painted in.

Fallon caught a glimpse of her reflection as she finished washing down the last sink in the first-floor bathroom. Fallon’s bruise surrounding her left eye was a patchy red but fading to yellow at the edges. She looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn’t missing her last job where all the other girls on shift would pepper her with questions about her life. She didn’t like explaining her situation. It had always been complicated.

She graduated from high school last month and she was determined to find something else. Mrs. Waltham, her English teacher, suggested she look for jobs on campus at the university she had chosen. She had been accepted at all eight universities she applied to, but Utah State University was the one she wanted. Their biology program was known for its study of genetics and that was her passion. Fallon was studying what made her who she was, down at the cellular level. She was determined to know what she was made of. She jumped on Mrs. Waltham’s idea and started applying that night.

She was going to miss the dentists she worked for, especially Dr. Kapener, but not the complicated congress of women she worked with at the front desk and hygienists that came and went. The morning after graduation, she was offered an interview on campus. That week she had six interviews on campus. The minute she walked into the Museum of Fine Arts, she knew she wanted to work there. No matter the job.

The UMFA was looking for a night custodian. The statuesque woman in the deep grey suit who interviewed her, Carolyn Parkinson-Coles, the executive director of the museum, emphasized the fact that she would be alone in the building. She would be locked in the building; campus security was in the building next door should she have any problems; and they were only a phone call away. Ms. Parkinson-Coles had interviewed four other candidates who had withdrawn their applications when she explained the situation. She was concerned at Fallon’s young age.

Fallon assured her she could do the job and that she was not afraid of the working conditions. She shared her references from all three dentists in the clinic and explained that being alone did not scare her. In fact, she believed she could work more effectively on her own. She had been on her own since she was fifteen. Ms. Parkinson-Coles didn’t press for details, but she looked at Fallon with interest. She knew this girl had a story. She shook Fallon’s hand and let her know she would be in touch within the week. She had three more interviews. She called the next morning and offered her the job.

Fallon was right at home. Although intrigued by and fascinated with the science she studied every day, she was moved by the art in this building. She cleaned the building five nights a week and she was never bored by the canvases, statues, and rotating collections which surrounded her. She scanned her card at the back entrance and let herself in the building.

Fallon was still fine tuning her system on all three floors. Todd, who had trained her on the job, could clean the building in six hours, which left time for any special projects they requested and sometimes even time to do homework at the end. The most intimidating part was mopping the floors in the entire building, but he showed her the way he blocked it off into small areas and a way to mop yourself out of the building so there were no footprints when you left. He let her know that she would be slower at first but that she would find her rhythm. She kept most of Todd’s layout for cleaning but found some things worked better for her in another order. Todd was tall and Fallon was only just over five foot six, so she had to compensate.

She looked at the bruise in her reflection and touched it. Her eye twitched. It was still tender to the touch. She was still angry that she had let it happen. She shook her head and kept moving, finishing the sinks, and moving on to the toilets. She started with the bathrooms because she liked this chore the least and there wasn’t any art in these rooms. Although not efficient, she did the bathrooms on all three floors from top to bottom.

Fallon was beginning to recognize the faces that surrounded her. She was pleased with her silent co-workers. She found herself stopping to look them in the eye. It was as if they were speaking to her. But they didn’t ask about the bruise. They didn’t ask why she was alone. The marble piece, Eve Disconsolate, was the bust of a woman. Her eyes were blank and haunting, yet she looked reticent, almost like she was about to tell her a secret. She promised to share a secret with her too. What would she tell her first? She was ready to tell her more than she had shared at the dentist’s office.

There was a brother and a sister sitting with a lunch basket in the grass. The boy is cutting an apple with his pocketknife. His chubby sister, who has flushed pink cheeks, is about to take a bite of her bread with cheese on it. She looks at Fallon like she is afraid she will steal her pastry that is hidden in the basket. Fallon laughs aloud and promises not to take her treat from her. As she walked away, it was like she heard something from the little girl. She turned back and pulled her earbud out of her ear. Shaking her head. The girl did not say something to her. Or did she?

She mopped the floor in the first-floor atrium and tried not to gaze transfixed at the mural of a woman who was wearing a mask on her face, clutching desperately to the child in her arms. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face. It was if Fallon could hear her humming to the child with a rocking motion. A rocking motion that she found herself echoing as she mopped the vast floor. Had her mom held her that way before she left?

