March 14, 2005 — New York City
The people seemed to be moving faster than the town car I was sitting in, which was consistently stopped in traffic. This is why I preferred to walk — I seemed to get to places so much faster. I scanned the sidewalks and buildings, taking in the details with curiosity. In New York, things changed every day and what I saw today would be completely different tomorrow. That was the beauty of a big city.
The town car pulled up to the front of the Museum of Modern Art and I let out a sigh, my eyes falling closed. I could feel my nerves deep in the pit of my stomach, but truthfully, I was neither excited or frightened about the exhibition. I was more nervous that no one would come to MoMA and participate in my performance, a worry that always emerged when I came up with a new show. My body jolted forward suddenly when the driver open my door and I glanced up to meet his gaze before grasping the hand he offered me to pull me out of the car. After my feet were on the sidewalk, I adjusted the fabric of my dress to ensure that I wasn't stepping on it. I pushed my hair over one shoulder so that it was away from my face and glanced around the busy street, taking in the people entering MoMA. A man bumped into my shoulder before giving me a quick once over and then scurrying on his way. Typical New York, I thought. I gathered my couture gown and spared a glance at the driver who still remained beside the door.
"Thank you," I said, realizing absentmindedly that he would be perhaps one of the last people I spoke to before beginning my self-imposed silence during my exhibition. It was the opening night and I arrived an hour before the set time so that I could prepare mentally for the task ahead of me. Although I had my dress gathered in my hands, I didn't move from my spot, watching Aro waiting for me from inside the museum. He was dressed in a tux, his shoulder length black hair pushed back from his face, and his body angled towards a woman standing in front of him. A smile curved onto my lips as I watched him flirt with the woman and a gut feeling told me that she was probably a donor of some sort. Little did she know that he was in a committed relationship with his boyfriend Cauis, who was undeniably the center of his universe.
After a few moments of watching, I walked towards the front door and I could tell that my movements caught Aro's attention. His face lit up when he made eye contact with me through the door and he abandoned the woman he was speaking to without a second glance. He opened the door for me just before I could reach it and ushered me in. "Isabella! My dear, it has been too long," he exclaimed before tossing his arms around my waist.
I laughed as I wrapped my arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. "It's good to see you too, Aro."
He released me from our embrace before glancing around the entrance. The woman he had been speaking to before was eying our exchange with obvious envy. Oh honey, I thought, if only you knew how little he was actually interested in me. I was nearly thirty years his senior, not to mention a woman. I glanced back towards Aro when I felt his gaze perusing my body and I cocked an eyebrow at his appraisal. "You look gorgeous," he said, motioning his hand toward my gown. I smirked and raised my eyebrow higher at the silent 'but' that hung in the air. Noticing the dare in my eyes, he continued, "Of course, I would look better in it, but not everyone can pull of red dresses like I can."
"Only you would say something like that and get away with it," I laughed, shaking my head slightly at his wide grin. "Only you."
As if to test his new found boundaries, he said, "Well, even if I could pull of that look better, I must say you are the best dressed old lady I know."
"Excuse me," I replied with a look of mock offense. "I am not old. You are just a baby." I reached out a pinched his cheek.
"Sure, sure, and that isn't a gray hair I see right there."
"Don't even go there!"
"I'm sorry," he replied gently before smirking once more. "I'm just amazed that you don't look a day over thirty despite your age."
"Yeah, sure," I huffed. "Lucky for you, this doesn't lessen my love for you."
"I love you too, old lady."
Snorting, I shake my head. "Are you sure you want to be with Cauis? I could use a charmer like you to keep me grounded."
He laughed, tossing his head back dramatically as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "Honey, you know I don't swing that way," he said, bumping his hip with mine. "But if you ever need an ego check, I'm a phone call away."
"What a comforting thought."
With a brilliant smile, he took my arm and led me through the masses towards where my exhibition would be. I glanced around to see if I recognized anyone standing by the ticketing desk but all of them were strangers. For some reason, that pleased me. I would rather have a large group of strangers at my show than a small group of friends. "Let's go check out the space for your exhibition, I am hoping that it meets your approval since I didn't have a ton of time to talk to you about it."
