When I'm Gone (8 page)

Chapter 14-September 4, 2001 (Claire)

I sighed and looked into my closet. I ran a finger over all of the shirts, trying to decide what to wear. I felt awkward in my sweats and tank; I kept running my hand up and down my bare shoulder.
“Would you stop fretting,” my brother complained as he flopped on my bed. I looked over at him and stuck out my tongue.
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I just don’t know what to wear. I mean, he said it wasn’t a date.”
“Hold up,” he interjected.
“When a guy says it’s ‘not a date’, then he is just covering up for the fact that it is a date.”
“Really?
Okay then.” I paused and sucked in a breath. “He said we will be going somewhere nice so I don’t know what to wear.”
“
A dress?”
Alex suggested as if it was obvious. I rolled my eyes and looked back in my closet. I found a black lace dress and pulled it out, holding it up to my body. Alex nodded his approval.
“I don’t know,” I muttered and turned to put it back on the rack. Alex grabbed it out of my hands and stepped away from me. I scowled at him and he just laughed.
“Wear it,” he ordered. “It is a date and you are going somewhere nice. Wear it with some red or black heels.”
“I didn’t know you were so into fashion, Alex,” I teased and reached over to
ruffled
his hair. He chuckled and handed the dress back to me. I took it graciously and laid it on my bed.
After Alex left, I drug out a pair of strappy red heels. I slid on the dress and laced up my shoes.
Before leaving, I glanced in the floor-length mirror on my door. My dress was a little short, but it would have to do. The shoes popped out on my tanned skin and gave a splash of color to my outfit. I checked my make-up making sure that my liner was even on both sides and my lipstick wasn’t smudged. I ran a hand through my newly straightened hair and smiled at my reflection.
Why am I so nervous? I asked myself as I walked out of my room.
-----------------------------------------------
I glanced at the clock; it was only 1:55. I was already ready for my first classes the next week and I had packed up ten minutes ago. I was perched on one of the stools, trying to tug my dress down without making it too low on the top. I grabbed my compact mirror from my bag and reapplied my lipstick, blotting it afterwards.
“It’s just a friend outing,” I warned myself. “It isn’t a date.”
I slid my mirror back into my purse and uncrossed my legs. I stood up and walked around my room, taking in everything I saw.
The chalkboard wall was newly cleaned and I had written my name in big loopy letters in the center. I smiled and looked over at the desks. They were lined up in rows, waiting to be covered in paint and other miscellaneous streaks. I was running my hand over my new smock when there was a knock at the door. I looked at the clock; it was two o’clock sharp. I sucked in another breath
.
“Come in,” I called out and smiled slightly.
He was dressed in nice slacks and a light blue button down with a sports coat slung over his arm. His usually dark eyes seemed brightened and the corners of his mouth were upturned in a smile as he took in my outfit. His black hair had been recently washed and still looked damp to the touch.
“You look great,” Michael murmured and walked over to me. Heat flooded my cheeks and I laughed
.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I shot back and plucked at his collar. He laughed nervously, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged out of his touch and looked down at my shoes.
“You ready to go?” I heard his voice crack with anxiety. I nodded silently and let him lead me out of the school.
Outside, a bright yellow taxi was idled at the curb. The anxious driver glanced at his watch and shot a cold look at Michael. We slid in and Michael gave the driver directions. I swallowed nervously and glanced over at him. He was watching me adoringly, as if I were a precious jewel waiting to be bought.
“Please tell me we aren’t going to Waffle House today,” I burst out sarcastically. Michael’s eyes lit up and he chuckled.
“I thought you liked that place,” he said. I rolled my eyes and shoved him
.
“I don’t want to go to Waffle House in a dress and heels,” I explained gesturing to my outfit. Relax rolled off his shoulders and he shrugged carelessly
.
“
Why not?” he suggested.
I stared at him
.
“Michael,” I said with a serious tone
.
“Claire,” he repeated with equal seriousness. Then he laughed. “Actually, I thought we should go to somewhere a little nicer.”
“Good,” I stated and turned away to watch the city pass by.
“We’re here,” Michael commented and nudged my shoulder. I looked to his side, where he was opening the door. I eased out behind him and looked at the building in front of us.
A large sign stated the name, 21 Club. It was a large building; maybe two stories. Michael led me inside and I gasped. Inside, the restaurant was exquisite. Table-clothed tables were pressed up against the walls and in the far back, I could see a bar.
In the center of the building, rested a large, open dance area.
Couples were pressed up against each other, moving to the beat of the music blaring out of the speakers.
“Claire,” Michael called out and tugged on my arm. I looked over at him; He was walking towards an empty table in the back. I followed closely behind, aware of how close we were pressed up against each other. I could smell a spicy scent
ovepowering
his body.
I flopped into the cushioned chair, grateful for a break of walking.
Michale
smiled at me and I grimaced back. Shock flashed in his eyes and I shrugged.
“This is pretty cool,” I said-actually I had to yell. The music was pounding over the speakers and I could barely hear myself think.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Let’s go ahead and order before it gets crazy.”
