BANG!
The door slams behind me and I hear a startled scream from my left hand side. Peering over to the direction of the scream I spot Christine, her hair is flattened one side and there seem to be very dark rings under her eyes. The usual explosion of garish colour that comprises her fashion sense has been replace with monochrome couplings of greys and blacks.
"Are you O.K? Did something happen after I dropped you home last night? Please don't tell me you got food poisoning from the restaurant last night, 'cause I will so give them a scathing yelp review if you did."
Confusion wanders across her features until, languidly, recognition takes hold.
"Oh no, no, no, I'm fine, well... not fine, but, not ill... I mean to say healthy, well... I... I...Arrggghhhh!!!!! Stupid sleep deprived brain! Get it together!"
I watch her, concern and amusement warring in my mind, as she takes several large breaths and centres herself.
"I was a little overstimulated last night and did not get much sleep."
I can feel the flush of blood rushing to my face, suddenly unable to call forth a voice with which to reply. My grip tightens on the canvas I'm holding. Christine notices and starts to turn a lovely crimson shade herself, she clears her throat, "Ahem. Is that a new piece for the gallery?"
'Oh crap, the painting, what's she going to think now. It seemed so right when I left the house, now, oh dear... Crap, I'm standing here staring at my shoes. Answer her question you idiot!'
"Actually it's, ah, it's for you.... To, ah, say, you know, thanks. For last night. It was nice to be outside and, you know, interact with society. I hope, that's O.K.?"
I pass over the painting, and pray that she doesn't get the wrong idea.
************
'Overstimulated last night?? Really that is what you went with? Now he is giving me a painting? Oh man...'
I walk over to the counter and set the canvas down and start to pull back the drop sheet Stephen had draped over it to protect it. As the painting is revealed, I let go of the breath I had not known I was holding, and sigh with relief. It is his usual, odd, fantastical work; a female creature perched upon a dragon, all in bright colours. I feel a connection to the piece, a sense of familiarity that is unusually comforting.
I notice my vision start to blur, 'Dammit, crying, really. I mean, you have been given presents before. Yes, the painting is beautiful in its' own way, but, crying?
I back-hand the tears away and replace the drop sheet, then turn back to thank Stephen for the gift.
"It is amazing, thank you, unnecessary, but... thank you."
'Way to articulate Christine. Sigh.'
************
'I knew it was to much, stupid, normal people don't say thanks for dinner by handing them a painting. Maybe mother is right and there is something wrong with my head.'
"I'm sorry, is it a bit much, I'm not really sure how this is supposed to work. Haven't had much experience in these situations."
Noticing I'm wringing my hands I quickly shove them into my pockets.
"Well this isn't completely awkward at all." A tall, red-headed, man is leaning against the counter a half cocked grin affixed to his freckled face.
"Is this the friend that kept you out till late last night?" He uses his index and middle finger's on his left and right hands to hook air quotes around the word friend.
finally indeed
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