"I'm sure if you picked it, I will be happy with it."
Placing a hand over his heart, he let out a laugh. "You know just what to say to make a guy blush. But we better get moving before I do something we might regret since I'm pretty sure my bosses will not approve of any salacious behavior."
I laughed. "And here I thought you liked me."
_—_—_—_
The atrium had been transformed into the space I had imagined. The paintings that typically decorated the walls were gone, leaving the walls plain. The entire room was a stark white color that could easily be described as sterile. The vast room was basically empty of all furniture outside of the table and two chairs I had requested. There were chains provided by the museum to keep my show separated from the general public unless they took the seat across from me. Walking through the only gap between the chains, I moved towards the chairs and skimmed my hands along the backs of the chairs. The wood felt smooth and cool beneath my fingers, causing my lips to twitch into a smile. Perfect — everything was absolutely perfect. I glanced up to see that Aro remained near the entrance to the atrium, watching me get into my element. I was grateful. After a few moments of silence, I finally spoke the one word that was repeatedly on my mind, "Perfect."
"Perfect!" he responded with an excited expression. "The exhibition opens in an hour. What would you like to do?"
I smirked. "Go to the bathroom."
He shook his head and let out a loud laugh, which seemed to echo throughout the room. "Of course, of course." With an exaggerated bow, he offered me his arm and escorted me from the atrium to show me where the restrooms were. "Also, Marcus wanted me to make sure you are okay with the general public having access to your exhibition on the opening night. Most artists prefer to keep the public separated from their work on the first night. He said that you both had spoken about it, but he asked that I ensure this is still what you want."
"Of course it is," I said indignantly. "If I refused to give the public access to my exhibition from the moment it opened, how do I know that anyone will want to come during the rest of its duration here?" My eyebrows were raised in challenge, knowing that Aro was unaware of the fragile balance I had to maintain because I was a dubious type of artist.
His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You are a famous artist. Why shouldn't they come?"
I laughed, half out of frustration. "All of my exhibitions are controversial and not a certain success, despite the fact that I am a famous artist. I am worried that most people will be intimidated or even disturbed by what we are doing here; so, my first goal is to dissuade any fears from the moment we begin… And keeping the public from my exhibition is not the best way to do that."
His eyes widened slightly before he nodded in understanding. As he guided me through MoMA, I watched as his eyes flickered from art piece to art piece and I knew right away that he was evaluating whether anything was out of place. He had an eye for noticing the most minute details such as if anyone had touched the glass surrounding the art. He once told me that you could never trust anyone when it comes to art because after all, it was an employee that stole the Mona Lisa. I couldn't argue with that.
"Is Cauis coming to the opening tonight?" I asked curiously.
"Yes," he replied with a soft smile, the sort of smile that he only ever had when his boyfriend was mention. True love, such a costly affair. "He wouldn't miss your show for anything. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure he likes you better than me." He gave me a wink before bumping his hip against mine. Just a few steps away from where I stood was a sign that stated the bathroom was just down the narrow hallway. "Here is the bathroom, m'lady. Do you need any further assistance?"
"No, I'll meet you in the atrium when I'm finished. I doubt I will get lost." I released his arm and gave him a grateful smile before walking into the women's bathroom. A relieved sigh escaped me when I heard the door closed behind me and although I was grateful that Aro had been assigned to my exhibition, I knew that I wouldn't be able to maintain a clear head with his commentary. Resting my back against the door, I could feel the cool wood through the fabric of the red dress and I relaxed into it like I would a lover's embrace.
A lover's embrace, I scoffed internally. I hadn't experienced one of those in quite some time.
I glanced towards the bathroom stalls to make sure no one else was inside and would witness my private moment. It would be the last one I would have for a span of some hours and I anticipated how draining this would be for me. I was going to be completely vulnerable as the audience and I experienced a direct exchange of emotions in their rawest form. I couldn't wait for it to begin, and yet I wanted to prolong my private moment as long as possible.
I turned towards the bathroom mirror and braced myself against the edge of the counter, keeping a certain amount of distance from the water droplets that were sprinkled the surface. My eyes stared into my reflection with intense scrutiny, noting the lines age had created and the gray that was beginning to show intermittently through my hair. At one point, I would have admitted that I was beautiful by the world's standards but now, I could see the influence age had on my features.
