The old men and the painting

Two old men stood next to each other, staring at the same wall, which only had a painting hanging on it.

‘So what is this supposed to mean?’ Asked the first man while stroking his mustache.

The other man took a better look at it; it was a painting full of colored circles and lines along a white background, where in the middle, a black silhouette of a woman could be seen raising both her arms. She had red hair, she did not bear any expression, and her minimalistic features only showed some white lines as her eyebrows and nose and dots as eyes.

‘I do not believe I am that educated on this, but somehow it represents the trap that is the human mind and that we can’t really focus on only one thing.’

‘Not educated, you say? I thought you would also say that this is a load of pretentious bullshit’

‘Well, that could be also another way to see it.” Rob reached out to his right brown jacket pocket and asked when he grabbed something ‘Want one?’

‘I hope you’re not smoking that Marlboro shit. I prefer Luckies, as you know.’

‘Yes, I know, that’s why I keep buying this instead.’

‘You goddamn weasel you haven’t changed one bit, give me one then’

Rob pulled out one cigarette from his pack and handed it to Mark, and as quickly as he could, lit up his cigarette using a silver squared lighter that was rusty in some parts.

‘That lighter, it was Ted who gave to you?’

‘Yep’

‘He was a good kid.’

Doors could be heard opening and closing, as well as strange noises, such as people talking happily and peaceful meditative sounds, like the clinking of cutlery and plates.

While the two men were still contemplating a voice from behind was heard, a man in a black suit and a black bowtie was carrying an ashtray, his hair was neatly combed and he had a mustache, he was a man in his thirties but looked older, probably due to the amount of times he had to deal with complaints about dry food.

‘Gentlemen! Please, I must remind you again, smoking in this restaurant is not allowed!’

They both looked back with cigarettes in their hand, and with a worried look, they were wondering what to say. Rob anticipated and managed to say while pointing with his other free hand at Mark:

‘It was his idea.’

‘What? You were the one to give me cigarettes you old fart’

‘Old fart? Listen here, I am just two years older than you, biologically I might even be younger with the amount of fried chicken you eat every week!’

‘What’s wrong with fried chicken? You are the psychopath who only eats the skin, so how can you even enjoy it? Oh right, I forgot, you only enjoy whiskey, you drunkard.’

‘At least I don’t have a shitty moustache like you. The Western movies are over, John Wayne!’

‘GENTLEMEN! I have already warned you about our non-smoking policy; I will kindly invite you to leave our premises next time it happens. Now, please give me the sticks!’

They both stared at each other angrily but then apologized to the waiter and gave him the cigarettes, which the waiter put out in his ashtray. After a few seconds of awkward silence, they both asked what he thought about the painting hanging on the wall, but the waiter stopped and looked at them like they were crazy. After some long seconds, he managed to get his normal and more polite expression. He explained to both gentlemen that there was no painting, and he asked if they needed help to get to their seats, to which both men declined.

They both walked to their table and sat on opposite sides, and after filling up their glasses with wine, Mark complained about how it was possible that the waiter couldn’t see the painting. Rob then said he was lying for sure and that you can’t really trust people with a moustache. Mark then replied that at least he could grow one, unlike his baby face that was stuck in adolescent purgatory.

A second waiter came up to take their order; he had brown hair with grayish sides, and his smile was friendly although you could tell he was feeling the pressure of a busy night.

They both looked nervous and looked at their menus, reading as fast as their eyes would allow, even though they both forgot to bring their glasses today.

‘I think I will have this carbon pasta’ – said Mark confidently

‘Do you mean to order Carbonara? Good, then,’ said the waiter, writing in his small notepad after Mark nodded at him and then moved his attention to Rob. “And what about you, sir?’

‘Well, let me see, do you have any steaks?’

‘Yes we do, I can show you right there what we have’– Said the waiter pointing at Rob’s menu

‘Hold on, I changed my mind. I don’t want steak; give me more time to choose.’

‘More time for what? You don’t need time. You are seventy, Rob. Why do you even have a menu if you always ask the same’

‘Well, I might want something else this time! At least I am not pretending to be a fancy ass like you ordering carbon pasta’ – ‘Alright, just give me a Rib-eye Steak’ – said Rob to the waiter.

‘Perfect, anything else gentlemen?’ the waiter asked

They both stared at each other and then asked the waiter the same question about the painting on the wall, which once again was replied in the same manner, like both of these old men should be in a mental hospital. So then they asked for cheese and bread instead.

There was no painting on the wall, at least not one that could be seen by anyone other than these two men. They asked each other if this was a sign that death was coming for them, to which Rob replied that he hoped he would go first so he wouldn’t have to see Mark’s ugly face anymore, and Mark angrily threatened Rob if he would die first without telling him he would kill him.

They ordered another bottle of wine, and the once white tablecloth was now full of red spots. The insults that were second nature for them were now a second background, as both men were reminiscing about their past adventures together: when Mark broke his ankle doing a stupid dare, when Rob stole their university flag, or when they both crashed a Jewish wedding. The stories were endless, and so was their thirst for wine.

