AllFreeNovel
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“I will. But, she’s completely anonymous. No one knows who she is. At least I think she’s a she. I have her address though. I can mail the invite. But who knows if she’ll attend? Maybe her anonymity is something she needs to maintain.”
“Well, I think we should at least try. And maybe she just needs a good reason to show her face. And I have a feeling an organization like ours recognizing her contribution to the mission we serve might do the trick.”
“Okay, I’m so glad you agree.”
The door to the library opens and Ryan sticks his head in.
“Hey, your mama’s here,” he says before his eyes land on the painting. “Damn, that’s nice,” he drawls, his eyebrows raised in appreciation before he ducks back out.
“Come on, let’s join the party. They’ve been waiting to eat.”
I spend the rest of the evening watching the clock.
I left as soon as we’d been there long enough not to look like we were eating and running. And then I’d locked myself in my studio, gone to Hetal’s profile and used it to find Beth’s again.
I clicked on the profile @thefreebeth. My jaw dropped when I saw she has 500,000 followers. For an anonymous account with nothing but paintings, sketches and stories, it’s a lot. One look at the art, though and it’s clear why she’s so popular.
The mission behind the profile is as compelling as the art itself.
Her profile description read “What would people see if your heart was reflected on your face? Tell me your story and I’ll paint it. Currently booked through December 2022.???? #thefreebeth #LiveFreeOrDieTrying
I scrolled to the bottom of her feed so that I could see her first post. It’s a video. I press play and sag with disappointment when she doesn’t show her face.
I play it repeatedly. It’s been so long since I heard her voice and I want to absorb it.
I make myself move on to the next picture. It’s her profile thumbnail. Now a headless woman’s naked torso covered in blue paint, except for a sliver of skin on her rib with writing on it. I zoomed the picture and almost had a heart attack. Scrawled on her ribs in loose script were the words “Between Now and Heartbreak, I will love him.”
I run my fingers over it and my heart swells with the knowledge that she’s talking about me.
The next picture is a self -portrait. She has stars for eyes, blue butterfly wings for lips, and a red metallic four-leaf clover on her left cheek. And silver teardrops running down both sides of her face.
The rest of the pictures on her profile are extraordinary portraits with each person’s story in the comment. The account is four months old and she has fifteen portraits and stories up.
I’m scrolling when I see a painting of myself. I know it’s me, but I’m not worried that anyone else would.
I don’t look like that anymore. Not even when I’m playing the piano. The last few months have erased the peace I used to find in my music. So while my career has taken off, I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of frustration.
I’ve learned to live with the worry and longing, but there’s not a morning I don’t wake up wishing it away. I grimace when I think of the ways I’ve tried to find solace.
But, if she accepts our nomination, in just a few weeks, I’ll get to see her again. And I’m not sure if it will help or hurt, but I miss her so much, I’m not sure I care.
45
Beth
Between now and heartbreak
“Hey Princess, they’re playing your song,” Joe, my downstairs neighbor calls after me when I rush past his door towards the stairs leading to my rented studio.
“Sorry, Joe, I’m late for work,” I call over my shoulder. I usually stop and talk to him on my way in. I hear the slow shuffle of his gait behind me and stop.
It’s moments like this that make me wish I had access to the money now. I hate how Joe struggles to navigate the staircase down to the ground floor of our building. The elevator is broken, and our landlord hasn’t said when he’ll get it fixed. I called to see about hiring someone to look at it myself, I almost died of sticker shock.
“You’re working again? Don’t you take a night off?” he chides, a broad smile, with remarkably white, straight teeth takes the sting out of his words.
“Then I’d be bored,” I quip, digging my keys out of my purse.
“You wouldn’t be if you would sell one of those paintings, or let those little crumb snatchers you spend all your free time teaching actually paid you what your time was worth,” he repeats his daily refrain and even though I love my students, I can’t help but s
