A Painting Called Kitty

The door creaked open on its old hinges, making Eugene cringe.

"It's going to cost me a fortune in oil to fix all these creaking doors," he bemoaned to himself as he entered the room. "Now let's see…it should be right about...ah!" he declared happily as he found the ancient light switch and the room flooded with light. "Much better," he added, only to lose his smile as he looked around him, "or...maybe not."

The room wasn't terrible, all things considered, but it was terribly cluttered, with old furniture, trunks, and knickknacks strewn across nearly every inch of the room.

"At least it's all covered to protect it from the dust,” he said to himself as he carefully strode over to the windows.

“Come on,” he groaned as he pushed up on the first window, finding it resistant to his initial attempts to bring fresh air into the room. “Alright, let’s put some leg into it,” he growled, squatting down then pushing up with all his might upwards. The window immediately gave way, but before Eugene could cheer, it slammed into the top of the frame with a resounding crash, making him wince. “Please tell me I didn’t break anything,” he pleaded before checking the glass. Seeing that it wasn’t damaged, he sighed in relief before moving on to the next windows which he took the time to carefully pry open.

At last, the windows were open, allowing for fresh air to flow through, which was important as, a minute later, Eugene put on a mask, grabbed the dust covering off the first piece of furniture, then shook it like mad, sending gray particles everywhere. He repeated the process until nearly every piece of furniture and tidbit was uncovered, pausing only to fan the dust out of the windows. Finally, he reached the last covered item.

“Now what are you?” Eugene asked himself as he pulled back the dust cover to reveal what was below. “A painting?”

He picked up the item and inspected it. The piece had to be over a century old, given the style of the painting itself, the frame it was placed into, and the fashion style of the woman for whom it displayed. Speaking of which, the woman held within said frame was of a pale complexion with raven hair, both of which contrasted a pair of ruby red lips. However, none of these features captured his attention like the sad, almost resigned expression on her face.

“Pity to see such a beautiful woman unhappy,” he casually noted to himself. “Maybe if I find a good place for you, that’ll cheer you up.”

Eugene began to look for a spot on one of the walls, eventually deciding on the position right across from the door. After quickly running back downstairs, he returned with some sticky wall mounts that he had chosen since the walls of this house were made of brick

Besides, I just bought this place, it’s probably best to wait at least a little bit longer before I start putting holes into it, he joked to himself as he prepared the spot.

“There we go,” he smiled as he put up the painting. “Now whenever I come into the room, I can greet you with a smile to help cheer you up, gorgeous,” he said to the painting, giving her one final smile before continuing on with his task of cleaning up the room.

After another couple of hours of cleaning, dusting, and occasionally rocking out to the song that was playing from his phone, Eugene completed his task.

“Whew, now that’s a solid day’s work!” Eugene proudly proclaimed as he eyed the room. “Wouldn’t you agree, miss?” he asked, turning his smiling face towards the painting, only to pause. “Wait a second,” he murmured as he approached the painting, “weren’t you frowning before?”

The painting, which before had seemed so resigned, now appeared somehow lighter and it even appeared that the woman in the painting was smiling ever-so-slightly.

“Maybe it was a trick of the low-lighting,” Eugene considered as he continued looking at the painting before suddenly shrugging. “Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy!”

With that, he gathered up his things and headed off to enjoy his state-of-the-art shower. After all, not everything in the house had to remain old-fashioned.

*

“I’m home,” Eugene greeted as he opened the door to what was now his study. “God,” he groaned while stretching his whole body towards the ceiling, “today was rough. Shirley misplaced the shipping information I sent her three days ago, like I knew she would; luckily I had it saved, but it took 20 minutes for her to stop apologizing. She’s a good girl, don’t get me wrong, but if getting things lost is really that upsetting for her, you’d figure that she’d find a way to stop losing stuff,” he declared as he sank into his recliner. “Ah, but here I am, talking about another woman when my favorite lady is right beside me; how ungentlemanly,” he finished, turning towards the painting.

Ever since he had cleaned out the room, Eugene had felt an odd affinity towards the painting that he could only describe as an odd, but not unpleasant warmth. True, it was more than a little crazy that he was animatedly speaking to a portrait, but she was certainly a better listener than anyone he’d ever met. Besides, every time he did talk to her, the woman’s face seemed a little bit brighter and her smile just a tiniest bit wider.

