Serial 2

IV

Phillip and Charles stood for a moment next to the crane, giving each other sidelong glances. Phillip noted the pale blue scarf around Charles’ neck. It went well with his eyes, which were the type of icy blue that seems to penetrate a person. He felt a little shiver make its way down his spine. Terrified, he tried to imagine the force of it piercing the earth and soaring deep into its crust.

            “They’re all really beautiful,” Charles said gesturing at Phillip’s sculptures. Phillip started, pulled out of his imagination.

“Thanks,” he replied shyly, thankful that someone had broken the silence. He was worried that it might return, so he went on, “My friend Renee has some really incredible paintings in the next room. Do you want to come look at them with me?”

“That’d be great.” Charles grinned at Phillip, and they stepped out into the throng. Phillip wove his way between parents, teachers, fellow students, friends, and the occasional important-looking person who might have been a journalist or a benefactor come to see the show. Every so often, someone would recognize him, and stop for a quick handshake and a smile. Phillip kept finding himself turning around to ensure Charles was still behind him.

Renee’s paintings were incredible. She was mostly a portraitist, but there was the occasional landscape piece or still-life. What made Renee’s works unique though was that she never simply painted the figures or the landscape or the bowl of fruit; she painted them with dim undertones of vibrant pigment that one could only see upon close inspection. These undertones made her subjects appear to glow with color from within. Around them, she painted beautiful color abstractions that swirled or jagged, setting a tone for the painting.

Charles paused to look at one, letting his eyes soak in the swirling colors that redefined the figure’s features. Phillip stopped behind him, admiring the sweet, gentle curve of Charles’ hips as he rocked back and forth, thinking. Phillip realized that he was staring and shook himself abruptly. He sniffed a little, then stepped forward and stood abreast of Charles.

“They’re supposed to be ‘the real person’,” Phillip explained, “She got everyone she was close to, and painted them as she saw them. The colors are their true natures, I think, or their souls or something like that.”

“That’s really cool,” Charles said, a little breathless.

They continued to walk along, stopping every so often to inspect a painting more closely. At one such stop, the painting was of a lean young man, with lightly curled brown hair. In one hand was a chisel, and in the other a hammer. He was surrounded by rich indigos, ceruleans, and violets.

“Is this you?” Charles asked.

Phillip smiled shyly. “Yeah. Yeah it is. She said that it was a lot of fun because of all the cool colors.”

“But the inside is all red,” Charles said, pointing to the figure’s torso.

“Apparently, that’s my heart. She said that she saw it as something my ribcage couldn’t hold.

“Oh.”

Phillip hesitated nervously, but went on, “Hey. Do you wanna come see my studio?”

“I’d love to!” Charles seemed to glow with excitement.

Phillip let his hand slip into Charles’ and pulled him through the crowd toward the back door. Outside, the cold, Massachusetts’ night air hit them heavily. Charles pulled the blue scarf tighter around his neck.

“I like that scarf, by the way. It makes your eyes look incredible.”

“Thank you,” Charles laughed, smiling gently. He pushed back a shock of black hair that had flopped into his face.

            They walked at first across the empty, quiet lawn, but soon they were running, the greens of the trees and grass darkened by the early night. The circles of yellow light cast by the lampposts along the pathway seemed pointless though; the moon and stars were bright enough to see by. Breathless and laughing, they arrived at a tall, red brick building.

“The building is open 24/7, but you need a key to get into my studio,” Phillip said, “I had a lock put on mine after one of my pieces disappeared.” Phillip held the door to the main building open for Charles.

“Are you serious? That’s awful! I’m so sorry.”

            “It’s ok. I really loved that piece though. It was one of my birds. It was kind of a freak occurence too. I’d just finished it the night before (I was really proud of it), then I came back in the morning, it was gone, and one of my windows was smashed.”

            “They took it out the window?”

            “I definitely think the sculpture got out of the building that way,” Phillip said. Charles gave him an odd look.

            “Do you have any idea who took it?” Charles asked.

            “Nope.” Phillip put his key into the lock and opened the door to his studio.

            Phillip’s studio was a large room, perhaps twenty feet square. The walls and floors were stone, but you could barely see it through the thick covering of paint; one corner was nothing more than a blue stain. Supplies littered the floor. He had a bin of clay, rolls of wire, paper mache, canvases, oils, paint brushes, sculpting tools, uncarved stone, and blocks of wood strewn across every available surface.