“Okay,” I replied and glanced over my menu
.
“You guys ready or what?” A waitress sauntered over to us, a bored expression on her face. Once she caught sight of Michael, her expression turned to a flirty one and she turned away from me. I looked her up and down, jealous of her slim figure outfitted in a short black skirt and white button down.
“Yes we are,” Michael told her and smiled. Something tugged at my heart and my eyes widened. I could feel jealously start to take over my mind.
How can I be jealous? It’s not like we’re together. God, I need to stop worrying, I chastised myself. Michael ordered for both of us and the waitress left. I watched him warily as he stood up.
“Want a glass of wine?” he asked and I nodded gratefully. He left and I placed my head in my hands.
“What is going on with me?” I whispered in agony.
---------------------------------------------------
“That was so much fun,” I exclaimed as we burst out of the restaurant. Michael chuckled
.
“It was wasn’t it?” he asked and whistled for a taxi. I leaned onto his shoulder and giggled mindlessly. I could feel him smiling as he placed a hesitant arm around my shoulder.
“You need to stop being so careful,” I scolded. He froze and looked down at me. “I’m just a girl. It’s not like you haven’t had a lot of us around you.”
“What are you talking about?” he inquired. I stared up at him, shocked.
“I mean, like that waitress in there.” I pointed towards the restaurant as a taxi pulled in to the curb. We got in and Michael gave the driver another set of directions.
“What about the waitress?” He was still staring at me in bewilderment.
“She was flirting with you nonstop all night. That’s why I dragged you to the dance floor. I was pretty sure you were flirting with her,” I explained quickly. Recognition dawned in his expression and he smiled.
“I thought we aren’t on a date,” he said. I shook my head in denial.
“We aren’t,” I stated. Michael laughed.
“Oh, so you were jealous,” he managed between chuckles. Blood pooled in my cheeks and I frowned.
“No,” I started
.
“Yes, you were,” he interrupted. I glared at him and he stared back with a knowing look.
“No I wasn’t,” I proclaimed.
“I think you were,” he stated. “And I’m not arguing with you about it anymore.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. Turning away, I once again watched the city pass by through the window.

Chapter 15-September 4, 2001 (Michael)

On our way to the museum, the silence was palpable. Claire sat as far away from me as she could, anger rolling off of her in waves. I grimaced slightly and watched her with
aprehension
.
Her cinnamon hair looked a little longer then the first time I saw it; the ends were starting to curl away from her face. Her dark red lips were pursed and her grey eyes hinted at anger and defeat. Her legs were angled away from me, looking long and lithe. The black dress she was wearing started to ride up her thigh and I gulped.
Calm down Michael, I warned myself. I tore my gaze from her and smiled as the taxi pulled up to the large white building.
A wide red carpet donned the steps leading to the entrance. Light were set up along the edges, showing the guest where to go. Velvet ropes lined the ends, keeping the
wannabees
out. Photographers stood around, taking pictures every moment they got. Lights flashed around me as I noticed the darkening sky; I glanced at my watch which read 5:45. Had we really been at the restaurant for that long?
“Where are we?” Claire asked as I put on my jacket. I looked over at her to see that she was staring in astonishment at the building.
“An art museum,” I replied and slid out of the cab. I held out my hand and Claire took it tentatively.
“A new one?”
Surprise colored her voice. I helped her out and quickly paid the driver. He sped off; I turned back to Claire. She was still staring at the cameras and the red carpet.
“Brand new.
It’s the grand opening.” I said. She nodded, speechless. Without thinking, I grasped her hand and she started at my touch. She shot an accusing glare at our intertwined hands and I laughed nervously. I extracted it and shrugged. “I was going to help you through the paparazzi.
“I can walk myself up to the entrance, thank you very much,” she seethed, tightening her grip on her purse. “I don’t need your help. Besides, I like the cameras.”
I could tell she was lying but smiled anyway. I started to walk ahead of her and it took her a moment to catch up with me. I tried to listen to her hesitant footsteps behind me, so when they stopped I spun around to face her.
She was a few feet back, a look of panic in her eyes. A group of photographers surrounded her; flashes popped in front of her face. She used her free hand to cover her eyes. Her lips formed my name and I snapped into action.
I ran over to her and stuck my hand out. She grabbed it and I pulled her away from the cameras. The men grumbled to themselves but I didn’t listen as I took Claire away. Her grip loosened as I tugged her up the steps, but I continued to hold on.
Once inside the museum, I released my grip and ran a hand through my hair. Claire let out a breath of relief and smiled tightly at me.
“Thanks,” she said. I nodded and chuckled softly even though she was glaring at me. “You better not say ‘I told you so’.”
“I wasn’t,” I promised. She gave me a pointed look and I laughed again. “I’m telling you the
truth. Well, sort of.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.
“I was just going to tell you ‘You’re welcome’,” I explained.
“Whatever.” She shrugged and took in a deep breath. Her eyes started to take in the room and I did the same. Smiling at the familiarity of it, I spun in a circle, looking at everything.
