George softly closed the door to his flat. It wasn't even noon, yet it seemed like an entire day had already passed by.
Strange, how a few words can change your entire day, George thought as he looked out the window. The sight was still the same, yet he wasn't looking down at the people – he was looking up at the sky. It wasn't very interesting, as the sun had disappeared, but there was something about it that drew his gaze.
He slipped his coat off and threw it on the couch, tossing his portfolio on top. His stomach rumbled from hunger, but he ignored it. He knew that it was going to be a long week, especially since Mr. Maler didn't pay him anything. But it wasn't his hunger that was on his mind; it was Lucy.
Lucy. What was her surname? Does it matter? He thought about the bright girl as he sat down on his bed. She wasn't beautiful; truth be told, she was almost plain. Yet there was something about her presence that made him uneasy and peaceful all at once. She asked him so many questions – more than he wanted. But she seemed to be genuinely interested in him. She acted like he was the only person in the world.
But what does her flattery matter? She shouldn't be trying to flirt with me – I'm too old and too poor for her. But she wasn't trying to do that, either. It's like she wanted me as a friend. George scoffed at the thought as he rolled over onto his bed, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling.
Friend. Why would a young girl like that want to be friends with me? I'm just some grumpy old guy.
Lucy's kind words and attentive nature, however, couldn't be forgotten. George wondered how someone could be so bright and smiling, so laughing and gay all of the time. Her light hair and lighter smile seemed to illuminate his thoughts.
I'm developing a strange obsession for her, George admitted, as he turned in his bed and looked over at the couch. His eyes fell on his portfolio, and he heaved a great sigh. Lucy was gone. Now the thoughts of his behind-payment flat and his empty stomach were dominating his mind.
I suppose I better go try and find a muse, George thought as he picked up a piece of paper. He wasn't trying to make a masterpiece, but was rather trying to rid his mind of an image. He sat back down on his bed, thinking hard. He set his pencil to the paper, yet nothing seemed to come. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something, anything. He tried to think of a forest, of a building in London, yet nothing came to mind. He had no idea what to draw, whether it be the same as before or something new. Nothing seemed to spring to mind…except the thought of a golden-haired youth.
Lucy…well, no pain in trying. I haven't tried a portrait in years, though. Wonder if I'm still any good. He tried to remember the curve of her face, the smile on her lips, the fall of her hair. Though the details were still sharp, they were beginning to fade as her departure grew farther away. Did she have a snaggle tooth, or were her teeth just crowded? Was her chin pointed or blunt?
George drew quickly and carelessly, as it was only a sketch. His pencil flew at wild angles, trying to get details down, symmetrical or not. He worked in silence, putting all of his energy into the small portrait.
It didn't take long before the picture in front of him bloomed into something very real. It was as he first saw Lucy, her smile unsure yet wide, her face anxious but secure. It was not much, and surely not worth anything, but it was done.
It's not one of my better works, but maybe if I show it to Mr. Maler, it will shut him up about trying to do something different. At least I'm trying now.
He stood up and left the picture on his bed, as he walked over to his coat to hang it up. The day was still young – what else did he have to do?
I suppose I could make my monthly call to Aunt Shannon, George thought, as he rummaged through his pocket. He found barely enough money for a call. I've been putting it off long enough, although she should know that I never have enough money to make calls in the first place. His stomach growled in response. Although, it would be a good time to ask her for some money. She certainly doesn't want me starving and out of a place.
George looked up at his wall at a picture of his staid, matronly aunt. She bore a ridiculously striking resemblance to George, so much so that many people often mistook her for his mother when he was younger. He smirked at the thought, knowing that his aunt firmly and quickly corrected the errant ones.
His eyes then drifted over to the other portrait on the wall, not a photograph but a pencil drawing of a couple. It was larger than the photograph, and obviously made with care. George felt his heart sink a little whenever he looked at that picture. A man and woman were seated on a couch, their faces smiling. They held hands and looked ahead eagerly, as if looking at a loved one. George had based that drawing of a photograph of his, worn and faded from youth when he would stare at it longingly. He had to make the drawing, as the photograph had crumbled and faded away.
George looked into the same, deep-set eyes of his mother and sighed. He never really knew what it was like to see a loving gaze every day…only to see one of indifference.
He shrugged and turned back to his closet to find the roll of canvas and paints stored in the corner.
______________
Lucy sighed as she heard the sounds of her friends and family talking on the distant hill. They had been calling to her for the past few minutes, yet they seemed far off and misplaced. Lucy didn't want to follow their calls, but rather sit in the shade of the tree.
She had felt this way before, and she smiled slightly at the memory. That first time she went into Narnia, when no one believed her, left her isolated, as isolated then as she was now.
They look so happy over there…I wonder if they can even imagine what it's like back on Earth, Lucy thought, tucking her knees under her chin.
The memory of her life on Earth was pleasant, something she enjoyed to think about from time to time, yet she preferred New Narnia beyond a doubt. She didn't have a reason why, but it just seemed better. Now she knew why.
Earth now was not the warm, faint memory that she had tucked into her mind. No, Earth was not that at all. It was grim and gray and cold, both London and the people inhabiting it. She had looked around and she saw people for what seemed like the very first time. They walked quickly, their eyes cast down and solitary. They never said hello, but walked on, onto their lives. They didn't take the time to stop and look around – they simply moved forward.
Is that all I did when I was on Earth – walked on, not stopping and admiring what's all around me? Lucy closed her eyes again, remembering her visit once again. Although, after what Earth looks like, I don't blame them. Who would want to live in a place so cold? Lucy rubbed her arms at the thought.
It hasn't been long since the accident. The newspapers on the corners all read 1955. Six years after the crash. I would have been…twenty-three. The same age I was when my reign ended. Of course, I'll never know what it's like to be twenty-four, she sighed.
She leaned her head back, resting it against the trunk of the tree. A breeze ruffled her hair, tickled her nose. It was a warm, soft, gentle breeze. Not at all like the harsh wind that blew through London.
I almost don't want to go back. My curiosity was cured, and now I regret it. She turned on her side, her back to her family. Of course, am I forgetting why I'm going there in the first place?
A small smile came to Lucy's face as she thought of George. George. My, I really must have caught him off-guard that first time, didn't I? He's certainly not the warmest of men. She remembered that annoyed look that he gave her when she tagged along. It was a lot like the look Edmund would give her when he was feeling particularly priggish.
But George didn't tell me to leave. Maybe he wanted me to tag along, after all. It certainly wasn't easy talking to him. Lucy remembered how nervous she was, hoping that he wouldn't dismiss her. She had to take all of the courage she had to keep on talking with him, even after he showed clear disinterest.
Maybe Aslan kept him listening to me, for his sake. Or, maybe he did just want to listen to me.
Lucy closed her eyes, humming that strange tune. All she could think about was George and how much he wanted to discard her, yet he continued to talk to her. He certainly wasn't warm and inviting, but Lucy found that she wanted to see him again, talk to him.
Lucy tucked these thoughts away, as she saw Edmund walk towards her. Getting up, she brushed her skirt off. New Narnia lay before her, green and golden. The sun gleamed, uninterrupted by clouds. Plants and trees grew lushly, carpeting the hills and fields before her with beauty. She smiled dimly, thanked Aslan for what he had given her, and met up with her brother.