Inside Out

Karen pushed through the barricade Charlie’s body posed at the door. She did not so much as force her way into his apartment as she was drawn by what she saw. Seeming to not hear Charlie’s protests she walked across the floor of his living room as in a trance. She walked directly to the roughly five by seven inch, predominately yellow oil painting. She looked it over carefully with a very critical eye.

Before Charlie could issue another verbal challenge to her intrusion to his world Karen asked gently, “Is this real?”

“Of course it isn’t,” he denounced in a calm, refined tone which almost made her forget to whom she was talking.

“No, this looks amazingly real,” she insisted still looking at it.

“It’s just a great copy of the original.”

Turning to look him in the eye as he approached her, “I studied fine arts for years especially Dali and this looks to be amazingly real. I noticed the person who copied it also recreated his signature which is wrong.”

She had come to his apartment to confront him, to let Charlie know once and for all about his loud and obnoxious behavior at work. She had grown very tired of hearing his nonstop loud opinions about everything and everybody at work. Her job was challenging enough without his rude mouth running. His endless comments about coworkers’ characteristics, their food, their choices in fashions, she had grown tired of his endless poor attempts at humor. She had planned on a full frontal attack at his door with no prisoners taken. Now, she had been thoroughly clothes lined by this roughly thirty-five square inch masterpiece.

“Do you mind if I look at the back of it?” she asked as she reached over the chest high bookshelf it was neatly hanged above.

“No, stop!” he immediately commanded.

Freezing with her outreached arms she looked over at him, “It is real.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. This is the original now please just leave it alone,” he pleaded.

Turning to face him while lowering her arms she asked, “How do you have an original Dali?”

“I inherited it from my grandmother,” he calmly explained moving away from it hoping she would follow but stopping when she didn’t.

“I think the title of this piece is Vermeer as a Table, isn’t it?” she asked turning to look at it.

“Close, ‘The Ghost of Vermeer of Delft which can be used as a Table,’” he corrected.

She looked at the figure in the painting which was one knee while the other leg was extended in front forming a table like structure. He moved over next to her and looked at it as well.

“How did she come to have it?”

“She met Salvador in Paris and got to know him.”

“Was she his lover?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you had studied him as you have claimed you would know he was problematic in sexual situations with women. Gala was his only true love besides himself,” he scolded, “She was just an acquaintance. She had gone to Paris to study French.”

“I had heard about his sexual problems. I didn’t really care about that so much. I mainly focused on his style and the actual pieces.”

“Why are you here?” he challenged changing the topic abruptly in the same calm, refined tone.

She turned and looked at him as if she had been totally caught off guard, “I came to talk to you.”

“Concerning what?” he demanded.

She looked down at the books on the shelf and saw classic after classic. She looked up and noticed another book shelf in front of the far wall and saw book after book on many different subjects.

She continued to look about the room reading the various titles silently, “Have you read all of these?”

Rolling his eyes as his patience was starting to run thin he answered, “No, I have read most of them. Some I have read several times.”

Walking over to yet another book shelf this time laden with various scholarly and literature magazines, “Why do you read them several times over?”

“What I got out of a book at twenty years of age is different than that which I get out of reading it now.”

“No television?” she asked as she looked over books in French, German, and what she thought was Russian.

“There’s one in the bedroom for watching movies.

“So what is going on here?” she demanded as she turned to face him yet again.

Taken back about how things were turned placing him on the defensive again, “What are you talking about?”

“Do you actually understand these languages?” she asked as she motioned her hand past the books in other languages.

“And Latin as well, but what does all of this have to do with you being here?”

“What’s this one say?”

“That’s Tolstoy’s ‘Death of Ivan Illych.’ It’s a great tale. It might do you some good. The one next to it is ‘War and Peace,’ the next is a collection of Anton Chekhov,” he answered taking a real interest.

“I don’t read Cyrillic,” she said feeling a bit intimidated.

“I have an English version around here somewhere. I’ll bring it to you at work,” Charlie offered, “Now, why are you here?”

“Oh, I, um,” she stumbled over her thoughts as she continued to take in the titles, “I uh, just, wanted, um...”

“Well?” he interrupted looking right at her with his right eyebrow raised slightly.