I was no longer twenty — I was fifty-five with two failed marriages under my belt and no children; despite all of that, I did have a successful art career that I couldn't help being proud of. I'd given up many things for this art career and sometimes I wonder if my regrets out weigh the benefits of my success. In truth, I would probably have more regrets if I didn't become successful. I rarely allowed myself the opportunity to fixate on my regrets because I knew that my emotions could damage my art in diverse ways and this had become the one thing that mattered to me. In the back of my mind, I heard the soft notes of a piano playing a familiar song I hadn't thought about in years and heard in even longer.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed beyond the dangerous thoughts that washed over my mind and tried to center myself once more. All of these thoughts were regrets that I had no power to change. I hadn't noticed the slight trembling in my hands until I reached to turn on the faucet. A quick glance in the mirror told me that I was visibly shaken. My skin was white and my eyes had a half-crazed look in them. I steadied myself enough to turn on the water. I gathered a pool of water into my palms before I looked at myself one last time in the mirror and splashed the cool water on my skin. Pressing my wet hands against my face, I let out a shaky breath.
Focus. Clear your mind.
When my breathing had finally evened out and my skin had regained some of its color, I shut off the faucet that I had accidentally left running and grabbed a paper towel to dry my face off. As I scrubbed away any traces of my anxiety, I was grateful that I had chosen not to wear makeup for this exhibition. Deep inside, I knew that there was no one here to impress and I hoped my audience would appreciate seeing my face clear of any makeup. No facades, just the raw truth.
After I determined that I looked presentable once more, I opened the bathroom door and began to retrace my steps back towards the atrium. I didn't get far though before I felt a gentle tug on the back of my dress from what felt like a small child. Strange, I thought before turning around to see a little girl no more than five standing behind me. She seemed to be waiting for my attention. Her red hair was pulled into pigtails and her overalls covered a long sleeved green shirt. "Hello," I said, bending my knees until I was eye level with her. I ignored the protest my joints gave as I looked into her eyes, determined not to portray my pain.
"Hi I'm Maggie," she said in her high pitched, excited voice. "I like your dress."
It was strange to think that I was old enough to be her grandmother. "Thank you, Maggie. My name is Bella. I like your overalls. Do you think we should trade?" I teased.
She shook her head adamantly. "No, my clothes are too small for you and your dress is too big for me!" She held out her arms as wide as they could go to demonstrate the difference in our sizes.
"I guess you're right but I bet your clothes are more comfortable than mine."
"Maybe," she conceded, "but why are you dressed up?" Her wide blue eyes blinked at me and her open expression displayed curiosity. One thing that caught my attention right away was the fact that she didn't look around for a parent. It worried me. Where were her parents?
"I'm an artist and my show starts today. Shouldn't I be dressed up?"
"Yes," she responded solemnly. "When momma takes me to church, she makes me wear itchy dresses."
I laughed. "Lucky for me, this dress isn't itchy. Where is your momma?" I glanced around quickly to see if there was anyone nearby — there wasn't.
She shrugged. "She's a picture taker at a new show here."
Ah, a photographer. "Does she know where you are?"
"No, I told her I got to go potty but she was busy."
Biting my lower lip, I debated silently on the best plan of action. Should I go get her mother or should I escort her to the bathroom? I knew I wouldn't be much help to her if she needed any assistance inside of the stall because of my dress. I knew right away that it didn't matter one way or another if she had an accident. "Do you still have to go potty?"
She nodded eagerly. "That's why I got you. Momma was too busy. Can you come with me?"
I knew that she made it sound a lot easier than it actually would be but I certainly couldn't let Maggie wander alone through the museum without an adult. In that moment, I was grateful that I had asked the designed to include pockets on the dress and I reached into one of the pockets to grab my cell phone. I quickly sent Aro a text about my current situation and why I wasn't back at the atrium already. Standing up, I offered her my hand. "Let's go to the bathroom. By the way, do you know your momma's name?"
