awkward not awkward/Bran and Beth

 

 

For a moment he stands there between myself and the heap of my baggage and it isn’t awkward, it isn’t like that. It is something else. And I look inside there in search of …that familiar thing –that thing, you know, that would tell me…tells me within the moss what I …

“I haven’t forgotten about your other project,” he says instead of what we both know he was really thinking

And what we both are really thinking. I guess it may be the years; how many have gone by …too many to wish to blow any moment on something stupid or to presume some notion that –some notion that… and here I just get stuck

“my other project,” I say repeating his words

“The …about the family history you are tracing,” he hesitates

“It’s …it’s for a story I’m working on but actually, it is about another area even though the family name is Welsh somehow …it was connected to an area where the Vikings invaded, there was a family and a theory from my dream about a man from the village,” but I babble.

I babble for normalcy. To take the pressure off of our more pressing present

Only now I fear I trivialize the present by even saying this now and it confuses me as to what to do or say but mostly because of his eyes; the seaweed that wraps around and pulls, and wraps you inside its hypnotic sappy embrace of its fire-kiln, brilliant glaze.

I say,

“um.”

He looks silently at me reading my eyes. He slowly smiles,

“a man?”

I look away,

“it was…” I laugh feeling stupid as I have to tell him the rest now, “something that old psychic told me. Before the boat…. You know the life about –”

“The one from your painting, I know, and forgive me if I don’t want to make silk screens of your vampire whatever the fuck he is because—”

I reach for his hand without planning to. It was just the instinct to --and the impulse took over. And my hand melts within his large one making me aware of how much bigger his is. But his hand is warm and familiar as it closes around mine

“Anyway, it has lead me to a new story that takes place sort of connected to the industrial revolution, so it is exciting that the paint pigment comes from an old coal mine. It feels like a sign. I think the two projects can work together as I will be getting more ideas but I may want to explore other areas closer to say—where the history calls… so it’s cool, right? Win win, I do what you want for your business and I can work on my thing at the same time.”

“Would you like to see your studio?” he still holds my hand and smiles as he begins to pull me towards the hallway that leads to all the doors.

And so I let him. I like the feel of his hand on mine. Around it. It fits so well in his. And as he leads the way down the hall I do not ask myself anything about what anything means, I go blind as one about to jump

 

It is a studio. A very large and very functioning studio. He stands in the doorway and with a shake of his head urges me to walk in.

And as I walk around, I see the perfection of the layout. The area for screen printing; the area for paint mixing, deep sinks and counters. Several long work tables and sectioned cabinets for different mediums.

 

Once I have inspected everything he walks in now and goes to a door I had not noticed. It is white like the walls of the room. But he stands outside it and just opens the door by pulling the handle and uses his head to suggest I go in.

It confuses me when I go inside because it is a private apartment. Fully finished and fully furnished with a kitchen, a dining room that lets out to the back courtyard, a bedroom and private bathroom. But nothing has been used.

I feel confused and look at him,

“I don’t understand…”

He glances behind where we stand to suggest the older part of the house,

“to get the boys used to… things… and for us as well. I thought –you might enjoy a new space for us to work in together on those long project nights…” and only now does he move close and stand near enough and long enough—

 

 Or so I thought until a very loud voice shouts something I don’t understand with a great deal of vehemence

 

“Ioan,” Bran looks at me regretfully, “that’s his animal starved boy cry, I’ll bring your bags and get him sorted,”

 

he starts to go but –something surprising happens without warning; he kisses me fast on the mouth …unexpected as I realize he stops himself stunned in mid kiss and looks at me,

“I didn’t mean to assume, sor—"

But I kiss him back before he says more and I suppose it would have lasted longer if another bellow had not then occurred

 

 

Bran and Beth (new stories); alluding colors

 

 

His first question had been: can you draw me up your monthly expenses? Bran

and as it seemed not entirely out of nowhere, considering his last request of me, I had to ask,

“are you offering me a job?”

 

To find myself stepping back into Bran’s house again…. all these years later

How did this even come about? I even ask myself this as I stand upon the very said threshold looking in. While I may look at my surroundings, I see the bare bones of what I remember instead of what I am looking at. Because he has lead me to—not the front of the house, but off to the side because the front of the house is under some kind of remodel or construction. And while there is no time to ask about that, because I do remember him saying something about how he uses his house for his work too, as he had done in past, but back then it was this part where we walk towards. It was a kind of add on or dormer, I guess someone may call it. Back then anyway.

 

The ‘dormer’ is now actually the largest part of the home as I realized while walking down the path towards it. And notice too that now there is an entire back court yard kind of landscape with a stone table and chairs in the middle and surrounded by a garden path. To the side of the ‘dormer’ where once was just the side door has had an addition built to the side; there stands a glass green house with arched windows.

 

Once inside though I stare at the old memories.

 

I see those first.

 

But then I realize that what I am looking at is revised with similar things…. The deep and rugged settee with the scratchy wool mulberry tone upholstery is moved to a far deep corner further away now…. because now the room is much longer and much bigger by three times what it was. Now I notice there is a long hallway further down that has doorways to other rooms or ways out

I guess the need for –normal?—had me say as I stood there,

“how are Dylan and Crystal?.... sorry I forget the other one’s….”

“Ioan,” Bran says as he drops my bags into a neat pile on the floor along the path towards that hallway.

 

So the nature of why I am there…. This is the man who manages to get us credit to stay at random places  in Rouen and Paris and make a Frenchman want to buy my Wavegirl painting for his shower curtain line he never meant to have.

