The Muse (12 page)

            “Can’t you tell me anything?”

            Donald Watson smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile.  “Mr. Moore, please don’t take offense to what I’m about to say.  I want my daughter as far away from your part of town as possible.  You represent that kind of life, those kinds of people.  I have no intention of giving you a way to find her.  She finally took the step to leave that life behind, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.  Leave my daughter alone.  She will be better off in New York.”

            Gibson stood there in a state of shock.  If she made it to New York City, he would never be able to track her down. 

            “When does she leave?” he asked as he headed to the door.

            “Who knows?” Mr. Watson said with obvious joy.  “She may already be on a train.”    

            Gibson left without another word, rushing out the door.

            Gibson knew there wasn’t another moment to waste.  He had to make it to that train station in hopes of finding Faith before she left for New York.  If she made it out of the city, he would likely never find her again.  He couldn’t let that happen.  This was his chance.  He couldn’t blow it.   

            He hailed a cab and told the driver to take him to the train station as fast as he could.  The cabbie nodded and put the taxi in drive.  Gibson tapped his foot impatiently and fidgeted nervously.  He hated being at someone else's mercy, hated having his fate rest in the hands of a cab driver who didn't care one way or the other how things turned out. 

            “Going out of town?” the driver asked.  The man was middle-aged with salt-and-pepper hair.  He had tired eyes and the expression of someone who has seen far too much and just doesn't care anymore.  Gibson fast-forwarded his life twenty years and saw a little of himself in the cab driver.  He couldn't allow that to happen. 

            “I'm trying to get to the train station and keep the girl I love from getting on board.”

            “Is this a hidden camera show?” the cab driver asked, smirking.  “This sounds like a romantic comedy.”

            Gibson scowled.  “And yet, I don't seem to be laughing.”

            “Still, you must see the humor in it.”

            “Just get me to the train station,” Gibson said.  The driver sped up, and Gibson sat back in his seat, unwilling to talk about this anymore.      

            The world was a wash of colors that streaked by on either side.  Gibson sat there, mind racing, thinking how things seemed to pass him by like all of the things seen through the windows of the cab.  Life was passing him by all around him in so many blurred colors, and he was tired of it.  He wanted to put the brakes on and stop the world for a while so he could enjoy all of the good things.  But for now, there simply wasn't time.  He had to hurry. 

            He was an artist who worked in a world of color.  Everything he saw was rendered in brush strokes and bright hues.  Yet, he was living in monochrome, and for the briefest of moments, Faith had allowed him to wake up in a prism, where everything had a tint to it if you held it to the light in just the right way.  He wanted that back and knew there was no other way to have that kind of Technicolor vision without Faith.  Time was running out.    

            “Can’t you go any faster?” he asked.  “I need to make it there as soon as possible.”

            “Not for what you’re paying me, Romeo,” the cabbie snapped at him.  “We’ll get there when we get there.”

            Gibson slumped back against his seat again, defeated.  Part of him envisioned a storyboard ending where he would find Faith at the station, confess his love for her, and keep her from leaving.  Part of him, a big part of him, figured she was already gone.  He remembered the smug look of satisfaction on Donald Watson's face as he revealed that his daughter was leaving town for good.  Gibson was fighting against forces far greater than he, and he was losing.       

            Who was he kidding?   

            He and Faith had shared a few experiences.  He still barely knew her.  She didn’t really know him either.  What would make her stay here?  What did he have to offer her that someone else couldn't give?   

            Maybe he was prolonging the inevitable by going to find her.  What if he found her and she politely refused him?  What then?  If he had been depressed before, he would be even worse if something like that were to happen.  Maybe it was better just to let her go.  He considered telling the cab driver to stop and let him out at the next corner.   

            Then Gibson stopped and thought about the events of the last few days and realized that maybe he was wrong about giving up.  There were reasons to fight.  He thought about meeting Faith that day on the steps leading up to the apartment building and how she had surprised him by being a different kind of person than he had imagined.  He thought about the inspiration that had driven him to paint her portrait and the subsequent disappointment of going to show it to her, only to discover that she had a date.  He remembered going out with Josie from the train station and realizing that his heart wasn't in it because he couldn't stop thinking about Faith.  He thought about venturing back home, finding Faith on the steps again, and how he had wanted nothing more in that moment than to be the white knight that rode in on his steed and rescued the fair princess from the evil dragon named Calvin.  He thought about the kiss, the dance in the diner, the magical walk home, and the eventual fight with Calvin.  He thought about the ride to the local precinct and the pep talk that Willie had given him while behind bars.  He thought about Faith's letter to him.  He thought about going to Donald Walton’s office to track Faith down and now rushing to the train station to stop her from running away.  So much had happened in such a short amount of time.  The dominoes in this Rube Goldberg contraption were toppling one by one, and who knew where things would end up.  Gibson felt like he was on a speed date with Fate, and this rapid-fire succession of events had to mean something.  This was more than just happenstance.  This was destiny, and Gibson couldn't just throw his hands up without going after what he wanted.  He didn't know how all of this was going to end up.  What Gibson did know, however, was that he had come too far to stop now.  He couldn't surrender yet.

