I didn't even need an alarm to wake me up the next morning. I was still on the carpet, meeting with this laughably white ceiling as I opened my eyes. Without much concern, I strolled my hands around myself to find my phone; after a few seconds of trying that, I decided to stand up and begin to look for it. I remembered a while after that I threw it somewhere with my keys, and the latter became another problem too. It was near the entrance, on the floor; I wondered how it could still be intact even though my rush when I got rid of it. The keys were a little bit further. It was 8 a.m. when I turned on my phone; for once, I wouldn't be late.
But who really knows, when you think about being early, there's this uneasy anxiousness that lurks somewhere in your mind, constantly reminding you that there must be something you'd forget; you can get careless as well, taking everything at your pace might lead to your doom. These thoughts came to my mind, so I made sure to prepare myself with the same haste and do everything again if I had time. As usual, I skipped breakfast, not because I forgot or didn't have time, no, it was just a habit of my old self. I actually thought that I'd puke if I ate at that moment, so, instead, I brushed my teeth. Later, I put on another suit; I was somehow accustomed to it, but the weird feeling was still within the fabric.
I looked at my phone again; it was half-past nine. Just in time, I smirked. I went down to the parking lot and started the engine, before driving through the now-familiar streets I've seen so often in such a small amount of time. Sparing the details, I was knocking on her door for a short while. This time, the little girl was the one who opened it; she was already ready for going out given her laced shoes, trimmed hair, and her buttoned shirt. A tremendous smile erupted on her childish face; I couldn't help smiling back.
"Hi, Dad!"
"Hey, princess," I replied. "So, you're ready to learn painting?"
"Yeah, I'm so excited! Mom wouldn't really teach me painting, so I stuck with drawing. I wanna be as amazing as Mom!"
"She told me that she'd practice with you today," I added. "Wanna make a contest against her, maybe? I could be the judge."
"That wouldn't be fair anyway," she snickered. "You love Mom too much."
"Is that so? What makes you think that?" I was surprised that she'd say that. I didn't really show that much affection when we were together.
"Just by the way you look at her, anyone can tell," she snickered again. "And Mom just told me about your dates."
"I can't deny it. I love her, alright? Don't tease me on that," I joked. "By the way, where is she?"
"When you're not late, seems like she is. Probably putting on clothes or something like that. I'll tell her you're already there."
The little girl rushed away from the doorstep and left me there like a clueless puppy. I shrugged before entering the living room. Hermione came in after Eda while trying to put on her shoes; it was a funny scene, seeing her struggling and almost tumbling out of hurry. I was indeed for once, not the one late. What made it funnier was the way her loose cardigan hindered her haste and her visible irritation because of it. She stumbled at some point, but I was quick enough to help her from falling. She chuckled in an embarrassed way, which made Eda and I laugh as well.
"Being late won't kill you," I said.
"Well, it'll ruin the day though. The class begins in fifteen minutes." Hermione replied.
"I'll drive faster then," I joked.
"Fast driving rules!" Eda shouted.
"Not that again!" scolded the mother. "And is that whiskey I'm smelling from you?" she asked in an angry tone.
"Huh," I forgot to take a shower. The anxiousness did have reasons sometimes. "Let's just go already, shall we?"
"Drinking is bad for your health, you know?" she scolded again as standing up, before resuming whatever she was doing.
I showed her an apologetic smile on my face; she frowned a little and soon regained her usual joy. Fortunately, she was definitely done, so we went to the car and Hermione showed me where the art museum she was working at was. It was a quite recent building, unlike the stereotype of a museum that is commonly found in the average mind. However, the inner side was as expected, since it reminded me of that one school trip to an old museum; and as always, I was with Hermione. I particularly remember that story well because we were punished quite badly because of what we did.
What we did? Well, we tried to steal some key to access the backstage of the place, since Hermione was so convinced that there must be some cool things to see other than old skeletons, creepy stuffed animals, and stupid models. We surprisingly succeeded in our affair, though we were caught later on by one of the guards who were actually looking for us as requested by our class since we were missing. As for the punishment, let's just say that not being able to see Hermione in a while was one of them. Somewhere in mind, and I ignored why, I knew she was also remembering that too. I wanted to say "We learned our lesson, right?" so badly.