She dusted around the Egyptian sarcophagus with an inner fear that it would one day sit up and say hello to her and she was not prepared for that! The African tribal hats could cover her from head to toe and that made her want to climb up in one and see. The room at the top of the stairs is called the Salt Room and the exhibitions on those walls change. She couldn’t wait to see what would be coming next to talk with her.

There is one. One which she has only allowed herself to really look at twice. The first time she looked as she passed. The second time when she stopped to really look, she was mesmerized for nearly a half hour. The man at the center has just lost his son, a soldier. His eyes are huge with disbelief and a grief that is about to bury him also. His hands are intertwined with his sons. A woman is grasping his leg. She has collapsed to the floor and is numb with shock. Fallon did not know if the woman is his wife or his sister. The image is drowning in devastation.

Fallon will not look at that painting tonight.

She is almost done with her list. She needs to set up tables and chairs in the atrium for tomorrow night’s fundraiser. She has one more thing to do on the second floor. There’s one more painting she must see. It is called Preparation for Dinner. It’s a young woman Fallon’s age. She is seated at a table peeling apples. The sun is streaming in the humble kitchen from the window at her right. She seems lost in thought. Her mind is not on the apple in her hands. There are potatoes to be peeled and work yet to do. She feels like she knows her. Like if she could step into the painting, she could talk to her, and they would be fast friends.

Fallon is standing stalk still in front of the painting when the girl’s face rises from the apples in her hand. She is staring back at Fallon. She smiles a soft smile. She places the apple next to the others on the table, the bowl and the knife and comes to the edge of the frame. She holds out her hand. Fallon looks behind her as if the woman in the painting is reaching out to someone else standing behind her. She doesn’t know what to do next. She steps closer to the painting and finds herself lifting her hand. Where she expects to feel canvas and oil, she feels the soft warmth of her hand.

The woman in the painting pulls her toward her and in a blink of an eye, she’s standing next to her in the warm kitchen dusted by that same light she had just been looking at moments before. She can smell the food in the oven just out of frame and a loaf of steaming bread. Without a word, she invites her to sit down. She hands her the apples, the knife and bowl and nods to her to keep peeling. She begins chopping the nearby vegetables. Fallon starts to peel the green apples.

A woman comes into the kitchen and smiles at the two girls. She is not phased by Fallon’s presence at her table. She wipes her hands on her apron, grabs a towel and pulls the cast iron pan from the oven. It is steaming with what looks like a brothy stew that smells amazing. Fallon wonders if while she was watching this girl in the painting, if she was watching her.

A man comes into the room smelling of earth and horses. He nods at Fallon and pulls his wife into an embrace. He bends down and kisses his daughter quickly on the cheek. They begin chatting about their day. Fallon watches the family laugh together about the pig that got out and was discovered in the neighbor’s yard eating apples which had fallen from their tree. She feels more at home in this moment than she has in the four years since her dad died.

Places are set at the table and as dinner begins, the mom asks her how her day has been. She begins to tell her about her job at the art museum. The woman is encouraging her to continue. She asks her about her family and Fallon finds herself telling her about when her mom got cancer. And then about how her dad just disappeared inside himself until he was gone too. About the court system and how she pleaded not to be placed in a foster home but granted a guardian who would oversee her education and situation until she turned eighteen. She found an apartment and used the trust to pay the bills. About the boy who she thought loved her. About the fight and how he hit her so hard. She didn’t know that you could actually see stars.

She realized she had been talking for a long time. They were looking at her with concern and interest. Like a family. The sun was going down and the apple pie was filling the small kitchen with a magical smell of home, like her mom used to make. They pulled the pie out to cool. The man opened the front door, and they went for a walk across the open field of newly planted seeds.

Fallon asked about them. Their animals. The crops. Their family. The land. They ate pie and cleaned up dinner, washing the plates by hand.

The day in this world dusted with color was ending. She knew she had the option to step back into her world or stay. The door was open, and the option was hers.

Outside the painting, the mop bucket rested on the clean floor. The mop leaning against the wall.

And two futures lay before her in time and space. One with answers about who she is deep down and one dusted with color and framed with family.