Alone (17 page)

I said goodbye in my mind and threw the knife over the bridge. I smiled wide as it made a splash as it entered the water sinking below the surface. “That felt good,” I said mostly to myself than to Sara.

Sara was silent, deep in thought as we walked back to the Jeep. I didn't want to interrupt her thoughts so I remained silent as we started our way back to New Jollie.

Throwing my knife into the water was only symbolic obviously. A cutter doesn't need a specific knife to complete the act of self-harm. A kitchen knife, razor blade, even something as small as a safety pin would work just as well. Letting go of that knife, was just a final goodbye to the part of my past I now hated. It felt good to truly be free.

“
Sara? What's wrong?” I asked now that the silence was making me nervous. “I thought you'd be happy.”

“
Oh. I am really happy for you Willow. It's just getting closer now. I can feel it. It's going to be time for me to leave soon.”

I let that sink in for a moment. My heart jumped into my throat leaving a lump there and my stomach started to twist. Sara told me pretty early on that she would eventually leave but I didn't realize how soon it would be. It wasn't fair that my best friend was leaving when I was finally ready to have fun. Although, I was her best friend too- we'd stay in contact for sure. I would never let her leave me completely.

“
Where are you going?” I asked unable to raise my voice above a choked whisper.

“
I'll tell you when the time comes.” Sara's tone was odd to me now. She was always happy, and now was no exception, except that for the first time it seemed to be with great effort.

“
You'll keep in contact though right? Visit and write?” My voice broke as I stifled the cries that wanted to burst from my chest.

Sara sighed and answered, “You know the answer to that question.”

I suppose I did, but I didn't like that she wouldn't articulate what I thought. We were silent the rest of the way home. I had so many questions I wanted to ask about her leaving. Even more, I wanted to beg her to stay so I figured it would be best to keep my mouth shut.

When we got back to my apartment, Sara decided not to stay with me, so I walked to the gallery so that I could talk to Miss Morgan about my trip. Aaron was at the gallery as usual and he told me that Miss Morgan was interviewing an artist but I could wait since she shouldn't be too much longer. I took a look around the gallery at other people's work. Some of the art seemed lifeless to me. Like there was no soul within it. Someone had painted a landscape just because it looked pretty. There was one called Pick-Up Sticks that did catch my eye. An abstract painting, which I usually steered away from, but the mood that was created by the bright lines on a dull background made me remember the energy I felt at open mic.

I heard the door to Miss Morgan's office open and she was saying goodbye to a girl, the artist. The girl was shorter than me and had red hair that was pin straight to the middle of her back. I could tell Miss Morgan liked her by the way she had prolonged the goodbye. Miss Morgan had noticed me watching and waved me over.

“
Willow, I'd like you to meet Serenity Carlton. We'll be displaying some of her work.” The name threw me back in time. I had written so many letters to my Serenity, but hearing the name out loud didn't make me feel comforted in any way. Instead, I felt like I was forced back to a place that I didn't ever want to revisit. A place that was now down at the bottom of the canal. I forced myself out of the trance I was in and hoped she didn't notice any unintended hostility in my moment of vacant stares.

“
Hi, very nice to meet you,” I said trying to put all the warmth I could into the small and generic statement.

“
Nice to meet you too,” she said. She looked young, eighteen at the oldest. She was very lucky Miss Morgan let her in, she very rarely took in new artists.

“
Well, I'll be in touch soon Serenity. Thanks for coming in,” Miss Morgan said. They shook hands and Serenity said goodbye to us both.

“
She was sweet,” Miss Morgan said walking back into her office and gesturing for me to follow. “Very talented too. So Willow, what can I do for you?”

“
Well, I've decided to take a vacation.” I said as I sat across from her.

“
You? A vacation? I don't think you've ever done that before.”

“
I haven't. I just need a change of scenery for a bit. I figured you could use the pieces left from my show to fill any empty spots.”

“
Not a problem. How long will you be gone?”

“
Just a few weeks. My return flight is open ended so I can't give you an exact date.”

“
Do you mind if I ask where you're going?”

“
New York for a few days, then I'm going to Portland.”

“
Oregon? Wow. That's quite a trip.”

“
Yeah, well, I'm hoping to hear back from the galleries but I really wanted to see them in person if I ever had to choose between them.”

“
It rains a lot in Oregon. The weather is unpredictable. It's three thousand miles away. It's expensive to live out there. You know they say lack of sun can lead to depression?”

I laughed at her rambling and said, “It's a few weeks Miss Morgan, I'm sure I'll be fine.”

“
Have you heard of Mount St. Helens? It's a volcano in Washington, not too far from Portland.”

“
And it hasn't erupted since 1980.”

“
But it has never stopped showing signs of activity. Are you sure you want to take the chance? It's due to blow anytime don't you think?”

“
I'll take my chances. You do realize you are being very dramatic over a vacation. Do you want to tell me what you're really upset about?”

“
I've been to Portland. Many times actually. You won't come back once you see it. It has a way of sucking people in and never letting go.”

“
You come back,” I pointed out.

“
But I also know that's where I'll go when I retire. I'd be there now if I didn't have this gallery keeping me busy.”

“
I'll come back. I promise. Just a few weeks and I'll be back.”

“
Can I get you to sign a contract to that fact?” Somehow I didn't think she was kidding.

“
Goodbye Miss Morgan. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone.”

CHAPTER 15: SUCKED IN

The only true handicap I felt by not listening to music was felt when I was in my Jeep for extended periods of time. The four and a half hour drive to the city felt like an eternity with nothing to listen to but the hum of the tires against the pavement. I even tried to turn on the radio to listen to the talk station, but then I remembered it didn't work. The previous owner told me that, but of course I never bothered to fix it. Traveling by car was not something I wanted to do again. At least on a bus you could write or sketch. Driving though, you were stuck doing nothing but paying attention to the road and listening to your own thoughts. In my case, that was a potentially dangerous thing to do, at least in the past it was.