She stopped and looked down as she regained her composure and her thoughts. He sighed and rolled his eyes a bit as he waited.

“Look,” she said as she raised her eyes to meet his, “I had come here to talk to you about your obnoxious behavior at work.” She had decided to let him have it point blank.

“I’m not doing anything against company rules or standards.”

“No, that is why I am here,” she said moving to the sofa and taking a seat, “You are a valuable asset and have done a lot for the company as far as your job goes.”

“But?” he demanded still standing by the bookshelf.

“But you are one of the rudest, crudest, loud, arrogant, and obnoxious persons I have ever met which goes totally against what I am seeing here.”

She had kind of trailed off with the last few words of her statement as she looked about the living room noticing other pieces. She thought one might actually be a Pollack.

“Yes, I have a habit of putting other people off.”

“Is it on purpose?” she asked with a cross between confused and caring expression.

“Hmm,” he thought to himself while looking for the answer on the floor by his feet, “It probably is. I do prefer my time to study, to explore, to learn, to just deflate.”

“Instead of saying rude things and acting callous to your coworkers you could embark on an adventure of discovery with them.”

“I am perfectly fine where I am at.”

“But why?” she countered without hesitation, “You seem like you could offer a lot to others in their quest in life.”

“Then I would be off putting as a mister knows it all.”

“No, I believe by what I have seen here and how you have treated me you could come off as a major help by a concerned friend,” she insisted, “You are a great asset. You do wonderful work. I would like you to be a part of the team.”

Shaking his head as he moved to a window overlooking a nearby park’s pond he explained, “Okay, I’ll level with you. I want my privacy. I don’t want to open myself up and risk allowing others to get too close.”

“But why?” she asked in a pleading way, “You could open up many possibilities. Of what could you possibly be that afraid?”

“If it helps you to understand and move on leaving me be, I don’t want to change my trajectory.”

“What?” she asked thoroughly lost.

He sat down, “I don’t want to jeopardize the chances of my path intersecting with another.”

She watched as his eyes made a glance towards what appeared to be a medium size wood curio cabinet with glass doors. She got up and moved towards it. He moved as well as if to intercept. He managed to beat her to it. But instead of touching it she just looked at the simple urn with lid inside.

“Who was that?”

“She IS my greatest admiration, my greatest love, my closest friend.”

Heeding the way he emphasized ‘IS,’ she asked, “She is your girlfriend.”

“Yes, and my wife,” he corrected while looking at the urn, “She is what makes me who I am. She makes me whole.”

“What happened?” she asked in a quiet, caring voice.

“We had always wanted a child. We waited until we graduated from college and got a house. We wanted to make sure that we had a good nest in which to bring our dream. There were complications and an infection. Just weeks of ups and downs,” he recited in a low voice.

“I am so sorry,” offered Karen with honest sentiment.

“One day I will be with her again.”

Entering carefully, “So, you believe that if you let anyone close you may enter a relationship which will interfere with you reuniting with her?”

“In a nutshell,” he responded still looking at the urn.

“And this is the reason you act so boorish at work, to keep people at a distance so there is no chance of it happening.”

“Yes,” he answered.

She started walking towards the door, “I understand what you are saying and I appreciate and respect your beliefs but I think you are making a big mistake.”

“How so?”

“I think you are missing out on the opportunity to develop new relationships which could open all sorts of doors and experiences. If you love as much as you believe it shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“I appreciate your concern and I will think it over carefully.”

“I would really like to have the real you as a true part of the team.”

He swallowed and nodded as he led her to the door.

“Really, please think about it. I seriously believe you would bring much to the party as a member instead of a pariah,” she walked through the door and turned around, “I look forward to working with the real you on Monday.”

“Thank you,” he said with a smile, “I’ll see you then.”

She said, “Okay.”

She turned to walk away. He watched her for a moment and closed the door as she moved further down the hall. He sighed at the door. He spent a moment staring at the closed door. He let out a breath then turned to walk into the living room. He walked over to the curio cabinet and looked at the urn. He stood there for a few moments reminiscing about the old days.

Before he walked to the kitchen to finish his dinner he said, “I guess we start looking for a new job on Monday.”