The remaining space was filled with half-finished sculptures, some stunning, some not. There were a few birds, but they were the rejects of tonight’s show. There was a wooden cat with an unfinished tail, and the rough shape of a mermaid could be seen emerging from a chunk of white alabaster. On one end, was an abstract form composed of melting geometric figures.

“Oh. Don’t look at this one, it’s awful,” Phillip said, tossing a blanket over the abstract piece.

“I don’t believe that,” Charles said as he made to remove the sheet.

“I never like anything abstract I make. Please, leave it.” Phillip looked balefully at Charles. Charles looked at him for a moment, disappointed, and then reluctantly pulled his hand back from the sheet.

“Alright.”  Charles strolled through the room, stopping in front of the mermaid, “This is gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I think I might name her ‘Sylvia the Selkie’,” Phillip said, chuckling to himself.

“Don’t you think she needs a more serious name? She’s beautiful. It seems a shame to name her something flippant.”

“You think so? What would you name her?”

Charles spluttered, unsure of what to say. “I-uh-I have no idea. I didn’t make her…” He trailed off, blushing. Phillip let a small, clever smile lift the corners of his mouth, and for a moment he looked very much like his mother.

“I was thinking about naming her just ‘Selkie’ too.”

Charles grinned. “That’s much better, I think. It’s a nice, simple name.”

“’Selkie’ she is then.” Phillip smiled, and took Charles’ hand in his own with a light squeeze.

The clock tower on the other side of campus struck nine as they kissed.

Charles pulled back softly, blushing wildly. “I-I think I should go back now,” he said, “My mom is probably looking for me.”

“Yeah,” Phillip said, “My parents are probably looking for me too.”

They made their way back to the gallery in silence, the light-hearted fun of before dragging heavy and bloated on their ankles. They went their separate ways to look for their parents with nothing but the briefest of touches. Before they left though, Phillip handed Charles a slip of paper with the phone number for his dorm room. Phillip found his parents were still in his own exhibit. They smiled broadly as he approached them.

“This is all so amazing, Phillip,” Mr. Crane said, dwarfing his son in a tight embrace.

“It’s beautiful, baby,” Avia Crane chimed in, “That woman, Mrs. Parker seemed to love your work. She was positively bursting with pride when she walked out with one of your cranes.”

Phillip began to speak, fumbled, and then decided against it, nodding his head dumbly.

“But which is your favorite piece, son?” Mr. Crane asked.

“My favorite? I think that might be the instillation piece.” Phillip gestured above them to the 43 wire birds hanging above them.

“They’re excellent…they seem almost eerily alive,” Mrs. Crane said, looking up.

Mr. and Mrs. Crane left not long after that. They got in their car to drive home, leaving Phillip at the boarding school with promises of weekend visits and spring trips to the coast. That night, when the janitor came in to clean up the gallery after all of the guests had left, he noticed 43 lonely lengths of twine hanging from the ceiling, devoid of birds and waving in the wind coming from the high, open windows. He scoffed to himself, assuming it a failed attempt at modern art.

V

The next morning, Phillip woke up to a soft knock at his door. He slid his feet out from under the covers, wincing a little bit at the chill of the floor. He yawned massively as he walked to the door, grabbing a shirt from the back of his chair on the way. When he opened the door, clothed only in his boxers and a wrinkled, lilac T-shirt, Renee was standing there, her little fist held ready to knock a second time.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! It’s a beautiful Sunday morning and you’re wasting it away in bed! Wouldn’t you like to join me in the garden instead?” Renee’s breathy soprano rang out.

Phillip stood in the doorway, glowering at her for a moment, but all she did was smile back at him expectantly. He sighed.

“How long did it take you to come up with that little verse?” he asked.

“Oh, I made it up on my way across campus,” Renee said, “Now come on. Get some pants on and let’s go see how my peonies are doing!

Phillip muttered something about “effing morning people” and fumbled his way into a pair of dark blue jeans. Five minutes later he was sitting on the grass underneath Renee’s dorm window. Renee, armed only with a watering can and the wide-brimmed straw sunhat Mrs. Crane had given to her last Christmas, was tending to the flower bed she’d planted along the east-facing wall of her dorm building in sophomore year. She crooned little adorations to her lovelies as the sunlight shone its way inside of her auburn curls, lighting them on fire. Phillip was busy constructing a little man out of folded up and knotted blades of grass. Renee looked up from her work, wiping her hand across her cheek and leaving a little smudge of dirt.

“I think the show last night was pretty successful, don’t you?” she said, “Your mother bought my portrait of you, you know.

“I know,” Phillip said, focused on the shoulders of his little grass figure.

