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I don’t know why this memory enrages me, but it does. I’m an artist. A creative. I feel deeply even though I often only show that emotion in my work. Telling myself that Amanda wasn’t my future doesn’t help. I’m beyond reason. I fell fast and hard. It was—is—real. Some say true love can’t happen in a few months, but I’m proof that those people don’t know what they’re talking about.
And now here I am about to throw paint onto a big blank canvas just to calm the frenzy inside me. I can’t stop. Without considering the shitshow of a result, I take the open can of paint and sling the contents onto the canvas. The can was only about half full, but it still splatters all around the canvas propped on an easel. The splatter goes on the floor and one of my almost finished landscapes.
As I look at the damage, I realize that I’m roaring at the top of my lungs. My throat starts hurting, searing from the strain, and I fall to my knees, my head in my paint-soiled hands. I don’t care. I can’t. I’ve suffered the very worst of bad one-eighties today, and I can’t seem to locate my equilibrium.
I’ve been feeling guilty over my divorce since the day it was decided, knowing I’d screwed up. But this time, I didn’t. I did everything I could to be the right man for Amanda, but it wasn’t enough. I’d loved every minute of transforming myself to be the kind of man she’d fall in love with. And then she did, but it wasn’t enough.
I can’t blame her for choosing her career over a relationship. People do that sort of thing all the time. It’s not even that unusual.
I just never thought it would happen to me.
I don’t know how long I kneel there like some pathetic fool in the middle of my studio floor, but eventually, I get my sorry ass up.
Rummaging through a nearby closet, I find a jumpsuit meant to—irony of all ironies—protect my clothing, and I strip down to my underwear to wear it instead. Gathering up some cleaning supplies, I do my best to clean up the mess I made, then go back to painting. I don’t pay much attention to what I create, I only know that stopping will mean giving in to all this turmoil inside me.
I paint until I’m bleary-eyed, until my hands are shaking too much to hold up another brush. I lift my arms to the ceiling and twist to stretch my aching back. Realizing I need to get out of here, I find a clean pair of jeans and a tee shirt I keep at the gallery for times when I forget the coveralls.
Heading to my car to make the short drive home, I almost knocked someone down because I wasn’t paying attention to anything.
“Damn! What’s the matter with you, Sam?” Trina Donald screeched at me when I bumped into her. She pushes her strawberry blonde hair behind her ears and glares at me.
“Shit, Trina. I’m sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“You don’t look so good. What’s going on?” Already over being mad at me, she put a hand on my arm and squeezed lightly.
“Sheesh. You don’t really want to know. It’s been a shitty day.” I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath that should have calmed me but didn’t.
“Well I’m in no hurry. Spill it.” Ever the no-nonsense type, Trina scowled and tapped her foot slowly while she waited.
Deciding I had nothing to lose, I told her everything. Almost everything. I kept my sensitive devastation and near manic painting episode to myself. “So, there you have it. Amanda and I are over because she’s moving to Atlanta for her dream job.”
“So you fall in love and you’re willing to just walk away because things got complicated? Hmm. I never thought you’re the type to give up so easy.”
“What am I supposed to do? Stand in her way? Ask her not to go? I’d never try to crush someone else’s dream.” I look at her like she has a horn growing out of her forehead.
“I guess I don’t see it so black and white. Life has gray areas, Sam. As an artist you should understand shadow and light better than anyone.” She shrugs. “But whatever.”
I can tell she’s baiting me a little bit. Maybe I need that. So I decide to at least hear what I know she’s dying to say. “So what would you do?”
“I’m not you, but since you asked… I’d damn sure not give up on a second chance at love. Amanda’s your second chance. Why not see what y’all can come up with. Long distance might be hard. Not seeing each other all the time would suck, but it’d be a million times better than missing out on each other. Just my two cents.”
“That’s all you’ve got? Long distance never works. I don’t know anyone who’s made it work.” I frown and look away. I’d hoped she’d have a better idea to impart than this.
“Hey, dude. You asked. And that’s what I honestly believe even if it’s not what you want to hear. And just because you don’t personally know anyone who has made a long distance relationship work, that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
I wasn’t sure if she was really annoyed or just giving me some tough love. Either way, she made sense. “You’re right. I guess it’s not impossible. Just not sure I’m cut out for it.”
She nodded. “You’ll never know if you don’t try. Amanda’s worth it. So are you. I gotta get going.” She turned and started walking away, then she stopped. “Don’t live with a regret like that, Sam. Go talk to her. Get creative. Y’all can figure this out.” She waved and headed toward her shop on the square a few doors down from mine.
Trina’s words rang in my ears. She was right, but I’d been too upset and taken by surprise to think with an open mind. Why can’t Amanda and I figure this out? We do love each other and that’s worth the effort. It might not be the most ideal situation, but the least we can do is try.
After some much needed rest and a long hot shower, I head over to her house. I’m excited and nervous and very hopeful that I haven’t misjudged her heart.
Nine
Amanda
I hear the doorbell ring and groan. “Well, shit. This is the last thing I need right now,” I mutter.
