Sunday Afternoon

I find myself with a restless, lonely feeling. There's no reason for it. Rusty and I went to mass and brunch. I talked to Ricky and Em on the phone. Life should feel good, but it doesn't. I suppose after a long, trying week, the emotions must come out in one form or another.

I don't want to sit at home so I change into some capris and a tee shirt and take a drive to the beach. There's something about the ocean that always brings me peace. I walk past a small strip of shops. There's a new art gallery that looks interesting.

Once inside, I notice the smell of fresh paint. It is bright and airy with décor in yellow, blue and green. "Hello, can I help you find something?" The young man said. He had a striking resemblance to Ricky. I tell him I'm just looking around. "I'm Jason" he says as he extends his hand. Sharon, I say, and shake his hand.

"Is there a particular artist or type of painting that you like?" he asks. I'm not much of an art expert, but I know what I like. That seems to impress him for some reason. He shows me some of the still life paintings. I explain that while they are beautiful in color and detail, I'm not that vested in bowls of fruit.
He laughs and asks what exactly I would be vested in.

After a little thought, I tell him it has to mean something. It has to bring back a memory of a place, or person, or an experience. I can't look at it and say oh that's nice. It has to reach out and touch my heart. Funny thing, I think he understands.

He disappears into a back room and emerges with a painting. It is a woman standing at the water's edge looking out to sea. How many times have I done just that? All those afternoons I spent with the children at the beach, trying to hold together some shred of being a normal family. I ask if it's sold since it was in the back. He looks rather embarrassed," No, it's mine. I painted this of my mother." I am stunned at his talent. "We spent a lot of time at the beach after my dad left." I took a sharp breath. He was studying me intently as I stood mesmerized by the scene. "You remind me a lot of her." I had to excuse myself as I had gotten lost in my jumbled emotions. "My mother, you remind me of her." I smile. "Do you have children?" I tell him I have three. "I bet they think you hung the moon." I have to laugh a little at that. Doubtful, I say. "That's where you are wrong. I'm sure of it." I shake my head and say oh are you now. How can you be so sure when we've only met. "I'm an artist. Therefore, I have excellent powers of perception." I like this young man. He makes me laugh.

We spend the next hour or so talking about art, family and loss. It was a lot to cover over a cup of tea. His mother had passed from cancer. He used the insurance money for college and to purchase the gallery. I listen to him talk and fight the urge to brush the hair out of his eyes. Yes, so much like my boys. I ask him to let me know if he decides to sell his own artwork. He looks surprised. He looks at me, straight in the eyes with a look I am unable to read. Then he hands me the painting. I fumble for my credit card. He says no. I want you to have it. I am speechless and feel the sting of tears welling up in my eyes. "I wanted to give it to my mother, but she passed before it was finished." His eyes looked moist and red, I wanted to hug him and tell him he wasn't alone. "I know that you see it with your heart."

I went with my first instinct and hugged him tight. I am surprised that he hugs me back. "I hope you come back soon," he says. I tell him I'm sure of it and hand him my business card. I think if he's ever in the area it would be nice to have lunch. A few lunches would only be fair for his generosity. He is still staring at the card. I'm afraid I've overstepped my bounds. "You're a police captain?" I say I am, for twenty some years. "I would've never pictured you as that." I have to laugh because most people can see me as nothing else.

Monday morning I hang the painting in my office. I take a couple steps back, it's perfect. As I look at it from time to time, I find myself remembering the smell of the ocean, the squeals of my children playing, and one special Sunday afternoon.