I probably am going crazy. Maybe I should put myself out there and go on a few dates like Mom’s always nagging me about, he thought before quickly shaking his head and focusing back on his ‘companion’.

“So, where were we in The Count of Monte Cristo?” he asked her as he grabbed the novel from its resting place on the nightstand next to his chair. “Oh that’s right! Edmond had finally escaped and was on his way to claim the great treasure of Monte Cristo!” he remembered, turning his smiling eyes towards the painting who, once again, somehow seemed happier than the day before.

A sudden thought entered Eugene’s mind at that moment and his smile dropped.

“I just realized, I don’t know your name, beautiful” he blurted out before striding over to the painting and beginning to inspect it. “Hmmm, I don’t see any signature or title on the frame. Pardon me, my dear,” he requested before lifting her from the wall and inspecting the back of the frame. “Hmmm, nothing here either,” he affirmed with some disappointment before putting her back on the wall. “Shame; I would have loved to learn your name, gorgeous,” he admitted. Then that strange thing happened again where the painting seemed to change. He didn’t see anything shift or move, but somehow, between blinks, her face, which had seemed so bright before, now seemed filled with the same disappointment as he was feeling.

But that’s not possible, right? It’s the same painting it’s always been…isn’t it? He eyed it for a few more moments. Maybe it’s some weird, psychological thing where you place your own emotions on an item like a painting to reflect what you’re feeling. Yeah, that sounds presumptuous enough, he decided. In which case, maybe if I change my attitude…

“I guess I’ll just have to keep calling you beautiful then, won’t I?” he stated suddenly, putting his smile back on. He waited a few moments, making sure to blink plenty of times to see if the picture would change and, on cue, the picture changed from disappointed, to surprised, to pleased, all within a few literal blinks of an eye.

Yeah…definitely a psychological thing, Eugene told himself again. Though I didn’t feel surprised at any point. Strange.

He shook his head again and put the painting back.

“Let’s get back to our Count, shall we?”

*

Eugene yawned and stretched again before looking at his phone.

“Geez, is that the time? I’d best hit the hay then or else I’m going to be very cranky tomorrow. Alright beautiful, sleep tight.”

He got up from his chair and headed for the door.

“Wait.”

He froze as his entire body tensed as the voice, so soft, yet so undeniably there, echoed through his ears.

“What was that?” he whispered to himself before slowly turning around.

The room was just as it was a second ago, which was an immense relief to his now thundering heart. Even so, he still scanned every corner and surface before finally turning his gaze to the portrait.

He crept against the room, his eyes never leaving the woman’s face as he approached until he was at last right before her.

He stared into her deep blue eyes, which now seemed anxious or maybe eager about something.

“I really am going crazy,” he mumbled before turning to leave.

“Corner!”

He spun around as fast as he could, but still found the painting utterly still. Only after a few tense seconds of staring at the painting did his mind compute the words he heard.

“Corner?” he repeated before squinting towards the lower right corner of the painting. “What the…?”

There, before his eyes, in a place he was sure it had not been before, was a name.

Christine “Kitty” Laurent.

Eugene’s eyes slowly rose to the woman’s blue orbs, finding them now anxious and…hopeful?

“Christine “Kitty’ Laurent,” he read as he straightened. “Well…Christine…I don’t know what the Hell is going on, and I’m a little freaked out by the whole, face maybe changing, maybe hearing voices thing,” he began, noting that after he blinked her face changed to worry, “but…I would hate to lose my reading buddy when, technically nothing bad has actually happened…so…if you don’t mean any harm…I think I can accept all this…weirdness. At least until I’m utterly convinced I’m crazy. Okay?”

A blink later and all her worry disappeared and was replaced by a bright smile that, unquestionably, had never been there before.

“Okay,” Eugene repeated, taking a moment to admire the joyful expression before continuing, “then I will bid you goodnight again, Christine.”

For the third time, he turned to leave, only to be stopped.

“Please call me Kitty.”

Eugene turned back around, this time with a smile.

“Kitty it is.”