            “Then, of course, there was that boy.” Renee smiled mischievously, but turned her face away from Phillip and back to her garden, feigning disinterested.

Phillip smiled, then said softly as though to himself, “His name is Charles.”

            “Charles,” Renee said, tasting the name inside her mouth, “It’s a nice name, sort of regal. Do you like him?” She had turned back to Phillip now, all pretense of nonchalance gone, lying down in the grass beside him. Phillip’s lips turned up a little more as he delicately tucked the end of a blade of grass inside the man’s neck.

            “Yeah. He’s really sweet and funny,” Phillip said, “When I look at him I feel like my lungs are full of a breath I can’t let go of.” Phillip looked very happy in his reverie, but after a moment of it he turned his face back up to Renee, “He liked your paintings by the way.”

            Renee squealed in delight. “Did he really? Oh, that’s so great! Phillip, I swear, if you don’t pursue this, I will beat you over the head with my watering can. You are going to pursue it, aren’t you?”

            “I think so,” Phillip said, “I mean, I don’t really know how these things work, I’m not exactly experienced, but I gave him my number and all that, so maybe he’ll call.”

            “Maybe?” Renee said indignantly, “Phillip, if he doesn’t call you back than he’s out of his mind.” Phillip turned the finished grass man over in his hand. Renee leaned over him to look at it more closely. “Jesus,” she breathed, “Phillip the detail in that is incredible. He’s even got knee caps!”

            Just then, a shadow fell across the two of them. They looked up and saw Mrs. Delmorena, their teacher advisor. Her thin, pretty face was drawn in with grim lines, and her normally bright eyes were shadowed by creases of worry.

“Phillip, can I talk to you for a moment?”

            Both Phillip and Renee sat up in the grass. Phillip put his grass man down in the dirt of Renee’s garden where he’d be able to see it later. Renee’s little dark brows knit themselves together with confusion.

“Sure,” Phillip said, “What is it?”

“Phillip, I am so sorry,” Mrs. Delmorena said, “But it seems that one of your pieces has disappeared. Your paper bird installation is gone.” Mrs. Delmorena ran her hands through her hair in agitation. “I can’t see how it could have happened, but the birds are all gone. The wires are still hanging from the ceiling, but someone took the birds. At first we thought they might have been blown out of an open window, but no one has seen any sign of them, and I can imagine they were blown off of campus. I’m so sorry, Phillip. The school’s doing everything it can to find them.

Phillip looked from somber Mrs. Delmorena and over to Renee, who had a hand over her mouth trying to hold back the little dots of tears in her already watery blue eyes. Then, he looked down at his hands, stained lightly green with grassy juices, and said, “It’s alright. I mean, it’s an installation piece, so permanency isn’t necessarily its purpose. It’s almost poignant for them to fly away, don’t you think?”

Renee looked at Phillip as if he’d suggested the sun revolved around the earth. Mrs. Delmorena just smiled tightly and said, “Well, we’re still working on it, Phillip, but I’m glad you’re taking this as well as you are. Rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to find your piece.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Delmorena,” Phillip said. She nodded to both he and Renee, then turned on her heel and walked down the path towards the faculty offices. Phillip glanced over at Renee who was still looking shocked.

“Phillip,” she said, “That’s so awful that someone would do that. I can’t even believe it. It shows a complete lack of respect for your work. I’m sure that the school will catch whoever did it and- and- well I’m not sure what the school would do to them, but I’m sure they’d deserve it!”

            “Renee, it’s not the end of the world. Besides, I don’t know that we should assume that ‘someone’ did it. What if they just disappeared?”

            Renee looked curiously at Phillip, considering what he’d said, and then apparently coming to some decision within herself, said, “Yes. I suppose that’s possible.” She paused for a moment, “Phillip, do you think I’ll get to paint Charles?”

            “I don’t see why not,” Phillip said, and then standing up continued, “Hey, I think I’m gonna go work in my studio for a while. I’ll see you later, ok?”

            “Ok,” Renee said, also standing and brushing the dirt off of her skirt, “I’ve got a history paper I need to write anyway. Come by later if you want alright? I don’t want you to feel alone right now.”

            “Maybe. Thanks,” Phillip smiled. He remembered his little grass man in Renee’s garden and bent down to pick it up, but he didn’t see it anywhere. He frowned to himself for a moment and straightened back up.

            “What is it?” Renee asked.

“Nothing,” Phillip said distractedly. He turned to leave with her, but shot a glance back at the garden. He thought he saw a little green blur dash its way through Renee’s peonies, but he couldn’t be certain.