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Lexa arrived at the gallery five minutes to five. An empty hall had huge glass windows and simple wooden benches. The air was saturated with the bitter smell of strong coffee.
This is not a date, she tried to calm herself down. Then why did you go full-on heroin chic? Let's try not to wake up with raccoon eyes in the morning.
To calm her nerves, she started reciting The Bill of Rights in the descending order. Clarke showed up when no soldier would be quartered without the owner's permission.
"I'm sorry, I got held up."
She unbuttoned her grey princess coat to reveal a dark blue high waist dress. Complete with black round-toe pumps and a matching clutch, her outfit looked both sexy and sophisticated. For a moment Lexa had second thoughts about her own all-black casual attire, but then she remembered that this wasn't a date.
They went around the gallery that was showcasing young artists' work. Some of it was bizarre to an extreme, like the paintings of snowmen, which made Lexa throw her hands into the air and laugh out loud. That's one phobia she didn't need!
She looked around searching for Clarke, who was standing behind her. Clarke pointed at a lonely snowman in the playground eating a carrot that used to be his own nose. She rotated her index finger at her temple and mouthed, "Cuckoo." It made Lexa giggle.
One of the artists painted women's bodies from the neck to their thighs. Most of his work had been done in red and black ink. Lexa didn't know whether she was supposed to walk along with Clarke or do what seemed natural to her. At the moment she was staring at one of the red naked women trying to narrow down what exactly the purport of the series was supposed to be.
Clarke joined her silently. Lexa turned her head to look at her facial expression but Clarke was hard to read. Lexa sized her up and smiled a genuine smile. Her not date was gorgeous in that dress. Her perfume smelled like freshly watered flowers. Lexa decided she would shadow Clarke from now on in case she wanted to share something.
Occasionally, Lexa had an urge to touch one of the paintings, to feel the oil on the canvas, which made her feel immature. She really wanted Clarke to think that she appreciated art but she felt awkward in this place. She watched her from the corner of her eye, curious what's going on in her head. However, she never asked the question she dreaded herself. By the time the visit to the amateurs' show was over, Lexa was more than ready for the promised drink.
She realized that they had spent almost an hour barely talking, and that was the first with Clarke. Lexa didn't like it how suddenly Clarke felt like a total stranger, yet she was intrigued by this new alter ego in pumps.
When they sat down in a bar at a four-star hotel Clarke asked, "You don't like fine art?" She didn't have to raise her voice at all over the mild buzz of chatter and lounge music.
"I know what I like and that wasn't it." Lexa wasn't sure if she felt like aperitif or hard liquor.
"What is it then?"
"Renascence. Or anything else for that matter as long as it is served in Italy." She'd have Prosecco.
"You travelled a lot?"
"One time I went around Europe when I did a semester abroad in Oxford. You?"
"Only locally."
"You have to go to Italy, Clarke. And not just because you're an artist, but food and wine," she brought the fingers of her right hand together, lifted it to her mouth and rolled her eyes, "buonissimo!"
"You speak Italian?"
The waiter took their order. Two Bellinis.
"I picked up some on the road. Though seriously, you have to visit Rome for the city, atmosphere, culture, food, bars… Florence for the Uffizi, Milan for nightlife and Venice just to say you've been there."
"I thought Venice was supposed to be the most beautiful city on the planet."
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Clarke. To me, it's Rome."
The waiter brought their cocktails in champagne flutes.
"Though Venice has a lot to offer," she raised her glass. "Case in point."
Clarke raised her glass in return.
"To the places we've been to and to those we shall soon visit," toasted Lexa.
They both took a sip and put their glasses on the table. Lexa started fiddling with the stem of her champagne flute.
"Where would you like to go?" Clarke asked.
"I think Japan is fascinating but I have to learn at least some Japanese before I go."
"Why don't you do it now?"
Because I don't want to commit to something I can't finish.
Lexa shrugged.
"Have you ever wanted to go anywhere?" she asked.
"I was thinking of going to art school in Europe."
"Why didn't you?"
"Medicine."
"So go now!"
"I can't just drop my life and go."
"You're not going to space! Just art school."
"I wanted to go to Florence."
"Though I support your desire for Italy wholeheartedly, isn't there something more local? Institute of fine arts? A studio with evening classes?"
"I was just dreaming of Florence. I don't even know if there is an art school."
"In Florence?" Lexa almost spilled her wine. "Like I said, you should go. And if you want to, you must go. Better yet, forget you ever wanted to be a surgeon, imagine you're 20 and just be an artist."
"I'm not twenty, Lexa."
"Your Facebook picture says otherwise. You were born for this, Clarke. Holding on to your past robs you of your present."
"I'm not holding on to anything."
"You're working for a museum, except you're a scientist. I'd say that's holding."
"What about you? What do you want?"
"I want to practice law again."
"How long till then?"
"About nine months."
"Enough to do something meaningful." Lexa detected a note of disapproval.
And that's what I intend to do.
"I don't have an artistic talent, I don't make videos that collect billions of likes!"
"I don't collect billions!"
"Whatever. I just lie low till I can be useful."
"You still can be if you want to. What do you want now?"
The idea of going there was exhausting like pushing a broken cart full of bricks up the hill, but hey, no one expected soul-searching to be a walk in a park!
"Nothing. I want to be inspired to want something."
They sipped their cocktails in awkward silence.
"Did you finish House of Cards?"
Though Lexa knew that Clarke was merely trying to make conversation, she still sneered.
"Realistically, when would I?"
"What did you do this morning?"
"Walked the pup and read Bluebeard."
"The fairy tale?"
"No, Kurt Vonnegut."
