I love it. You really do love art.
It's my life.
We message back and forth a bit, my smile never leaving my face once. It feels natural. The question and answer game we're playing flows so easily. She tells me how she went to private school, and always hated wearing the stupid uniform. I respond by asking her if she still has it, telling her I'd like to see it some time.
I tell her a little about working on tractors, and what it's like to grow up on a farm. How most days I work so hard that by the time I get home, I'm covered in dirt and can't feel my hands. She tells me she likes the thought of me being dirty.
Our conversation is flirty, taking twists and turns that keep my blood pumping. It's all subtle, little innuendos and double meanings, but she keeps coming back for more, so I know she likes it too.
My thumbs are getting tired. How about I call you?
Sure.
She answers with an upbeat tone. “Hey there,” she says.
“Yeah, this is much better. I'm not much of a texter.”
“I don't think most guys are.” She giggles, the same giggle I've been hearing in my head for weeks.
“Well, just so you know, I'm not most guys.”
“I know. Why do you think I told you you could call me?”
“Because you're bored and need something else to do.”
“Pretty much.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “So, Mr. Country, you were saying something before about how dirty your job is. . .” Pausing, the speaker crackles a little. “Tell me more about country life. What was it like growing up there?”
“It wasn't too exciting to be honest. I'm sure it's nothing like growing up in New York City. Didn't Jenna tell you about what it was like when we were kids?”
“Not really, actually. She mentioned little things here and there, but she never really went into detail. I always assumed it was because of everyone else around her. The socialites, the rich and famous, the trust fund babies, none of them really care about anyone's life before.”
“That's too bad. I mean, it was boring a lot of the time, but we had fun. Swimming in the creek, playing manhunt at night during the summer, ding dong ditch—”
“Ding dong ditch? What the hell is that?”
“You're kidding me right? You've really never played ding dong ditch? Where you ring someone's doorbell and then run and hide?”
“Mark, I live in a place filled with apartment buildings and high end condos. What would we have done? Ring the bell and then wait for whoever to call down to us through the intercom?”
“That's true. I didn't think about that.”
“Besides, my parents would have killed me if I had done something like that. Around here, what you do and how you act is everything.”
Looking at the clock, it's almost midnight already. We've been talking for hours, and it doesn't even feel like it. Laying down on my bed with the phone pressed to my ear, I feel like a lovesick teenager. I don't want to let her go. I don't want to stop talking to her. My eyes are heavy, and I yawn.
“Are you tired? Want me to let you go?”
“No, I'm fine. Tell me more about the time you spent in Paris.”
“Well. . .” Her voice starts to fade as she also yawns, but she keeps talking through it.
The sun shines through the window bold and bright. It's warm on my face, rousing me awake. My phone is still in my hand, firmly in my grip. Lifting it to my ear, I listen.
“Hello?” I ask, but no one is there.
Placing the phone on my nightstand, I rub my palms against my forehead, forcing myself to sit up. I'm exhausted. I have no idea what time I fell asleep or if she was still talking as I dozed off, or if in some dreamy haze I said goodnight to Sia at all.
Walking to the kitchen, I pick up the painting and hold it out. It's crazy how she was able to capture me so well with just some color and a few strokes of her brush. I can't shake the idea she had been able to see me all the way to my soul.
My eyes search the room, finding the perfect spot for it on the wall beside my couch. My home isn't huge, but it suits me just fine. A one bedroom cabin at the base of the gorge, within a ten minute drive to town.
The roof is made of slate for the heavy snow in the winter months, and a wood stove in the corner of the living room is the only heat I need. The kitchen and living room are basically one room, the only separation is a small patch of tile in the kitchen.