There is a type of women who move through life with ease, without concern for the past or future. Who take nothing for granted, and suffer not others around her. This was Heather. Heather had lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn for a few years before I met her at a Starbucks. She had just moved back because she had got sick, and couldn’t work, and so here we were, each alone in a forgotten Florida town. We were close almost immediately; there was something soft about her hard exterior. The tattoos may have fooled others, but they didn’t fool me. Neither of us worked, so we would spend hours in my room, on that mattress which rested on the floor talking about nothing, holding each other, as if all we had was that moment, knowing that it may not last much longer.
Of course we didn’t. I found a job in New York, but I didn’t tell her right away because I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t want to hurt her. How do you tell someone, whose dream has died that you’re going to go and live for that same dream? Finally, I said, “I’m moving.” and she knew where, and she knew exactly when. In that moment, she turned away from me. She turned away from me, got up and walked to the door.
Sometimes we can call what happens in our relationships ‘inexplicable’, but that’s that’s not accurate. That’s us taking the easy way out, a way to avoid answering to anyone by saying that everything awful we do is unexplainable. When in fact, we know exactly what we do to one another. We are all too aware of the limits of those around us, and how to push those boundaries. I don’t regret dropping everyone and everything to move here, but I think back, almost daily about Heather and how I hurt her by leaving. Heather, who was so much softer than she appeared to be.
The painting above was created by commission by Tristan Henry-Wilson who is a Brooklyn based painter. He illustrates with oil paint. His work can be viewed at The White Leaf.
I liked the sincerity of this writing and the painting. It’s beautiful. So I am reposting it.