She thought about it for a moment before responding, "Bree Tanner." With that, she took my hand and practically dragged me into the bathroom behind her. I waited outside of the stall as she got situated and sent Aro another text with the name of her mother. It took a couple of minutes before the bathroom door burst open and a woman I didn't recognize rushed in.
"Maggie?" she cried out. "Are you in here, baby?"
"Yes, momma," was the response that Maggie gave from the other side of the stall. "I'm going potty."
Letting out a relieved sigh, the woman — Bree, I assumed — turned towards where I was standing and opened her mouth to say something, but stopped dead when she noticed it wasn't just a random stranger. "Ms. Swan," she gasped, her expression shifting from relieved to horrified. "I am so sorry! I didn't realize she had wandered away until I turned around to take her to the bathroom. I am so sorry. I don't know how to —."
"No thanks necessary and you certainly don't own me an explanation," I replied with a wave of my hand. "Your daughter is a wonderful little girl. However, I think I should be going now that you're here." I walked passed Bree Tanner before pausing at the door, a smile flitting across my lips. "I'll see you later, Maggie."
I left right away, knowing that Maggie would probably be in a lot of trouble now that the relief has worn off. I didn't really want to listen to it though. I liked the little girl too much to be okay with her getting reprimanded for needing to go to the bathroom. Sucking in a deep breath, I shook my head in an attempt to escape these thoughts.
Focus, I reminded myself. Clear your mind.
_—_—_—_
In my opinion, the first person to interact with me is the most daring. It took a lot of guts to face a stranger, especially an artist, with very little idea of what was expect of you. I always admired them and this time was no different. I could sense the woman's anxiety before she sat down and I hadn't even opened my eyes yet. The uncomfortable sigh she expelled allowed me to know she was a woman. I blinked my eyes briefly, scanning her appearance before returning my eyes to her. I could hear the clicking of cameras but I chose not to respond. Her blond hair fell around her face in waves and her eyes met mine nervously. I tried to encourage her with my eyes while refraining from responding physically. I could tell that my lack of outward response unnerved her even more. Hmm, perhaps she wasn't the best person to start with.
Slowly she began to relax and I was tempted to smile when she finally met my gaze confidently. Good, I thought. I didn't want the first person to participate in this to view it as a negative experience. I never wanted that. I viewed any exchange of emotion should never be regarded as negative. Eventually her turn was over and I closed my eyes briefly while the next person moved forward. Each time I opened my eyes and engaged in a moment of silence with the audience. I was pleasantly surprised that each person had a different emotional response to what I was doing.
One of the first people to sit across me was an elderly woman, who met my eyes passively as though she had spent her whole life dealing with stares. It was unnerving. She didn't shift under my unwavering gaze like some people did and I suppose I could attribute that to her age. I imagine that she was once quite the looker in her time and so she was used to people staring at her just as much as she was probably used to staring back in return.
A little while later, a man in his late twenties took up the chair and he seemed determined to glare at me throughout the entire time he had across from me. While it was intimidating, I could see that there was something hidden underneath his angry exterior and his eyes were clear of any emotion. Perhaps he viewed this exhibition as a test of sorts and was trying to get me to break character. I wasn't certain; yet, on the other hand, he seemed just as focused on not breaking his character even though his eyes weren't in it. In some ways, I hoped he would come back later on and I could have more time to analyze why he was being so cryptic. Another part of me hoped he wouldn't come back because I was certain I would break character for him. When he stood up, I felt a twinge of relief at no longer having to meet his gaze. My eyes quickly closed again, providing a brief sense of peace.
My body is fatigued. My eyes hurt, my back aches, and I can feel the rising urge to go to the bathroom. I let my eyes fall towards the table, noting that it was longer than the typical two person table. I knew that the design was to help the audience and myself maintain a comfortable amount of distance. It was already such a vulnerable position to be in and no one wanted to endanger the fragile balance created within the space. The next person was taking longer than usual to join me so I allowed my eyes to close again because I could feel the burning sensation at the back of my eyes as they threatened to water. When I heard someone take the seat across from me, I took a deep breath in and then opened my eyes once more. Cauis. If I could have smiled, I would have. His blond hair was styled in a purposeful disarray and he looked like he wanted to maintain a passive expression. Good luck, I thought. He had less practice than I did.