When they got their plates delivered by the waiter, Mark seemed disappointed since he didn’t know that a Carbonara pasta is indeed not made of carbon and not black, he then spent most of his time asking Rob if he could eat a bit of his steak which Rob replied for the next time for him to order something which had a pulse instead of trying to be fancy. Mark was alone with his thoughts until he decided to speak again as he couldn’t bear silence for a long time.

‘Hold on, I got an idea!’ said Mark excitedly. ‘Can you call Carol?’

‘Me? Why me? She’s your daughter, not mine.’

‘ Well, you know she has a weak spot for you. She hardly says no to you.’

‘Fine…let me get my phone. Well, this is annoying. I can’t find her, I swear since they removed buttons on the phones, everything is so much harder.’

‘Give me that’ Mark said when he reached for Rob’s phone. ‘What’s your phone code?’

‘My birthday’

‘Okay, so when is your birthday?’ said Mark, looking for an angry reaction which he satisfyingly got, after several minutes he started scrolling through his contacts and found Carol’s number and started calling.

‘I hope I won’t have to pay extra for this call.’

Mark called and waited a while. Carol picked up and asked if everything was fine and why he was using Rob’s phone to call her. Almost everything was fine, said Mark. He mentioned he was with Rob for dinner, and they both had the same question for her. After spending five minutes between grunts, curses, and other strange sounds, Mark finally managed to turn on the camera on Rob’s phone, and all Carol could see was his father’s fat and tired face with a drunken smile. She said to turn on the other camera, which took some more long minutes.

Rob and Mark both walked like a pair of drunken leprechauns following the end of the imaginary rainbow that was the painting. They were giggling until they both got crushed with Carol’s remark that she also did not see any painting and that both of them should probably get their glasses or change their medication, after this she would hang up on them after a very forced ‘No, I’m not angry’ and a ‘I love you both.'

‘This painting with the woman silhouette is driving me insane. I think we are really crazy, Rob’

‘It is really so strange that we are the only ones that see this and that we both see exactly the same thing.’

‘Just to be sure, what color is her hair?’

‘Red’

‘And her eyes? How many?’

‘How many eyes? What kind of question is that? Is she supposed to be a pirate or something? She has two eyes like everyone else’

‘Let’s go back to the table. I guess we can order some dessert to finish strong’

When they walked back to the table, they both ordered their favorite childhood dessert: cheesecake for Mark and chocolate pudding for Rob.

The waiter came back after they had finished, and he looked more exhausted than ever. His eyes were redshot, and you could see some sweat on his forehead.

He asked them if everything was fine, and they both replied in unison that almost everything was fine and they would like to talk to the manager.

The waiter was surprised and asked if there was something wrong, which they both denied; they just wanted to ask some questions, which made the waiter roll his eyes, nevertheless, he called his manager.

 The manager was a slim man with a friendly face. He looked older than the waiter, but since he didn’t serve as many tables, he looked happier, and there was little to no white hair on him, mostly because he was bald.

He smiled and asked how he could help them, and after hearing the same question that every soul heard from these two old men, he stood still while he was thinking.

‘A painting, you both ask? Unfortunately, I do not see any painting. However, I do not think you gentlemen are crazy; quite the contrary, you might be the most lucid ones even if you drank a few bottles already. A black silhouette of a woman means it could be someone from your past or future that you both shared, or it could be nothing at all. I hope I am not being too personal, but do you mind if I ask you what your relation is?’

‘We’re brothers’ – said Rob

‘Oh, brothers, that does explain a lot. Not about the painting but about yourselves. I believe that both of you are connected and communicate with each other in a way that most people ignore. A sixth sense, let’s say.’

‘What does that mean?’ Said Mark

‘I am not sure, sir. I am just a restaurant manager; the supernatural is not my specialty. I must leave now, but I hope I you enjoyed your time here, and I hope to see you gentlemen again.’

They both waved at the manager with a smile. They stood looking at each other for a while, then Mark spoke.

‘So we have a sixth sense? What does that even mean?’

‘Probably means we can start betting on the lottery. What is your lucky number?’

‘I’m serious now, Rob. Do you know of any red-haired woman?’

‘No, not at all. You?’

‘Also not.’

‘So what’s the point of all this? We just see random things that don’t mean anything. Better to not see anything at all.’

‘Well, I don’t see it that way. I think what matters is to share with someone else.’

‘Share what? Visions?’

‘Visions, paintings or dreams, whatever it comes up first. They don’t have to mean anything, but the most important thing is to share with someone. Everything sounds made up when you look back in time. Can you imagine telling people all the crazy stuff we did back then?’

‘That is true, but I am still thinking what do you think that painting means?’

‘It means we should meet more times. Imagine all the crazy stuff we are missing out on together, brother. We might even see a frog on a bicycle next time, at least I hope we could see that.’

They both laughed, and after some light argument about who was paying the bill, they got up and hugged each other. They promised to meet again tomorrow at the park near Rob’s house since that was the place most likely to see a frog on a bicycle. When they were at the exit door and about to leave, they decided to go back just one more time to check the same wall with the painting. Not much had changed, only this time, the woman was smiling.