All Will Be Forgiven

I enjoy losing myself in a world someone has created, everything is up for interpretation. Art shows are a way out, a fleeting escape. Colors that shouldn’t go together can fit just right if the artist so chooses. Temporarily, I can be free from the headache that is my day-to-day in exchange for the company of mounted canvases and intentional brush strokes. Though I am surrounded by others in this building, all walking the same hardwood floor, under the same fluorescent lights, not one person will understand the works the same as I do and vice versa. I see such beauty in that. The fact that…-

“Isn’t this painting kinda weird?” A boy, tapping me on my shoulder to get my attention,

“I’m sorry?” I shift my attention from the art to the voice. Uncrossing my arms and lifting up my headphones, I look up confused. Studying his face, I would say he is around my age, 18 or 19 maybe. He’s styled casually in a black tee and cargos, though I’m not one to judge in a crewneck and worn-out jeans. 

“Oh, it’s just..”, he turns to the painting and points, “I don’t get why the guy is the one smiling and the girl is crying.” He turns his head back to me, “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“I assume it’s just to show how tragic their story is,” I started answered his question without even really thinking, “His smile could be his way of reassuring her that everything will be okay.” For a moment he averts his gaze to the painting attempting to see my version and I follow suit.

“So, may I ask what you imagine their story is?” He’s still eyeing the painting. I tilt my head in thought, really trying to craft my answer.

“Well for one, the man seems to have known her plot to kill him. He is also holding her hands while they’re still on the dagger and yet, he is smiling,” I pause sensing his eyes trying to meet mine but continue, “but I don’t believe it’s because he’s enjoying the feeling.” He begins to chuckle under his breath.

“You’re funny.” I rolled my eyes, I wasn't trying to be funny. “Hey, I saw that. But,” I look back at him unamused and he puts his hands up as if he's been caught, “please continue.” I try to immerse myself back into the piece and take a second to really study their faces and body language.

“Anyways, he's even trying to keep eye contact with the woman while she is crying only focusing on the blade. I think we should also take into consideration how she’s stabbing him in the chest, face to face. It seems more intimate, more..,” I can’t seem to find the word.

“Passionate?” He said it so softly and yet seems to have almost grasped my understanding. His hands are crossed now and seems nearly enchanted now by the artwork. I feel as if I'll be graded on my responses by one of my professors.

“Yes! Passionate.” I say a little too amused, “My assumption is that they fell in love deeply but circumstances forced them to this point. It's nearly a ‘Romeo and Juliet’ type of tragedy, neither of them wants to part with the other but fate has no exceptions I guess. Also see the title," I motion to the label at the bottom, " 'All Will Be Forgiven' They probably adore each other and both of them are obviously in such great pain.”

"Her expression is so sorrowful while his is content." He nearly cut me off yet took the words directly from my thoughts. The boy continues, "However, I don't agree that he knew she'd eventually be the one to kill him." He looks over at me and smirks like he's one upped me. "I think he took a leap of faith and allowed himself to love her. In relationships you never know what the outcome will be but you should love hard without regrets. I believe that's what he did." He pauses, waiting for my rebuttal like we're boxers in a ring exchanging blows at one another.

It takes a minute but eventually I cave, "Okay, yeah that actually makes a lot more sense." Without a beat I start teasing him, "Has this work really occupied your whole morning? You surprisingly are very engrossed in its lore." He mumbles something under his breath I can't quite catch. "What was that?" I laugh.

The boy smiles, "Nothing." I hadn't noticed but we had got pretty close, physically, while talking to each other his arm was practically resting against mine.

We were quiet for a few seconds, neither wanted to end the conversation. Trying to pick it up where we left off I asked him, "So, why do you think the woman is really crying?"

He really took a minute to ponder, looking for just the right words, "I don't think even she knew she'd be the one to kill him." He fixed his gaze into mine and carefully spoke, "Love is a risk and a choice for both people, it's unexpected and frightening. At least that's what I consider the idea of it."

"Wow, I really would clap but I wouldn't want to disturb the atmosphere of the showing." I felt genuinely knocked out of the ring, nothing I could follow up with would top that.

"I'll accept your imaginary claps, thank you." He winked.

I cleared my throat and looked up, "You know what?"

He grinned and said, "Before that thought, Would you like to get coffee with me after the viewing?"

Mocking his smile, I answered, "You know what, Why not?" We pulled out our phones and began exchanging numbers. "And to finish my thought, I was starting to think you didn't find that painting 'weird' at all."

"Maybe you're right," he ran his hand through his hair, "Maybe I just wanted to talk to the cute girl that was so captivated by my painting."