The Muse (6 page)

            Gibson sat his coffee down and clasped his hands in front of him.  “Born and raised.”

            “We seem to have a lot in common,” Josie said, obviously happy about the fact.  “We're both artists from the city.  We both like coffee.”

            “Indeed we do,” Gibson said.  “Have you ever been married?”

            “Once,” Josie admitted.  “I was too young to know any better.  I did all of the things I thought I was supposed to do.  I found a guy who was decent enough, dated him for a couple of years, and got married at the ripe old age of 19.  But I was too young.  I didn’t know what I wanted.  I didn’t know what marriage involved.  I wasn’t smart enough to realize I wasn’t in love.  We barely made it to the end of the first year.  Once the divorce was final, I kind of lost myself for a while.  I felt like a failure and hadn’t even reached 21.  I started drawing and painting as a sort of therapy.  I had always heard about artists pouring themselves into their work, finding outlets for their pain, and I thought I’d do the same thing.  Turns out I wasn’t very good at the dark subject matters.  I invariably found myself drawn to light, happier themes.  Like love.  I decided to go to art school not long after the divorce, and I basically reinvented myself.  Graduating from art school was my way of hitting the reboot button on my life.  Josie version 2.0.  What about you?  Ever marry?”

            “Not even close,” Gibson said.  “There was somebody once upon a time, and she broke my heart.  Since then, I’ve always been a bit of an introvert.  Never been much of a people person.  I’ve spent most of my life lonely.  Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.  I don’t have much of a social life, don’t care about going out and meeting people, but yet feel like I’m missing out on so many good things because I don’t have anyone to share them with.”

            “But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Josie said, smiling and doing her best not to dote too much.  “You and I are both lonely.  Maybe this is serendipity.”

            “Or maybe this is like one of those support groups.  Hi, my name is Gibson, and I am alone.  Now, your turn.”

            “You're very cynical,” Josie said. 

            “I've had years to perfect this demeanor.”

            “Maybe I'm just what you need to help you thaw.”

            “I'm not cold.”

            “Well, you aren't warm either.”

            Gibson could feel his temper rising and knew that Josie might be wrong about that.  He was about to get very angry with her and her assumptions.  Yet, he decided to try the scenic route to getting his point across instead of leveling a missile at her head.  “I'm not in a good place mentally right now, and I think maybe this might be a little bit unfair to you.”

            “Oh, how so?  All I want to do is get to know you a little better.”   

Gibson couldn’t help feeling like she was trying too hard.  “Josie, you seem like a very nice woman, but I’m not sure you and I are in the same place in our lives.  You’re eager to find someone, and in a way, so am I but…”

            “Uh oh,” she said.  “Is this the part where you make an excuse about having someplace to be and making a quick getaway?”

            “Not exactly,” Gibson said, laying a few dollars on the table to cover the cost of the coffee.  “I'm just not sure how to tell you about myself when there are so many things even I don't know.  I've got some soul-searching to do.  I hope you can understand.  I'm not sure what I'm looking for, and until I am sure, I don't feel it would be fair to go down this road.”

            Josie nodded and smiled sadly.  “You're right.  Coffee is a very dangerous road indeed.”

            “You know what I mean,” Gibson said.  “And I feel like I should be completely honest with you.  Like I said, I’m a good guy, and that’s what good guys do.  I have met someone that I think may be right for me, but there are a lot of obstacles that I have to overcome.  I’m very sorry.”

            Josie’s face changed.  She switched from her mask of adoring, potential girlfriend to one of understanding friend.  She touched his hand, but there was nothing flirtatious in the gesture.  It was more of a comforting gesture, meant to reassure him.  “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Gibson.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s that you can’t choose who you care about.  That’s one of the beautiful things about love.  When it happens, it’s wonderful and there’s nothing you can do about it.  That person is all you can focus on, all you can think of.  Your mind goes to different places than it went before, and all you can imagine is what life might be like if that person was in your life on a more permanent basis.  That's where your head is at right now.”

            “I’ve just really started talking to this girl and getting to know her.  But she intrigues me in ways I’ve never been intrigued before.  She…inspires me.”

            “That’s the highest compliment an artist can give to another person.  She’s your muse.  And muses, as I’m sure you know, only come around once in a lifetime.”

            “I wasn’t trying to lead you on,” Gibson said. 

            Josie laughed.  “If there’s one thing you weren’t doing, it was leading me on.  If anything, I was the one dragging you kicking and screaming to have coffee with me.”

            “It wasn’t like that,” Gibson said, a little bit ashamed of the way he had acted.

            “Maybe not,” Josie admitted.  “But I could tell this wasn’t what you were looking for.  I was just hoping it might be for me.”

            “I’m sorry,” Gibson said. 

            “I understand.  I hope you find what you're looking for, Gibson.  You seem like a nice guy.  Maybe I'll see you around at the train station again.  Maybe I'll get a chance to draw you again one of these days.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll show up at The Square one day and steal some of your customers.”

            Gibson smiled and placed a hand on top of hers.  “Count on it, and maybe the next time I won't look so gruff.  Take care, Josie.”

            He waved at her once over his shoulder and walked out of the coffee shop as quickly as he could.  The moment he left he felt like an idiot.  He spent day after day moping around and complaining about being lonely.  Today, he met someone who was actually interested in him, and he left her without really giving things a chance.  Was he one of those artist types who needed to feel tortured in order to be validated?  Was he the kind of person who was never happy unless they were unhappy? 

