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We hang up, and I glance at Gabe who has fallen asleep. I turn my phone on silent, set it on his bedside table, and cuddle up to him. He immediately tugs me closer. Soon, I drift to sleep.
* * *
This time when I wake up, I'm on my side, facing the edge of the bed. An arm suddenly lands on me, and Gabe pulls me against his chest. I try not to move or let him know that I'm awake. I don't want to in turn wake him up. A couple minutes pass before Gabe nuzzles into my neck.
“You're awake, aren't you?” He mumbles.
“How'd you know?”
“You're too still.”
I laugh. “Sorry. I was trying not to wake you up.”
“It's time to get up anyway,” he says, and I glance at the clock. It's seven thirty in the morning. “Are you going to let me take over your Me Day? There's some place I want to take you.”
I roll over in his arms. “Where's that?”
Gabe shakes his head. “Not telling. You might not go if I tell you. So I'm making it a surprise.”
A surprise? The kind where if I know beforehand, I wouldn't want to go. “Well, now I'm scared.”
Gabe laughs, his smile a beautiful thing to see this morning. “Don't worry, Ryan. It's only going to be you and me. We'll have breakfast, showers, and then we'll head out.”
That's just what we do too. Although, he should have just said shower because we took one together. It's around eleven thirty when we leave. Gabe takes me downtown, and I realize we're going to the art museum. This is where he wanted to take me? He glances at me, looking for a bad reaction, but I'm not going to give him one. If this is where he wanted to take me, then I'll have an open mind. Gabe reaches for my hand and leads me inside when I smile at him.
“Why did you want to bring me here?” I ask curiously.
“Honestly?”
“You can lie if you want,” I laugh, bumping his shoulder. Gabe smiles. “I want to know, Gabe,” I say seriously.
“I love seeing all the art. It's peaceful and there's just something fascinating about being able to see every stroke on the painting. You'll see what I mean.”
I sure hope so because I don't want to disappoint him. There are a couple of people strolling around, and we come to the first painting hanging on the wall. It's an image during autumn by the colorful trees, and the sky is a bright blue dotted with clouds. Towards the right side, there is a log cabin nestled into the mountains. Gabe stands next to me, his head tilted as he examines it. I try to see what he sees.
No doubt it's a beautiful painting. Looking closer, I can see the texture along the surface from the different brush strokes. To think that each individual flourish of the brush made the image as a whole does seem fascinating like Gabe said. We move onto the next one which is a stormy ocean and a lighthouse. This one is stunning. I want to take it home and absorb it all. To take time to appreciate all the colors and details that went into making it look like this. I almost wish I had an artistic talent, so I could create something like that.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“You like this one?” Gabe questions.
“Yeah, I do.”
He squeezes my hand. “This is my favorite.”
We move throughout the place, seeing all different pieces of art. But when we come across a large painting that has its own wall, I'm in awe. In a way, it's simple. A painting of fire. Orange, red, white, all mixed together on a black background. I can't even begin to absorb the magnificence of it. After five minutes of me not making a move to go to the next one, Gabe stands behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and rests his chin on my shoulder. As if by standing like this, he can see exactly what has me captivated. I'm trying to understand it myself.
The flames almost seem to be warring with themselves. Haphazardly going this way and that while stretching upwards. I see little flecks of white at the top of the wall, and I'm convinced that the fire is trying to reach for the sky. This one, huge inferno feels like it's battling itself while hoping to stretch to the sky. I wonder if the artist felt angry and lost at being pulled in so many different directions.
That's what I feel as my eyes rake over each stroke. The raging flames dance with the wind as it's forced to go in whichever different it's being push towards while struggling to rise up to reach its desired destination. It's so much like me. I want to go my own way, but I'm tangled with the coercion of my parents and their hopes for my life. And like the fire battling the unseen hands of the gusts of air, I struggle against my parents. While trying to find a middle ground, I end up fighting myself as well and destroying what's around me. I want to reach the sky. Or at least be a star. It's much calmer up there than down here with the fire.
I become overwhelmed with all there is, it's too much to take in. Faintly, I know I'll be back to see it again. It spoke to me, and I want to return later to examine it further. Maybe even find answers.
“This is my favorite. Hands down,” I murmur, not wanting to speak too loudly. I want to tell him more, explain it to him, but I don't think I can. Instead, I turn in his arms to find those brown eyes. “Thank you for bringing me, Gabe.”
He chuckles. “You're welcome. I'm so happy you've enjoyed yourself, but there's more to see, you know.”
With a quick kiss, I reluctantly allow him to lead me to the rest of the art. It is relaxing, oddly enough. I never thought I would enjoy something like this. Boring is the first word that would come to mind. Not anymore. When we finish, we head outside and walk a little ways to an Italian restaurant for a late lunch.
