Looped by Andrew Winston

Author:Andrew Winston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2009-04-13T06:06:00+00:00

With Louise around, moments alone are scarce. Louise, of course, would see this as a distinct benefit of her presence. The best part of the day is late morning, when Louise does the shopping and Florence can sit out on the balcony and paint. As soon as the door shuts behind Louise and silence returns to the apartment, Florence settles down at her easel on the balcony, brush in hand.

In a bargain she has cut with herself, she alternates painting with her left and right hands, one small picture each. Today, she uses both on the same picture. The effects she gets from her unsteady left hand sometimes surprise and delight her. It is like a wild card thrown into the mix, sometimes ruining pictures, sometimes adding unexpected and exciting twists.

She pauses, moved by the dark, roiling clouds over the lake. It is not what she would call good light, but it unleashes in her emotions of melancholy and loss. It makes her think of Arnie. She sends her thoughts out to him: It's a good thing, I guess, to know I won't die penniless and friendless. There are plenty of people around, sometimes too many, I think you know who I mean. But dear, on a day like this there is nothing I would rather do than make you a tuna salad sandwich and have you come home for lunch, and cheer me up. Feeling a little embarrassed, she starts painting quickly, testing her poor hand's agility. As she highlights the edge of a cloud with white to simulate the muffled sunlight, the brush slips and a streak of lightning appears in the paint. Almost at the same moment, distant thunder rumbles across the city. She looks up. To the west, clouds have broken apart and stream down the sky as rain.

There is a knock on the door, and Les Potamkin calls, "Hello?"

"Come in, Les," Florence calls back. She pulls her smock tighter, as though caught in a naked moment.

The big man swells through the door. "I thought you might be out here," he says gently. "Wanted to help youse get in before the rain." He pulls up his toolbelt.

"I guess I can't use watercolors in the rain, can l?" She swishes her brush clean and puts it away.

The janitor lifts the easel and carries it lightly into the kitchen. "You're looking very-" He pauses for a word. "Very well."

"Thank you. I feel better every day."

"Where's your friend? Louise?"

"Shopping. It's her favorite thing next to bossing me around." Florence eases her weak arm out of her painting smock.

"Need help with that?" Potamkin asks. He lifts his hands cautiously.

"No, dear, thank you. You've helped enough. You got me inside just in time."

They both look out to the patio, where the first dark spots appear on the cement.

"I'd better check the front awnings," Potamkin says, "in case the wind comes up." He eases himself out the door again, without another word.

The wind carries in a gust of the scent of wet concrete, and throws a handful of large drops against the plate glass.

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