 

So the answer to this about how he got me there has something to do with ….Six Bells Ochre and….

     my particular use of this unique red pigment that is only found in this one place in Wales which seems essential in—the present running of Bran’s newest line

…. and what he used for the reason for the visa

 

“Do they—” I look around for teenagers or evidence of…. But Ioan would be something like twelve….?

“You don’t have to worry about them—the boys live mostly in the old part and Crys lives with her mother….”

He says all this simply. And then he walks over to me

 

We had talked about this. Some of this. But some things we didn’t really say much about… and the overwhelming emotions which surfaced after finding I had agreed to his offer… work… ? which was not complicated to do; mix colors, run the screen printer, etc. and definitely a job only I could do as it was my unique shades he was employing. And my art particularly.

It is not strangers we are stood now looking at each other. From my jet lag and over thinking nervousness all the way from the airport to here rambling on and on about stupid things that happened on the way to avoid  that realization of… life changing… what did I just get off the plane to do?

color mixing without rules

it was the funniest thing, this one day —I was mixing paint beginning with my shade of terra cotta ….i put it on the picture I was working on; it was to be a picture of a terra cotta vase in a lovely solarium gleaming in morning light in a room full of garden tools and clippings in jars growing roots and such 

so there was my shade of patina which I had toned down with—yellow ochre

I was so absorbed within the brushstrokes and …. the shading as I imagined sunlight and shadow 

   so lost in my colors 

      it is why I learned to separate days for painting and days for mixing 

 …. it was the weirdest thing ….but I watched the colors —end up ….like the other !!!! I had instinctively found my way to the color spectrum laws and demonstrated for myself how opposite colors have the other in it but inverted 

I could spend weeks doing this alone. 

Like watching how black bleeds every color as you wash it away slowly but if you add yellow to black you get green without even needing blue

about the first object

It must have been not long before we left for the Netherlands, still living in Florida. 

I was always sent to the nurse’s office at school back there. I had headaches often that caused me to vomit inconveniently during class and if it was bad enough they sent me home. 

My mother was unusual in her parenting. She was unusual in her guidance. But with her there were ulterior motives for her sometimes not so kosher actions

She did not bring me home that day to send me to bed. I think it was because her husband was home and she didn’t want him to know I was missing school as he looked for any excuse to whip me to unconsciousness.

There was a matinee theatre that played old movies I remember. I remember this well. So instead of going home and put in bed for vomiting at school, it was safer to bring me to a matinee 

And that was the event for which I found the trigger for my first object of sexual wanting. 

That day they were playing “the Way We Were” —the old movie with Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. 

It was a story about a smart but drab and headstrong woman who is very political and a handsome but a more conservative man who is from a better background than her, but they meet at university. Somehow by surprise I think when she is protesting somewhere years later they meet again by accident and they fall in love. But their political views or her extreme actions come between them and it is very deeply sad. 

It is this scene 

    for days and weeks after I saw it I kept thinking of it. And this scene manifested in my mind. It became some definition of a fresh new idea of …. some inexplicable emotion I was having. 

The scene is —and it’s been years since I saw this movie — I’ve not seen it since but I remember this scene so well because it was the gateway to what became the trigger to my erotica.

In this scene—fairly early in the story— they are still young and at school; he sees her on campus and i think she was organizing a protest when he stops her; i think it was even g in the scene. 

But it was this thing he did …. and it has stayed with me forever because it seemed to have embedded upon me some inexplicable trait which has the power to turn my knees to putty…. 

He ties her shoe. But it is how it happens, how he looks at her and that subtle message the move instills; even as he does bend down to the ground to do this and —that alone…. so absolutely subtle but it was the seal that marked my craving for life 

for who normally does such an act for another and who was it we were not going home for?

classic transference 

This scene replayed in my imagination for weeks and was the basis for which initiated the awakening of my sexuality  

A familiar walk down a side street

Elbow deep inside the filing cabinet including her head, she was about to call for Sheila, hoping she knew what had become of the file of the recent inventory printouts and the ones Pierre Reaux was requesting. The basement archives were always creepy to have to visit, but it’s where most of the property information was kept and with Grant nowhere around, she had to hunt through endless drawers of files. And Monsieur …. Since he could no longer freely trespass among us…. thanks to new border policies that were more insult than blow Faun thought for the French Canadian and then sighed —well, it was too bad as he kinda grew on her. He wasn’t so bad. Just annoying. Condescending. Often rude. So—what is his charm exactly? He was looking into the mystery person who was murdering the members of the Bishop family. 

He wanted the copies of another set of files that recently had gone missing as it had to do with Arthur’s older legal files and properties 

She heard a sound and assumed it was Sheila and as she turned she said, 

“Shiela, do you have any idea where or why the property lease and titles have suddenly gone missing?”

Faun said all that when she turned and saw who darkened the doorway holding an armful of files 

“Grant ….where have you been and why or how is it you ….” she lost momentum as she stammered limply, “suddenly show up now….?” as the sight of him made her aware of how starved of his very appearance she was. She fell silent and just stared at him. 

“You mean these?” as if this answer now had the more relevance —yet, he held the files in question 

“I have been overseeing since your absence because —believe it or not, our friendly Canadian pointed out awhile back that you likely needed my help whether or not you were aware I was even doing it ….so….um—how long have you been here?”

“No—I was just enjoying your rear view so—no not long….” his slow smile reminded her he was teasing her 

the master of evasions 

bran

within the darkness of brooding thoughts he calls 

“I think about you all the time….you know, you can still call me, if you ever needed to.”

the universe always feels off whenever we fall out of each others orbit