I sighed. I opened the wide wooden door of the entrance and let the mother and daughter in before myself. There were a decent amount of paintings in that first room, ranging from neoclassic, to modern and some of the movements between these eras. The light from the windows was beautifully reverberating on the canvases, and the floating dust almost made this scenery magic. I squinted a little bit because of the vibrant surroundings. Hermione took a breath of the warm air before running her fingers on some of the paintings, which was most probably forbidden. She paid attention to neither Eda nor me; the little girl, though, was exactly doing the same prohibited act.
Hermione stopped her antics and took Eda's hand, before leading us to another door before which, as she said, was where the class was. We went in and almost everyone was already in an apron with a blank canvas before them and a brush in hand. The room fell silent; the instructor had quieted his lecture to face the tardy students. Hermione rushed to the latter with Eda, and they talked a little bit. From what I've seen, she was probably acquainted with the instructor, and at some point, she gestured at the little girl. Their discussion ended and Eda took a seat next to another student; I noticed that she was the youngest in the room, given the granny-like woman, the man with a beard, and probably the high school girl texting on her phone without much attention.
The mother installed a canvas on an easel before her daughter, showed her the paints and the brushes, kissed on her forehead, and left. But before going out of the course, she took another blank canvas and an easel and tucked them under her arm. She put some brushes in her hands and the paints in her pockets, grabbed a plate, before handing me what was under her arm to carry it. So we finally exited the room, and Hermione began to walk without even a word.
"I thought you were gonna practice," I remarked.
"I don't need to learn everything from scrap, you know. I still can paint. Probably." she added as walking.
"So you just wanna skip class, huh," I joked.
"Come on, don't you think it's better with only the two of us?"
I stopped my pace; she gave me puzzled glances but said nothing. I had just realized that it was another of these scenes where it was as though we never departed, as though I had apologized the day after that awful day and we continued our lives as one. I felt really sad as realizing that; almost compulsively, I wanted to feel her love once more. It was the only thing that could save me.
"Hey," I called. "Is it weird if I ask for a hug, like, right now?"
She smiled very fondly.
"No, it's never weird to ask for a hug. I'll always give you a hug whenever you'd ask."
Before I could even react to her sentence, she was already holding me tight. The warmth reminded me of these summer days when you have so much time to spend underneath the blazing yet unwinding sun. She patted my back and looked at me in the eyes, with the same fond grin, still cuddling tight.
"Are you fine, Ed?" she asked. The concern in her voice was noticeable.
"It's nothing, really. I just realized how much I loved you." it escaped my mind.
"What're you saying now?" she averted her eyes away. "I guess I like you too." she very softly added.
We stayed static in that position for a minute of silence.
"Anyway, I wanna see you paint. Let's go." I finally said as she let me go.
She smiled once more. Hermione continued walking again and led us to a room with milder lighting. The wallpapers were vermillion, almost red, and there were much more tableaux in that place, with a marble statue of Greek inspiration in the middle of it. I thought it as a poor attempt to recopy whatever statue of Phidias. There was no one else in the room; the clacking sound that Hermione emitted as installing the easel echoed through the lonely walls. Her movements carried a haste disguised as graciousness; she was eager to paint again. She was full of enthusiasm given the wide grin on her face.
After installing the blank canvas, she put down on the floor all the paints, brushes, and the plate and took another breath. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and looked at me afterward. Then, without even talking, she made me sit before her canvas.
"Stay still," she said.
"That's our date? You paint and I stay still?" I complained.
"You know how to paint? Otherwise, I could stay still," she sharply replied before laughing.
"Alright, I stay still." I sighed.
On that, she let out a "Yay!", fondly smiled at me, and regained the canvas. Don't know from where, but she took out a chair for her use, and before soon, she started to paint. This time, the scrapings on the plate as she mixed paint resonated. But I didn't feel lonely as would do some kid that was left out of adults' discussion; I was used to it since a long time ago. There was that same habit of gazing at her without her noticing to spend time anyway. The dim sunlight reverberated on her freckles and lit up her serious eyes. Her red hair became extremely vivid, almost blinding, but I kept on watching her.