The bright walls.
The silence of the air.
The gorgeous chandelier in the center of the ceiling.
I took in a breath and could faintly smell newly applied paint
.
“Champagne?” A waiter held out a tray and I took two flutes. Handing one to Claire, I smiled.
“Ready?” I raised my eyebrows and waited for her response. She nodded quickly, still taking in everything. I took a sip from my glass and gestured for her to follow me.
She followed quietly behind me as we walked through the exhibits. Sometimes, she would hold onto the tail of my jacket, hoping not to get lost. We strolled through slowly, taking in all of the art hanging on the walls. Claire seemed very interested and I knew I had scored big for bringing her here.
“I love this one,” she said pointing to a Van Gogh landscape. I nodded and studied it for a minute. I had already seen it, but seeing it again with Claire, made me look at it differently. I had someone to share it with.
Throughout the night, I could feel Claire relaxing as she looked at each painting and made comments. I even got her to laugh.
We were walking past another opening when I saw one of my favorite paintings. I ran ahead and grinned at it.
“Claire, look at this Monet,” I exclaimed pointing at the painting. When she didn’t answer I looked back to where she was.
She was standing at the opening that led to another exhibit. Her eyes were wide, taking in whatever piece of artwork she saw there.
“Claire,” I called out
.
“Wow,” she mouthed, ignoring me. She walked towards the exhibit, wanting to see more of the paintings. I wondered which exhibit could have her so interested. I followed behind her, quickly but silently, not wanting to disturb her. I turned the corner and finally saw what had captured her attention.
“Oh,” I murmured and froze in my place.
A large mural stared back at me, covering the full wall of the exhibit. It was very colorful and stood out from the rest of the paintings in the room. On the top half of the wall, you could see tall buildings, trees, people, animals, etc. It was a peaceful half and looked pleasing to the eye.
On the bottom half, the painting turned dark and dangerous. You could see the grease and grime underground along with a subway train, rats and sewers. The only colors were black and white, making the half look bland but disgusting.
I didn’t have to go to the plaque on the wall to know what the name of the painting was. It was named “New York: The Beautiful and the Grime.” I smiled to myself and turned away from the painting.
I noticed that a lot of people were walking up and down the room,
comptemplating
the mural. Most of them were nodding, pleased with it. Couples were whispering about it, talking about the different halves. I could tell by the fingers they pointed at the mural.
Finally, I found Claire. She was standing at the end of the mural, close to the plaque. I wondered if she had found out who painted it yet. She was studying it intently, a faint smile gracing her lips. She let her eyes wander until she found me. Excitedly, she waved me over, smiling widely.
“Michael, look at this painting,” she cooed. I nodded. “It is so inspiring. I wish I could have done something like this.”
“It is pretty cool,” I agreed. Claire gasped and I glanced at her. She was staring at me with astonishment.
“‘Pretty cool?
This is amazing!” she exclaimed. “I have to know who the artist is.”
I was about to stop her, but then realized it couldn’t hurt anything. Her finger scrolled through the words until she found the sentence she was looking for. Then, after reading it, she laughed
.
“That’s funny,” she giggled. “It says that ‘Michael Herring painted this’.”
She looked at me, a silly expression on her face. I was serious as she started to read again.
“He works as a fire fighter at Engine 38,” she paused. “Wait, that’s...”
“Me,” I finished for her. Her eyes found mine again and I shrugged. “I painted this in my free time. That’s why I was invited to the grand opening.”
“You paint?” she asked. I nodded sheepishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The topic never came up,” I reminded her. She grimaced and looked down at her hands, tracing over the tattoo on her wrist. “And I only paint murals like this.
I don’t like small things like you do.”
“
Oh,” she muttered and sighed.
“What?” I wondered. She didn’t meet my eyes as she wrung her wrists.
“It’s nothing,” she uttered under her breath.
“Tell me,” I urged and hooked a finger under her chin, making her look at me. Her grey eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed.
“It’s just that I have always wanted to meet someone that knew and loved art as much as me. I have never found anyone like that until now. You know so much about it and you even painted that,” she pointed to the mural. “But, I can’t be with you. I just can’t....I guess stress has just been setting in and I haven’t realized
int
until now. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
She looked so vulnerable right then.
Against all better judgment, I cupped her cheek with my hand and she froze. She stared into my eyes, making me forget everything about myself. Before I could decide against it, I leaned in and pressed my lips to hers. She gasped before melting into me. I snaked my arms around her waist and she hooked hers around my neck.
The kiss was better than I thought it could ever be. Her lips were soft and they fit against mine perfectly, like a puzzle piece. She shuddered violently and it took me a moment to figure out she was crying.
I tasted the salty tear on my tongue and pulled back. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and I
frowned.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, not wanting to break the bubble around us. She nodded and mumbled something under her breath. “What did you say?”
“Just hold me,” she muttered again and pressed her face to my chest. Sobs racked at her chest and she wrapped her arms tightly around me. I looped my arms around her and stood silently as she cried, wondering if I did something wrong.