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Suddenly I said, “You came to me in a dream.”
“What?”
“On the plane,” I said.
“Kylie
, I’m lost.”
“I fell asleep on the plane and I saw you and your house. It’s all coming back to me now . . .” I trailed off.
“That isn’t possible,” He said.
“Well, it was you. Trust me.”
“That’s weird. Usually the . . . human . . .,” He said hesitant, unsure if him referring to me as human would offend me. I communicated to him with my eyes that it was okay. “Doesn’t see us in their dreams. And usually our ‘dreams’ are more like ‘visions’,” He said.
“Well, maybe I’m special,” He laughed.
“Maybe we’re special.”
“I think we are,” I said.
“I’ll let you look at the paintings now,” Jonathon said all traces of his bad mood gone.
“Alright.”
I continued to stare at the picture of myself. So, unlike a painting, it seemed so real, like a photograph. My hair was blowing in the wind. My eyes looked alarmed. There were trees in the background. It looked like the Pulmer’s backyard. I just couldn’t keep my eyes away from the picture. But finally I moved on to another one.
This one was Katherine’s garden. There Jonathon sat on the bench with me, my hands in his. We were looking deeply into one another’s eyes. The moment looked so personal, so life changing. We both looked frightened. But from what, I didn’t know. The flowers were painted in bold bright colors. While Jonathon and I were in lighter colors, it appeared as if a glow surrounded us.
It was nerve racking looking at myself captured in Jonathon’s art especially when he didn’t even know me when he painted these.
I moved from the garden picture, but our tortured, emotional, expressions, didn’t leave my mind.
This painting was simple. Just the Pulmer house. But what made it so spectacular were the brush strokes. Jonathon had managed to make the old beauty even more prominent. The Pulmer house had to be the most beautiful house in the entire world. Every detail was shown, it was shocking. Even the cracks in the rocks, were an exact replica. I could see every detail in the ivy.
I felt a presence at my side.
“What do you think?” asked Jonathon, his voice like silk in my ear.
“I think you are the greatest artist in the entire world and you’re all mine.”
“Thank you and I’ll always be yours and no matter what I say you’ll always be mine and I will always love you,” Jonathon said. It sounded like he was saying goodbye. He had a faraway look in his eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked again.
“I don’t know.” He said his eyes scanning the room. I grabbed his hand.
“We should probably get going. The poetry reading starts soon,” I looked at a clock on the wall. I’d spent an hour in just this room looking at Jonathon’s art.
“I don’t want to, I haven’t gotten to see everything yet,” I said jokingly.
“We can come back another time if you want or just not go to the poetry reading. It’s up to you,” He said kindly, but he still seemed distracted, like he was ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
“Let’s go to the poetry reading, as long as you promise to bring me back here,” I said.
“I promessa,” He said huskily.