I wished that I could speak to him as I would have if I had run into him outside of the exhibition but I couldn't. In fact, I wouldn't. I watched with morbid curiosity as his facade began to crack under my stare and he eventually began to smile. I would've matched his smile in a heartbeat, feeling triumphant that I had made him drop the facade he was trying to wear, but once again I reined in the emotions I felt surging towards the surface.
Focus. Clear your mind.
I took a deep breath and I knew he could tell that my resolve was coming dangerous close to falling apart, so I wasn't surprised when he stood and returned to where the public was observing my performance. I watched silently as one of my good friends walked away and I could feel my lips twitch a little. No smiling, I reminded myself. My eyes fell closed and I centered myself once more. I repeated to myself the same thing I had said since I decided to attempt this:
I am Isabella Swan, a performance artist who is known for the ability to control emotions and explore the limits of the body and the mind. This wasn't the most difficult exhibition I had done; no, I saved that for one of my earliest exhibitions where I felt I had something to prove. I had laid out a total of seventy-two items on a table ranging from harmless to deadly during the exhibition and then assigned myself the task of remaining completely passive while the audience could essentially have their way with me. I held in every whimper when the audience cut me, refrained from every flinch when they handled the loaded gun, and fought to hide my fear because I knew that they would feed off it. For six hours, I forced myself to remain passive as the audience manipulated me to their pleasure, and when it was finished, my clothing had been stripped away and my body bore the wounds of an assaulted woman. Marks of the audience's aggression covered my body as blood trickled from the cuts they had made. The relief I felt was palpable and I had discovered to a degree the nature of humanity and how the world views the female body.
Back then, there were no barriers then like there are now, but it was nevertheless taxing on my body. Back then, I wasn't as experienced, cautious, and apprehensive as I was now. I had learned never trust anyone blindly from my marriages to Jacob Black and Riley Biers. They were both artists with larger-than-life egos and competitive personalities. I learned quickly that Riley couldn't handle my success like I had hoped, which led to our divorce. With Jacob, it took a bit longer to realize that he was subtly trying to change me into a trophy wife. I was old-fashioned when it came to relationships and I longed for the fairytale relationship where the man would accept me for who I am and love me for my drive. Without meaning to, green eyes flashed to mind, but I quickly blinked the image away and focused on the task at hand. I tried to ignore that my hands had begun to tremble again.
Focus. Clear your mind.
This time when I opened my eyes, I met the gaze of a woman who had taken the seat across from me. Her curly brown hair was swept over one shoulder and her eyes met mine with a gentleness no one else had displayed. I could sense that there was something different about her. She didn't wear a facade like Cauis, she wasn't angry like the other man, and she wasn't nervous either. The difference became obvious when I noticed her eyes were filled with tears. I felt a pang of guilt at my inability to respond properly to this emotional response, yet I felt that words would have ruined this very personal moment. She needed my silence. Perhaps she found something in my eyes that gave her the opportunity to release pent-up emotions. Maybe she had experienced something traumatic just prior to entering the exhibition. I hoped that it was because she felt some sort of connection to me that most of the audience attempted to distance themselves from. That was, of course, the purpose of this performance — to see if just the simple act of staring and silence could create a bond between the audience and the performer.
I watched as a single tear streaked down her face and I knew that she was almost finished with sitting across from me. Whatever she needed expressed had been and she could now move on. She stood, gave me a grateful smile, and rejoined the rest of the audience that stood on the outskirts of the room. A wave of peace covered me before I closed my eyes and I was tempted to sigh. There was another brief span of time between people and I began to wonder how long I had been sitting there without moving. During this private moment, my mind began blazing with unbidden thoughts and ideas as though I had just woken up from a long nap. However, the aching in my body told a different story. I could already feel where my body had stiffened and my eyes felt heavier and heavier with each passing moment.
At least I had decided to sit through this exhibition instead of stand, I concede. When I heard someone take the seat across from me, I began to repeat my mantra: focus. Clear your mind.
