Restoration

The sky was a perfect blue on a fine Friday afternoon, the wind whispered its little secrets and the air held in it an enticing mellowness. The rhythmic swoosh of the air outside, a mellifluous sound that ought to have brought serenity but it didn’t. The day was seemingly perfect but it really couldn’t have started any worse. Timothy sat on a couch, completely immersed in a book. His girlfriend, Stephany, lay on another couch at a right angle with the one on which he sat. She watched him as he read. He’d been reading for hours and she wished she could stop him. His eyes were stained with crimson and the bags underneath them were starting to overpower the handsomeness of his face; he’d certainly had another bad night. He looked exhausted and the way in which he sat was in itself a cry for help. Stephany knew he was hurting and that’s why he was reading. He was hiding within the pages of his book; hiding from some horrible memories he wanted to rid himself of and she apprehended that but he was losing his mind. It was rather demanding, being there for someone who’d lost someone. She’d visited a counsellor the week before in search for information on how to help him without being too obvious but she’d dismally failed at implementing the found ideas. She wanted him restored and she’d do whatever it took to pull him out of his pain and so she was willing to try again. She knew it was still too soon to make Tim forget about the death of his mother or the memories of her frame lying limp in her art studio but she couldn’t let him go on the way he was. She believed making him work with her in the very same studio that he was avoiding would help him heal.

“I’m bored Tim.”, Stephany mumbled while noisily shifting in her seat so as to grab his attention. Timothy lay his book aside and looking towards her said, 

“Find something to do love.”

“Like what?”, she asked just to keep him in conversation.

“I don’t know, maybe read something too.”

“Okay. What’s that you’re reading?”, she asked as though she hadn’t seen the title of the book already.

“Charles Dickens’ A tale of two cities.”, he responded while getting back to his book.

Just then, Stephany swiftly dived for the book, snatched it and squeaked, 

“I’ve got a better idea.”

Unsurprised Timothy looked up to face her and asked, “What else could you possibly do right now?”

“Painting.”, she said wiggling her eyebrows. He looked away, his face masked with annoyance. Stephany saw that reaction but decided it was better off ignored. She, instead, kept staring at him in anticipation of a response.

“I’d rather read though thank you.”, he responded while standing up to get his book but she just wouldn’t let him have it.

“This.”, she whined, while waving the book in mid-air, “This is too much Tim. If your eyes would stick right on the pages of this book I wouldn’t be surprised.”, said Stephany while backing away from Tim, holding onto the book he was now in pursuit of. 

“Steph.”, he said warningly, “The book please.” 

“No”, she said, “If you work with me now, I’ll let you off real soon I promise.”

Timothy paused in thought for a moment then finally said,

“No thanks. Painting is your thing Steph, I really wouldn’t know what to do and you know that.”, but Stephany was determined to take him along to his late mother’s studio that day. It was as if the more he objected, the more she wanted to convince him to take on her hobby with her for that day. 

“Come on Tim. Just say yes and I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Fine.”, he said though quite hesitantly.

“Perfect.”, said Stephany while getting hold of Timothy’s hand to lead him off to the studio. Up the stairs, the two shuffled and finally got into the room. It had been eight months since Timothy had come into the room. He’d never been so keen to get into it though he’d passed outside it numerous times. He walked in now, a little cautiously. His eyes sort of darted off to every piece displayed in the room. He stood near the door, holding onto its frame and took in his surroundings. The room was painted a perfect white and the floor was a perfect set of wooden tiles. All the paint stains that lay around in the space seemed to be deliberate works of art. All of his mother’s equipment was neatly stashed in wooden shelves. Pot plants hanged from the roof, somehow with their stems cascading to the floor like a waterfall. Stephany flung the windows ajar and a soft breeze that came streaming into the room. Tracing his fingers across the first picture he saw, memories of his mother came flooding back into his mind. It was Stephany and him on the day that they’d helped her revamp her studio about a year before. He could almost see her, hammer in hand, nailing the shelves to the wall. He could almost hear her laugh that’d bring so much life into the room. It was as though it was only yesterday that he’d lost her. When Stephany looked back, she found that Timothy couldn’t move an inch. He wanted to but he couldn’t. His eyes held in them, a story of love and loss. He was trying so hard not to break down. Slowly Stephany walked over to him, and unclenching his hand off the door frame, she engulfed him in a hug. He didn’t want to break down but he did. She hugged him all the more, making light circles over his back with the palm of her hand. He, like a little boy held onto Stephany like his last hope and just wouldn’t let go. Last time she’d suggested he come into the studio, he’d left the house entirely and now that he had come into the room, she was relieved he was willing to heal. When after a while he’d quieted down, she took him by the hand and sat him down on a stool next to hers. She smiled at him quite nervously and he smiled back the same but kept his eyes low in an endeavour to avoid eye contact with Stephany. She sat her paints before him and stood before him so that her hands could, without much effort, reach his chin and tilt his face up. 

“Are you okay?”, she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He nodded his head and smiled lightly. 

Getting hold of one of his hands, she placed a paint brush in it and walked over to one of the stools opposite the window. She sat, unpinning her hair so that it loosely flowed over her cheeks to her back like a waterfall. She let her sweater off her shoulders a little. The light kissed her caramel skin to perfection and the breeze that had long been streaming into the room sent her hair into miniature waves. 

“I’ll be your model today. I won’t be painting.”, she said with a smile while shifting in her seat and looking down a little so as to attain a comfortable pose. Timothy nervously held onto the brush, his hand slightly shaking and his heart slightly pounding but nevertheless he started working. Stephany let the breath she was holding out. All the while, she was scared he’d bolt out of the house and leave her defeated once again but it hadn’t been the case this time. She smiled to herself knowing that this was the first of numerous days to follow with Tim in the studio. She’d finally won him over to a therapeutic pastime and from the claws of anguish.