"Your favorite author?"
"I'd say. Yours?"
"I don't have one in particular. Right now I like Rumi." Clarke searched for something in the yellow bottom of her drink.
Lexa gave her a mistrusting look. For as much as she wanted Rumi to be Clarke's favorite author, her experience said she missed the mystical mark completely.
"What do yo like about him?"
"His love poetry."
"You do know it's about God?"
"He wrote about a woman."
"And a man. And everyone and their brother. But in fact, it's all about the inner self connected to everyone comprising God."
"How do you know all that?"
"He was a Sufi."
Clarke questioned her with the narrowed eyes.
"The beloved is everywhere. Like Kurt Vonnegut said, a purpose of human life is to love whoever is around to be loved."
"Were you an English major or something?"
"Psychology. Like I said, I read fiction." Then Lexa added teasingly, "So, Rumi and Harry Potter?"
"What makes you think that?"
"I took a course on how to spot Harry Potter fans. That and the fact that you brewed a love potion on your channel."
"That was a Valentine's special."
Lexa was feeling a nice buzz. She got more comfortable on the couch.
"Do you have a special Valentine?"
Clarke looked up with a spark of curiosity (or was it alcohol?) and shook her head no. Lexa gave a wan smile and had a sip.
"So, which Hogwarts house are you?" Lexa gestured to the waiter to bring two more Bellinis.
"I'm Griffin-dor," Clarke grinned ear to ear.
"How smartass of you."
"And you're Ravenclaw?" Clarke's words made Lexa sit up taller. "And you take a lot of pride in that, don't you!" Clarke laughed. "I had a Raven friend in college. She was an engineering major. I swear, sometimes she got off on the nerdiest geekiest things, and she could care less that no one understood her."
"I'm sure it was not true, Clarke. People want to be understood. And if they are not, they grow thick skin and laugh it off."
"Spoken from experience?"
"Not really. The climb to the top is at the heart's core of our nation. Once you're there though, it's a whole different game. But I wouldn't know."
"It's a game to you, Lexa." Clarke wasn't asking. And for a second Lexa felt as though she had been made.
"Life is a game, Clarke. We are taught that the winner takes it all."
"What about family, relationships, love?"
"Love? Love is just a game. Unless it's Rumi's kind of love."
"I don't know what it means."
"Me neither."
"Then why do you think everything else is a game, except that?"
"Everybody pays attention to pictures of people. No one pays attention to people. Love is connecting the souls. Human love is superficial, however."
"So, what is the purpose of your life, Lexa?"
"It used to be law, now it's waiting to be a lawyer again."
"Why is it so important to you to be a lawyer?"
"Why is it so important to you to be a doctor, Clarke?"
"It's not. You say I'm holding on to the past but you can't live your own life without law. You pretend you want nothing but to get back to work. I might be a hypocrite, Lexa, but you are a liar. You want things, you have desires and they have nothing to do with law."
It was spoken with such conviction that for a moment Lexa was lost for air. Clarke took the charge, and despite the relentlessness of her words, Lexa felt strong attraction to the other woman.
"I have to go walk Lincoln." Lexa rose from her sit, searching for her wallet in her shoulder bag.
"You're running away from yourself."
"I'm not. On the contrary."
"Then stay."
Clarke's tone didn't hold any signs of plea. She was sitting straight, chin up looking Lexa in the eye, her lips slightly curved up. Lexa's defenses lowered on the spot.
"I'll give you one more drink," she surrendered with a smile and lowered herself back on the sofa.
"Dinner."
"No, Clarke, a drink. I really have to get home soon."
"Sheesh, you're harsh," said Clarke after their drinks had been served.
"You think I'm harsh? But that's what gives me faith; otherwise there'd be no point in playing this game."
"Are you talking about suicide?"
"There is no death, Clarke. Only reincarnation into a different body and then you continue playing this game."
"Reincarnation? You believe in it?"
"I do."
"So, there is no murder?"
"Oh, there is murder, except not for the victim."
"What do you mean?" Clarke frowned.
"Think about it. The victim's soul just reincarnates and their new body doesn't remember what the murderer has done, but the killer goes on and what they've done will haunt them until the end of their days."
Lexa raised her hands palms up as if balancing the fates of the killer and the victim.
"Do you think it's possible to remember your former life?"
"I really don't know, Clarke."
"In a dream, maybe?"
"I wouldn't know if it's my former life but I definitely dream of something."
"I get serial dreams. Like, wars and gas attacks and bomb shelters."
"I dream of woods and cutting people with a sword."
"Do you think it means something?"
"I know it means nothing to me. Except maybe I should get out of the city more and take up martial arts. I'm sure Lincoln would love to go to the country."
"Why don't you?"
"I don't have a car."
"I have a car."
"Whatcha doin' next weekend?" Lexa asked playfully, biting at her lower lip and cautiously raising both eyebrows.
"Driving you to the woods. Please, keep your swords at home, ok?" Clarke laughed.
Lexa smirked at her cheek.
They bantered a bit more till Lexa decided she had to go before she did anything drastically stupid. She felt tipsy. Sparkling wines did that to her. She remembered that she forgot to have lunch. She hated drinking on an empty stomach. Why didn't I say yes to dinner? She thought that whatever they chose to do the following weekend should include food.
Later, when content Lincoln curled up in a ball on his bed, Lexa stood with a mug of hot tea looking outside into the bright lights of the city. She wished she could have turned off her head and focus on the process rather than the result. She burned her tongue on her scorching tea, but she didn't care. She thought that maybe if she dared to dream and didn't overthink every detail for once, her ego would blossom into a spirit capable of more than just mere existence. That was a tall order.