You Again by Debra Jo Immergut

Author:Debra Jo Immergut
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

ABBY, JUNE 11, 2015

Mariah’s show at MoMA, almost at the end of its run. As I walked to find lunch, threading through sun-dazed throngs along Fifth Avenue, I realized I wanted to go. I wanted to see her work hanging there in the spacious hush. I stepped into the museum, its air-conditioning and quiet enveloping me, sudden as a plunge into a perfectly cool pool.

When I saw her work, I tasted salt. Tears. Three rooms hung with large paintings, optimistic, powerful, defiant, shouting a dare to the universe. I dare you to ignore me, they said. It is impossible. I cried because I loved them so. They made me want to dare. I was so grateful for them. And for her, truly. She was a master, and we had been young together, and I admired her so. And, apparently, she had fucked my husband.

The complex snarl of emotions overtook me. Quite blindly, I drifted from these galleries, rode the escalators down, and then I found myself on the floor of the Pollocks. I turned from the corridor into the room of One, the large mural-sized work, as big as the side of a tractor trailer, athrob with splattered energy.

Like something out of quantum physics, matter birthing.

Standing in front of the painting, too close: a young woman in a pale denim jacket.

Studying it, her whole body yearning toward it, her face inches away.

Really, too close. I glance around. Where are the guards? None in sight.

I take a step or two closer. But then I freeze.

She reaches her hand toward the painting.

No motion sensors? Were there motion sensors, back then?

Holding my breath. I watch as she traces a crack with her fingers.

And then a small flake flutters to the floor.

She has defaced the Pollock.

She bends to pick it up.

She turns to leave, staring at the chip of paint in her hand. As she comes near, I can see it’s about the size and color of an eyelid.

I block her as she’s hurrying from the room.

Did you actually do that, I say. I am enraged. She is a defacer. Destroyer.

She registers shock as she recognizes me. She presses her hand to her side. That chip of paint, hidden in her fist.

It’s a little good-luck charm, she says, trying to maneuver past me.

I grab her arm.

You are so lucky, I say. So very lucky. He dies. You don’t.

Look, she says. I know you want to help me. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s just. Her eyes go wide and dark. I’m not you. You are just a person looking at art on the wall. I will be on the wall.

I release her. Absorbing the blow. And then she’s gone, of course. The painting is still there. As ever, pulsating, vibrating, hurling itself through time.

Missing a piece.

June 13, 2016

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.