            Still, he was afraid.  Afraid at what he might discover.  Afraid at what he might lose...or afraid of what he might gain.  This was all so alien and new to him.     

            After several minutes, the cabbie pulled up to the train station and demanded his money.  Gibson wasn’t nearly in as much of a hurry as he was before.  The cabbie noticed.

            “I got you here as fast as I could,” he protested.  “Don't you even care now?”

            “It’s not that,” Gibson said.  “I think I’m already too late.”

            The cabbie didn’t understand and merely shrugged his shoulders.  “It's your dime, buddy.” 

            Gibson paid the man and entered the train station, dejected. 

            The place was pandemonium.  People were rushing around to catch their train, frantically hauling luggage behind them.  Food vendors were hawking their delicacies to anyone with an appetite and a few bucks.  A couple of musicians with an open guitar case played and sang old Beatles songs for donations.  Ticket agents were helping commuters board.

            “Decide you want another sketch competition?” a familiar voice said.

            Gibson turned around and saw Josie smiling at him.  He smiled weakly.  “Hey Josie.”

            “That’s not the reaction I had hoped for,” she said.  “You okay?” 

            “I’m sorry,” Gibson said.  “I came here looking for someone.”

            Josie’s face filled with understanding.  “Ah, I see.  Would this, by any chance, be the one who caused you to skip out early on our dinner?”

            Gibson nodded.  “I’m afraid so.  She’s on her way to New York City.  I wanted to catch her before she left.”

            “Is she gone for good?” Josie asked.

            “I think so,” Gibson said.  “But it wasn’t because of anything I did.  She and I had just started to click.”

            “Well, maybe she hasn’t left yet.  Maybe we can find her.”

            “I don’t know,” Gibson admitted.  “Her father wasn’t really forthcoming with information.  I’m not even sure what time her train was supposed to leave.”

            “There are dozens of trains leaving out for New York City,” Josie said.  “Let’s start looking for her.  I just need to know what she looks like.”

            “I don’t have a picture,” Gibson said, defeated. 

            “You have a picture up here,” Josie said, tapping her skull.  She handed him her sketch pad and pencil.  “Make me a copy.”

            “You don’t have to help me do this,” Gibson said.  “I’d even understand if you refused to help me.  You would be the last person I would expect to want me to find her.”

            Josie laughed.  “You and I became friends the other day.  I don’t have many of those.  Obviously, I had hoped that you might be more than that.  But you didn’t break my heart.  You were honest with me, and I can respect that.  So, in the interest of friendship, I’m going to help find your girl.  What’s her name?”

            “Faith.”

            Josie smiled again.  “Very fitting.  It must be a sign.  Let’s find your girl.”

            Gibson thought about Faith and how beautiful she was.  He remembered the way he had been gripped by inspiration in his apartment and how he had painted her from memory, pulling her image out of the ether of his mind.  He remembered the way she had looked up at him, sitting on those steps, eyes filled with fat, wet tears.  He remembered the way she fell into his arms, pressing her lips softly against his.  The memory was a reminder of why he was here searching for her, and he used it to fuel the fire of his determination.

            With a renewed sense of purpose, he began to draw, to create the memory of Faith that was stuck in his mind.  She was his muse, and he sketched her, more inspired than he had ever been before.  This was more than a work of art.  This was a lifeboat he was drawing, one that might save his life…and hers.

            He worked like a man possessed, and soon, there was the face of an angel staring back at him from Josie’s sketchpad.  Josie whistled.  “You know how to pick ‘em, Gibson,” she said with a smile.  “She’s gorgeous.  Is she real or did you make her up?”

            “She's real,” Gibson said.  “I may be pathetic, but I'm not that far gone yet.” 

            “Come on,” Josie said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.  “There’s something we’ve got to do first.”

            “What?”

            “You’ll see,” Josie said.

            She stopped at the train station’s business center.  It was a small building down from the ticket counters.  Fax machines, computers, and printers were available for a fee for the businessmen and women who needed to do some last minute work before catching their train.  “We can’t search for a missing person without fliers,” she said.

            She went in without any more explanation and returned with a stack of posters all featuring Faith’s likeness.   

            “We will hand these out and post them all around the train station.  One way or another we will find her.”

            They spent the next hour scouring the crowds, searching for Faith, passing out the likeness of her that Gibson had drawn from memory.  Initially, Gibson had been buoyed with hope, sparked by Josie’s enthusiasm and willingness to help.  Yet, the longer they searched, the heavier his heart grew.  More likely than not, she was already on her way to the Big Apple.  More likely than not, he had already lost her for good.  Which meant he was just wasting his time.  He decided to try one more thing.