacchus. (c. 1595) Patron deity of theater. And wine.
Caravaggio. Dark and light. Considered enigmatic.
Humanist.
“Hey! Did someone drop this?” Jessa called up ahead to her group, waving the sheet of paper over her head.
Jade shook her head and went back to her conversation with Christina. Kevin frowned. “Maybe it’s Tim’s? He went for a gelato.”
“Actually, it’s mine.”
Jessa turned and found Natalie, standing with her hands clasped by her side, looking nervously at the paper, or maybe she was really looking nervously at Jessa but couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh.” Jessa handed it over. Natalie wanted to see a Caravaggio painting? Jessa loved his work, all that dark and dangerous paint, always playing with light. But Natalie? Jessa would have pegged her as a Raphael’s-little-angels sort of girl.
Natalie smoothed the paper, folded it once and slid it into her bag.
“Why that painting?” Jessa blurted. “I mean, that one in particular?”
Natalie shuffled her feet a little, cleared her throat. “Just something I want to see here. It’s just…” She fiddled with the skin around her nails. “My dad used to have a print of this in his office. Something my mom gave him in college. As a joke. She used to call him Bacchus. They were both theater majors. And, well, sort of partiers, I guess?”
“His work was very controversial.”
“Whose?”
Jessa pointed at the paper. “Caravaggio.”
“Oh.” Natalie shrugged. “I just sort of want to see it in person, that’s all.”
Sean came up along side her with three cones of what looked like pistachio gelato. “Oh.” His eyes darted between the girls. One of the cones dripped a green drop of melty gelato onto his shoe. “Um, here.” He handed a cone to Natalie.
“Anyway, thanks.” Natalie nodded to Jessa, taking a dainty lick of her ice cream.
With the eyes of a cornered animal, Sean held up a cone. “I’d offer you a bite but you hate pistachio.”
“I’m kind of gelatoed out.”
Jessa watched them wander away and join Hillary in line, where Sean handed her the third cone. Jessa’s eyes strayed again to Natalie, who was laughing at something Hillary had just said to L. E. Wood and taking small bites from her cone.
Natalie seemed like a girl entirely free of angst, as if she didn’t have the time for the sort of silly nonsense when there was so much hair product to experiment with. Jessa bit her lip, a distressing thought creeping in, a candle flicker of fear. Maybe Sean just wanted to be with someone who liked pistachio ice cream as much as he did, who would want to share the Junior Mints at the movies, or who when asked didn’t really have an opinion about most things.
***
Jessa’s heart thumped against her chest as she roamed the ornate rooms of the Uffizi, her eyes trying to pull in everything at once. She tried to stay mostly by herself, determined not to let the other groups’ stupid questions or the stupid penis jokes of the boys from her own group ruin the gallery for her. The David had been a bit of a disaster earlier that day, but Jessa knew that putting that big of a bare butt, even a marble one, in front of a bunch of teenage boys pretty much annihilated any chance of an artistic experience.
But here, this place—this was what she had dreamed of seeing, all these paintings in one spot. When she was a little girl, her family used to visit her grandmother in Arizona. Her grandmother always had a huge glossy Art of the Renaissance book on her coffee table. While her parents talked in
Similar Books