For part of the drive, my mind wandered to a time of sadness. It's amazing how quickly those thoughts can invade your head when there's nothing else to focus on. I wondered if I was really done cutting. It had been such a large part of my life for so long, how could I just walk away from it? Of course, the urge was still there. Some days, like the day of Mrs. Schneider's funeral, it felt like an impossible struggle between right and wrong. However, now I had things that replaced cutting's spot in my list of priorities. Positive, beautiful things like Sara and photography and friendships and Jace.

I pushed the negativity out of my head for the second leg of my journey and focused on impossible fantasies. I imagined I was on a trip for my job as a photographer for Time magazine. I was supposed to take pictures of hidden art in New York. I'd look out the window as I was driving and choose things I would take pictures of. Road signs, buildings, the skyline at sunset, even some gas pumps at an old service station. Of course, I couldn't actually take the pictures but it was fun imagining the fourteen page spread Time magazine would have with all my photos.

With that last ridiculous fantasy, I had reached my destination in front of the hotel. The next two days were filled with chaos. New York City was never calm and quiet. There were always horns honking, people yelling, sirens blaring. It took me approximately twenty minutes to reach the conclusion that I could never live here. However, this city was absolutely the perfect place for a person like me to vacation. The museums, historical buildings and walking through Central Park all kept me busy during my stay. There wasn't enough time in the world to see everything the city had to offer.

I did visit the gallery that was my whole purpose for being in the city. Even though this would not be where I could spend my life, I felt it would be a wasted trip if I didn't go see the gallery. What caught me off guard was the incredible size of the place. There had to be at least a hundred different artists featured there. The talent was obvious in every piece of art in the building. It was a beautiful gallery, I just couldn't see my work hanging on the wall there.

I decided to take an earlier flight to Portland and rented a car at the airport. This trip was a completely different experience than being in New York City. There was the same excitement in Portland and just as many things to see, but the atmosphere was different. People from all walks of life were taking in the sights. In some way, they all coexisted harmoniously. I didn't feel awkward going into any museum or gallery. I was welcomed just as warmly as someone dressed in a designer suit.

The most surprising thing about Portland was how beautiful it was. I had seen pictures many times, but actually being here was different than just looking at a picture. The raw beauty came from every angle. There were trees everywhere and even though they were bare in February, I could imagine how they would look overflowing with leaves in the spring. The fact that it was raining from the moment I stepped off the plane didn't hinder my experience at all.

On my third day in Portland, I decided it was time to visit the Attic Gallery. I dressed in the best outfit I had brought with me, a long khaki skirt and a green turtleneck, just in case I were to run into Clara Johnson, the director I met at my art show. I sat out front of the gallery staring at the entrance for a moment. I wasn't sure what made me nervous, but I just couldn't take a step closer. Someone startled me as I got lost in my nerves.

“
Willow!” I whirled around at the sound of my name and saw Alli running toward me. “I thought that was you. Mom said you were coming today but I thought she was kidding me. You know I have one of your paintings hanging in my bedroom now. My mom surprised me with it for my birthday. How long are you staying for?”

“
Wow, uh,” she was talking so fast it took me a few seconds for my brain to catch up to the question she had just asked. “I'm not sure really. Aren't you supposed to be in school?”

“
Nope. I go to a private school. We don't get out until 4:30 Monday through Thursday but we get out at noon on Fridays. Have you gone in and seen my mom yet?”

“
Not yet. I was actually just getting ready to do that,” I said with a bit of nervousness seeping into my voice.

“
Don't let my mom make you nervous. C'mon,” Alli said grabbing my hand and pulling me to the entrance of the gallery.

When we walked in Mrs. Johnson greeted us and asked Alli about her day. After dismissing her daughter to do her homework, she turned her attention to me. “So nice to see you again Willow. I hope Portland is treating you well.”

“
It's amazing here. I can't believe how beautiful it is. Everywhere you look is so green and alive.”

“
And wet,” she added jokingly.

“
A small price to pay to be surrounded by beauty.”

“
How long have you been here?” she asked as we walked into her office and she closed the door behind us.

“
A few days so far,” I said sitting in a chair across from her formal, mahogany desk.

“
Do you plan on staying long?”

“
Not too long. Maybe another week or two.”

“
So, you called for this meeting. What would you like to accomplish by speaking with me today?”

“
I would like to know more about the gallery, what you look for in an artist and I'd like to know if you see me fitting in here.”

“
Well, why don't we start off with a tour? I can show you some of the pieces here and tell you a bit of our history. Feel free to ask questions along the way.”

As we headed back out to the main hall, she began by telling me about how the gallery started and how she came to be the director. Since she took the position, the gallery had expanded by a thousand square feet and has over fifty artists featured.

Mrs. Johnson explained some of the paintings as we passed and asked my personal opinion on each. I gave credit where it was due but I was honest in every critique I gave. I was no expert of course, but I knew what I liked. I also knew that this was more than a casual conversation, it was an interview as well. Honesty was much more important than general niceties.

I was interviewing her in my own way as well. I could never work for someone I couldn't respect. I learned quite a bit about her. She was a single mom raising her daughter after her husband was killed in a car accident. She worked from the bottom up with no help along the way. After high school, she worked full time at the gallery as a guide until after she was married. She then went to college and now has an MBA. By the way she spoke, it was obvious you had to prove yourself to her to truly earn her respect.