Page 27 - WTPO Vol. VII #5

The “Freckled Woman” fascinated him. To Andrew this was not a sculpture. He called it “she” and “her.” He imagined her during every waking hour and dreamed of her in his sleep. His girlfriend tired of hearing about the show and broke up with him.
“It’s a sculpture, for god’s sake,” his father said. “Get over it.”
“No,” Andrew disagreed, “she’s more than that. She’s a prophetess, a beautiful warning, encased by our inane world. She screams out: Beware the emptiness.”
“What’s wrong with you?” his father continued. “I told your mother over and over. Too many books, culture, and reflection. You live in your mind.”
~
Victoria stood up from the bench.
“C’mon. Let’s go. I’ve had enough. I’ll return this evening.”
“What about the guy?” Becca asked.
“He never takes his eyes off the sculpture.” They left the gallery and went out for dinner.
~
It was a half-hour from closing when Victoria returned by herself, not only to stare again at her sculptural self, but also to look at Andrew, with whom she wanted to find some way of starting a conversation, perhaps go for a coffee, or at least get him to look at her.
At this late hour, only Victoria, the guard, and Andrew were in the room with the sculpture. All of the lights were off except for one that focused on the “Freck-
led Woman.” The lack of light and people, the eerie silence, made the presence of the sculpture more startling. Victoria almost felt embarrassed for it, and vicariously saw herself standing nude in front of people all day, hoping now that someone might throw a drape over herself.
Victoria chose a long bench that faced the sculpture from the side—the side that showed the mole on her back—and pretended to read about the sculpture in the program. She hung her head low and placed ear phones in her ears without listening to any music. Her focus was on Andrew, to see if he ever looked in her direction.
Andrew never glanced at Victoria. His gaze was fully
on the “Freckled Woman.”
“Regardless how it happened,
Victoria could not believe the likeness. To see her face and form in sculpture was strange enough...”
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