            Gibson trudged home, pondering all of those questions, wondering if he was capable of figuring out the answers.  Overhead, the skies were a dull gray.  No sun.  No birds singing.  No kids outside playing.  Just gloom and lots of it.  It seems that Mother Nature was modeling her mood after his own today.

            About halfway home, the clouds opened up and rain pattered down on him.  For a moment, he imagined himself as little more than smudges of paint on one of his own canvases.  He imagined the rain washing him away little by little until there was nothing left of him.  It wasn't such a bad thought.  Yet, he wasn't the kind to run from his problems.  He would meet them head on and wallow in them before he would turn tail and flee. 

            What did he really want?   

            He was soaked to the skin when he got back to the apartment.  The rain was little more than a summer shower, and by the time he made it back to his building, the sun was back out again.  Apparently, Mother Nature was as schizophrenic as he felt, sad one moment, happy the next.

            His clothes were wringing wet, and his shoes made squishing sounds with each step that he took.  Rivulets of rainwater ran down his scalp, sliding down his cheeks and down the back of his neck.  He needed to dry off and was eager to get up to his apartment so that he might change clothes and get warm again.

            Yet, Fate had something to say about that.  Apparently, she had been collaborating with his muse on what was best for him.  Faith was sitting on the steps again.  This time she was weeping openly, her head buried in her hands. 

            For a moment, Gibson didn't know what to do.  Faith cried so hard her entire body shook, and he wondered if someone had died.  He considered leaving her alone, then realized that he couldn't just walk away without making sure she was ok. 

            He rushed over to her, worried.  “Are you ok?”

            Faith lifted her tear-streaked eyes to meet his concerned gaze.  “Oh, great!  Why did it have to be you?” she said.  “Out of all the people that come in and out of this building, you had to be the one to find me.  Can my luck get any worse?  I'm such an idiot.”

            Gibson wasn't sure how to take that and resisted the urge to be sarcastic.  “I'm sorry,” he said, not at all sure what he needed to be apologizing for.  Then, he saw why.  The bruise darkened over Faith's left cheek like a thunderhead before a storm.  She covered it shamefully the moment she knew he had seen it.   

            “Oh my God!  What happened?” Gibson asked. “Who did this to you?”

            “Nobody,” Faith said.  “I had an accident.  I tripped and hit my face on the door.”

            “No way,” Gibson said.  “We're not playing this game.  Somebody hit you.  I want to know who it was.”

            Faith shook her head and buried her face in her hands again.  “I can't,” she sobbed.  “I'm so stupid.”

            Gibson grabbed her arms gently.  Faith looked up at him.  “You are not stupid,” he said.  “Not at all.  Nobody had the right to do this to you.  Tell me what happened.  Please.”

            “Apparently, my mouth tends to get me in trouble,” she said.  “I said something I shouldn't have.  Remember me telling you that guys want to be with me only for what I can do for them.  I made the mistake of telling one that.  He didn't react very well.”

            Gibson remembered the guy he had seen outside Faith's door.  The one with the flowers.  If he were a betting man, he would have wagered a month's earnings on that being the culprit.  He conjured up the guy's face in his mind.  It was one of the times that having such an artistic gift came in handy.  He was very, very good with faces.

            “This is not your fault.  Not for one second.  Don't you think otherwise.”

            “I just feel so stupid.” 

            “Come on,” Gibson said, lightly touching her arm.  “You're coming up with me.  We need to get some ice on that.  I'm not taking no for an answer.  We'll discuss calling the police along the way.  And you aren't stupid!  Stop saying that.”

            Faith shook her head.  “This isn't your problem.  You don't have to involve yourself.”

            “I'm making it my problem,” Gibson replied.  “Now, come on.  Let's go take care of that bruise.”

            Faith looked up at him with red-streaked eyes.  Gibson held out his hand.  Faith studied it for a moment before taking it.  “I won't bite,” Gibson said.  “I promise.  I'll even buy you another ice cream if it will make you feel better.”

            Faith laughed at that and smiled.  She held out her hand and let him help her to her feet.  She studied him carefully for a moment, and it was clear that she was considering something.  Gibson's mind was racing too.   

            For the first time in a long time, he had allowed himself to think about someone else besides himself.  He focused on someone else's problems other than his own, and he was a totally different person as a result.  It was such a liberating feeling.  He hadn't given a thought to how lonely he was, how miserable he felt, how cheated he felt at the way his life had turned out.  Instead, he was focused on Faith. 

            “You're not the same guy I talked to the other day,” Faith said.  “And that guy I talked to the other day wasn't the same guy I had talked to on previous occasions.  So what gives?  Did the Body Snatchers get to you?  Are you being assimilated?”

            Gibson laughed.  “Isn't there a test of some sort you can perform to see if that's the case?”

            “Well in the movie, those who have been taken over are emotionless.  You actually seem to care.  I guess you're safe.”

            “I'm safe,” Gibson confirmed.  “Now, follow me.  Are you okay to walk?”

            “I'm fine,” Faith said.  “My pride is hurt more than anything else, although this bruise might come in a close second.” 

            “Say no more,” Gibson replied.  “Let's just focus on making you feel better.  How about that?”