evening

The manner in which they walked together, side by side, seemed natural. Perhaps this was why strangers tended to assume that they were a couple. The evening air was cool; she was glad to have brought her sweater after all. The streets were relatively quiet, and as they walked toward an unassuming pair of glass doors, he began to feel his own restlessness. Each time he brought a new person to this place, he was filled with both excitement and fear. He had spent so many hours building and preparing his own private nest of creativity; the thought of inviting a friend, no matter how close, was almost like allowing someone to search through his closet and dresser drawers.

“It’s kind of dark” he said as he unlocked the door. “Wait here, and I’ll go turn on the lights.”

A little perplexed, she agreed and tried to hide her curiosity. Although she generally thought she knew him well, he would surprise her from time to time with an unexpected piece of personal history, or even better, a witty remark about life or traffic. To him, opposites fit perfectly together. He always tried to be playful and wise, sensitive and sarcastic, gentle and brave. She, on the other hand, tended to believe that a person was either one way or the other. He suspected this difference between them to be the most likely reason for their current status as "friends." He also thought, however, that certain things were better left unstated, better left to be discovered over time.

As he finally opened the door, she opened her eyes wide. The gallery lights were dim, and his art was arranged like most other aspects of his life - with meticulous consideration. His heart pounded as she began to look around. Within a few seconds, he excused himself and disappeared through a different, interior doorway. The thought of awkwardly standing around while she inspected his work was simply out of the question.

A few minutes passed. When he eventually returned through the same interior doorway, he began to feel more at ease. It seemed obvious from her body language that she was filled with interest. Regardless of what she had originally expected, it was clear to him that she would not continue to underestimate this aspect of his life. Her voice was filled with sincerity, her eyes with honesty, as she proclaimed,

“This is a REAL gallery. You need to get more people in here. How do you make these? Are those bronze?”

His heart smiled as he began his explanations. Although he usually felt uncomfortable discussing his creative process, he felt more at ease with her. The tone of her voice had given away the depth of her interest, and he knew that regardless of what he said, it would not spoil the quality of her first impression. Her initial reaction was the very kind that artists live for, the kind which make them feel that their impractical, dreamy careers are indeed worthwhile.

“Do you want to see the rest of the building.... the unfinished parts?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

Anticipating more surprises, she agreed, and they found their way back into a large and dusty storage area, where the lights were even less revealing. While his voice echoed beneath the old and weathered tin ceiling, her inquiring eyes and inquisitive neck peered around each shadowy corner. They really were a lot alike, he thought, as she pondered the age of the building and as he explained his arrangement with the landlord. Although their hearts had always been in different places, the similarity of their curious minds made him feel less odd, less alone.

Continuing to sense her fascination with the building itself, he decided to try to coax her into other areas, where the building's age and mystery were even more prominent. Unsure of her comfort threshold, he suggested they ascend a remote stairway, down a dark hallway near the back door. Noticing her indecision, he smiled and pulled his keys out of his right front pocket. With a slight twist of his wrist, a small beam of light appeared from the end of a thimble-sized flashlight. She cautiously followed.

As they reached the base of the stairway, he thought of taking her hand, and then reconsidered. Instead he pointed the golden beam of light behind himself, alighting the first stair beneath her feet.

“Do you go up here by yourself?.... at night?” she asked in amazement.

He smiled again and nodded, and they stepped gingerly upward among the dirt and dust, among the flakes of dry paint which had peeled away and fallen from the walls. As the stairway turned to the right, he pointed to a broken window where only the exterior, protective bars remained. They each glanced out toward the dim light of the moon and the empty alley behind the building before turning upwards again, toward the darkness at the top of the stairs.

“Did you hear that!?.... that noise?” she asked in a broken whisper.

Just as the words “it’s nothing” came from his mouth, a fury of flapping wings descended upon their ears and upon their confidence. Startled, she fled back down the stairs immediately, guarding her head with each frightened step. Perplexed, he paused at the top of the stairs and aimed his small flashlight toward another window above, where two gray and speckled pigeons perched, then fluttered again.

“Are those bats?!” She yelled. “What are you still doing up there?”

Insensitively, he burst into laughter and slowly made his way to the bottom of the stairs. Still laughing, he checked to see that she was alright, to see if she had regained her composure. Unfortunately, he certainly had not, and his laughing continued to the point of embarrassment, to the point of contagion.

Once she finally began laughing herself, it became clear to each of them that the tension of the evening had finally subsided. He couldn't imagine a greater feeling of relief, except perhaps in the hearts of the pigeons.

“Go ahead,” he suggested, “I’ll turn off all of the lights after you’re back outside.”

Without argument, she agreed and made her way through the dark hallway, through the gallery, and onto the sidewalk. After he had finally extinguished each of the lights, he too found his way outside. Though the temperature was still cool, the laughter between them continued, and they slowly walked away from his gallery and the old building containing it.

With their hearts still in different places, he thought, on this particular evening, it didn’t really feel that way. It seemed rather, that something between them had deepened. And as they walked beneath the warm glow of a nearby streetlight, he smiled and noticed how their shadows had overlapped and disappeared into the sidewalk.