Closing Doors

Closing Doors

By Amy Lancaster

If she looked away, even for a second, it would move. She knew it. In its own way, it was more realistic than a photograph. Nonetheless, the interplay of light and shadow in the painting had completely bewitched her. Her eyes followed the pale stone columns as they twisted upward from the floor of the balcony, smooth and cold. They caressed the glossy greenery, springing from cool shadows as it trailed over the window ledge. They delved into the rich, velvet tapestry that cascaded down the side of the window and spilled to the floor with a decadent carelessness. Completely transfixed, her mind wandered through the exquisite portrayal of the classic, the symbolic, and the ironic. The significance was not lost on her. It was as if Dicksee was personally mocking her with the perfect arrest of his iconic subjects.  There at center stage, lay a graceful crystalline moment of passion frozen in time; Romeo, at the edge of the window, Juliet almost within his embrace. They needed only one more second for lips to touch and yet they never would. It felt truly torturous to look at such a beautiful, yet inexorably cruel painting, but she couldn’t look away.

Her thoughts pulled her further into the painting. It was coming. Unlike Romeo and Juliet, her excruciating wait was nearly over. Now she would know and even the finality of knowing didn’t scare her this time. It had in the past. Her willful avoidance of the answer had already cost so much. But soon the waiting would end. He would be here and she would know. Her sheer desperation insisted that it would be all right. She really couldn’t allow for any other outcome at this point. She had put everything on the line, her friends, family, job, even her engagement to someone else. He would see that. He would realize that she had risked everything for him and he wouldn’t let her down.

The frozen moment from the painting reached out to her with silken threads in the dim light of the hotel lobby, turning her mind to the past.  In response, a spark of memory sprung to life. Instantly he stood before her holding a book of love poetry which he was inscribing to her. He was the very picture of a modern Adonis, even though smiling sheepishly, as the firelight played with his hair and reflected in his icy blue eyes. Rapturously, she waited for him to finish and then eagerly reached for the glossy, garnet colored tome. In delirium she began to read.

“I think you know my feelings in giving you this book. I hope you enjoy it, and think of me when you read it.”

The light faded from her eyes as she realized that it didn’t actually say that he loved her. With that abrupt recognition, the memory vanished.

Again, the painting reached out to draw a fresh recollection forward. Dutifully, the ghost appeared. He sat matter-of-factly on the couch facing her, face blank,

“I know we had plans to get married, but my mother doesn’t think you’re right for me. Your family is poor, your religion is a problem, and she thinks I spend too much time with you. I need to focus on school. We can still be friends, but I can’t say I love you anymore. I still care about you of course, but I just can’t say I love you anymore.”

The color drained from her face at revisiting his past faithlessness and the vision wafted away like smoke.

Another delicate pull from the painting, sent her mind tumbling back into the desperation of the past.  This time he sat in her room, hands folded, head down, hair covering his face,

“You just want too much. Someone else asked me out and I was really flattered by what she said, so, I want to start seeing other people.” 

She ran from the room sobbing hysterically, but trying to outrun the emotional shockwave at her heels was of no use.

Flashes brought new memories, hard and fast, like lightning strikes. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned towards her pleading,

“I know I screwed up. I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!”

Now, kneeling in front of his entire team, he looked up entreatingly,

“Will you marry me?”

She felt shame and anger darkening her face. Next his voice came through the phone awkwardly,

“You’ve been gone for a long time. Are you ever coming back?”

Still reeling from reliving such intensely painful experiences, she stumbled back to the present moment and shook herself into awareness again. The light was beginning to fade outside and he hadn’t arrived yet, but Dicksee’s painting still filled her vision; its beauty truly terrible now in the growing darkness. 

“Where was he?” she wondered despairingly. It was getting so late. On the wall, Romeo still gazed fixedly at Juliet, and she rapturously at him. Silently they waited with her in the indistinct light.

Faint voices were heard approaching from the hallway. She turned expectantly, the radiance of love and longing shining in her eyes, in spite of her efforts to compose herself. The voices got louder as they neared the lobby where she was waiting. Her face fell, and the hope filled light in her eyes dimmed in confusion as two people sauntered into the room. He wasn’t alone.

As incredible as it seemed, he was in fact, there. Handsome as always, well-dressed, and yet completely oblivious of his impending peril. Her eyes narrowed in bitter suspicion as she studied the scene in front of her. Next to him fawning and laughing flirtatiously, was her younger sister. As his eyes met hers, he stopped suddenly, frozen at the entrance of the room.  Embarrassment spread across his face, but it was too late to hide it. When her sister reached for his hand, he fumblingly pushed it aside. Silence descended on the room.

The answer she had been waiting for came with blinding speed. It came with the finality of death. Ironically, she now wished that she had been afraid to know after all. Fear might have saved her from confronting this repulsive truth. A wave of sickly realization welled up, drowning her. The betrayal was complete. Instantly, she knew the answer. The truth materialized and cemented itself in her mind so quickly that she felt a physical loss of balance and swayed on her feet. 

As the impact from the seismic event passed, so now did the speed.  Seconds slowed into hours. Like something from a nightmare, she heard her own footsteps echoing resonantly on the polished tile floor. The light coming from the doorway appeared garish and theatrical. She heard voices calling her name. Blindly she pushed past everything. The doors clinked shut, muffling the clamor that followed her outside to the parking lot.

In the now empty lobby the painting shuddered, rattled by a gust of wind from the closing doors. Romeo still gazed fixedly at Juliet, and she rapturously at him. The beauty of the painting faded spectrally into the darkness of the oncoming night. One second more and their lips would have touched.