My eyes opened once more, expecting to meet another nervous gaze or at least something other than what I actually saw. My gaze was held captive by two very green eyes that sat across from me. Unavoidable tears filled my eyes as I looked at a man I hadn't seen in thirty years. It took everything in me not to gasp and break my passive pose, even though my tears gave away how emotional I actually was. He had grown more mature since I had last seen him, laugh lines were beginning to show and his hair was showing more gray than mine did. His eyes, although they still held the twinkle of mischief from our youth, softened and his expression changed from nervous to hopeful. I noticed that his eyes were appraising me just as mine had him and I could tell both of us were checking to see if the outward changes had really changed anything between us. I could still feel the electric charge between the two of us. No, not everything had changed.
His eyes filled with tears and I felt my lips curve into a smile, which was quickly matched with one of his own. He let out a deep breath and shook his head as if he couldn't believe he was here, sitting across from me after all of this time. My tears began to fall as he continued to look at me as though no time had passed since we were last together. I let out a shuddering sigh before I broke character entirely and reached across the table towards him. He chuckled slightly at my change in demeanor before grasping my hands in his own, the electric charge becoming more and more evident.
"It has been so long," he whispered softly. "You haven't changed one bit. You are still as beautiful as you were the day I met you."
I let out a soft sigh.
"I have missed you, Bella. I hope you know that." He gave my hands a squeeze, both of us ignoring the sound of cheering around us. He kept his eyes on mine. My eyes flickered away from his briefly to make eye contact with the only two men who knew about him. Cauis and Aro looked positively giddy at this new development, their hands clasped tightly as though they were watching the conclusion of the greatest romance movie ever created. If only real life was that easy. I knew they had something to do with this and I was determined to find out why they thought meddling in my life was a genius idea. Artists, I sighed internally, always looking for the chance to create the perfect picture.
"Edward," I breathed and watched as he gave me another breathtaking smile. I knew that this one word was all he wanted to hear as he let out a shaky breath. Age had not changed his effect on me. However, when I spoke, I realized how many rules I had broken the moment I saw him. I had to focus on the exhibition and not the man who I knew was the great love of my life and the greatest sacrifice I had ever made. I had hurt us both beyond imagining and his presence was baffling. I never thought I would see him again. I slowly pulled my hands away from him, allowing them to return to my lap. I gave him a soft look that expressed my emotions when I could not express them vocally while also showing him that I needed to distance myself once more from him. I watched him stand without breaking eye contact and then turned to return to the audience. With one last shuddering breath, I let my eyes close one last time.
I often thought of our relationship. The way I broke his heart was still raw for me. Some of my friends told me that it would get easier with age and that one day it would be hard to remember what or rather who ended our relationship. But for me, at least, the break up with just as raw as it had been the day I had done it. Time had not healed the wounds for me. Even though, back then, he was just Edward Cullen and I was just Bella Swan. I was an aspiring artist, following the new performing art movement, and he was a new and upcoming author. Back then, things were simple until they weren't anymore.
A/N:
This story is based on something that actually occurred in 2010. Bella is loosely based on the famous artist Marina Abramovic, who is known as the grandmother of performance art. The dangerous exhibition Bella depicts is one that Marina actually did during the 1970s. She has stated about the experience: "What I learned was that… if you leave it up to the audience, they can kill you… I felt really violated: they cut up my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere. After exactly six hours, as planned, I stood up and started walking toward the audience. Everyone ran away to escape an actual confrontation." This exhibition is called "Rhythm 0" and you can actually look at the images of her being manipulated by the audience. It is disturbing to say the least.
During the opening of her exhibition "The Author is Present", Marina was surprised by an old boyfriend by the name of Ulay. When she opened her eyes, she had anticipated seeing another stranger and was caught off guard to see a man who she had not seen for over thirty years. The video of the meeting is available on youTube. After viewing the video, I knew I had to write about what I pictured their story had been and what I hoped it would be. The deeply emotional and beautiful scene was captivating and I hope I did it justice. In the end Marina and Ulay will probably never bridge the gap between friends and lovers again but that is their story.
This is Bella and Edward's.
Next chapter: January 1, 1971 in Forks, Washington — three years before the dangerous exhibition Bella mentioned and thirty-four years before this chapter.