The world became brilliant; the Hermione before me blended with the memories of the younger one. It was almost like a hallucination, probably caused by the last drops of alcohol in my veins or my hunger since I skipped breakfast. It was a wonderful illusion to be deceived with. And amidst my reveries, she was still as beautiful; the clothes of her fifteen years old self overlapped with her current attire, and the sun was still like the one entering through the windows of the art club room. Past and present blended as one in that astounding scenery lit by golden rays. The beauty almost drove me mad; and when she peeped out her cute head from the canvas to face her model, I was about to cry.
I missed her so much; it was undeniable, so undeniable it sprang randomly in my mind. And the invariability of things made me regret so much.
So the regrets lingered as I watched her painting. But when she stopped being serious and lit up her face to give the fondest smile, I could ignore it all and only enjoy it. She told me it wouldn't take her more than half an hour to finish; I was glad since my lower body already started to hurt me, sitting on the hard floor. During the following half-hour, the number of grins she spared me greatly increased to emphasize the fact that she was almost done. And then, she left a final stroke on the canvas and smiled again with all her might. I smiled back and hurried to see what sort of beauty escaped her hands.
Well, it was the depiction of where I was sitting, but I was amazed by how she painted it; it looked like one of these surrealistic ones. She took her point of view which made the scene quite unsettling for some reason. Not totally without reason perhaps, since at the right corner of the tableau, I could distinguish the replication of the same painting before my eyes, as though she had recopied everything she was seeing, her own canvas included. And in the middle of it, I seemed like some sort of desperate man, craving for whatever poison. The most striking feature was the colors; they were extremely vibrant, like I saw them earlier. I wondered for the first time how similar was our vision of this world, and whether it really was this one. She even painted the dust to each singular particle; yet, they were all distinguishable.
Hermione was peering at my astounded face, leaning each time closer to understand all the complexities appearing on it. Seeing me with such a face made her smile brighter and harder; she reached her limits and broke into laughter.
"How is it? You just kept quiet for a while," she merrily said.
"This is…" I tried to find a word other than "beautiful". "No, this is beautiful. So beautiful it becomes frightening, or maybe the inverse."
"My, thank you. I'll let you keep it, silver tongue," she joked.
"Really? Well, thanks, I'll cherish and look at this until my death," I hid my self-deprecating tone. "Does this masterpiece have a name?" I asked in over courteously.
"It does, sir," she followed my antics. "Portrait of a man who wouldn't stay still."
"Oh come on, I stayed put like a dead man for almost two hours," I complained.
"You want another name then?" she stopped and thought. " 'Portrait of a man I like'."
I tried ignoring it the first time, but I couldn't just do the same when she was saying it so explicitly.
" 'Cause you like me now?"
"I do. Well, I like you, not love. It's a different matter and you still have a long way to go to win my love, that's your punishment."
"For what? Oh right, Eda…" I stumbled on my words.
"And don't forget about me," she added. "Talking about Eda, the class should end soon, I think. We should take her back, and I kinda wanna see what she did."
"I'm sure she also wanna see what her mother did," I commented.
Hermione hastily cleaned the small mess she did as painting and folded the easel before handing it to me. She checked the paints' lids and the number of brushes too. We went back to where the class was held; Eda was patiently waiting there, watching the several tableaux in exposition as grasping the canvas in her hands. I called out for her and I proudly showed her Hermione's newly-made portrait; she showed an amazed expression in return. Eda prompted all kinds of questions to her mother and urged her to teach how she did. Then, Hermione said that today's date had to take an end since she had some things to take care of in the museum before being able to go home. She insisted on the fact that I could already go home on my side. Seeing how persistent she was, I gave her some money to later take a cab. She reluctantly accepted.
Before taking her leaves, I asked her when our following date was. She replied that she was busy the next day, but assured me that she could make it for the day after tomorrow. Text me what she said. And with the 'Portrait of a man I like' in hand, I watched her disappear in the bright corridors of the museum with her daughter.