Tim and Moth had been staring at the painting, white wine in hand and squint on face, for roughly forty-five seconds, before Tim burped out of the corner of his mouth and declared his thoughts and feeling on the swirling blue and yellow.
“I could fucking do this.”
Above their heads a happy tune started playing out of speakers neither of them had noticed before. Slots opened up in the ceiling, and the two men were showered with confetti.
“What the hell?” Moth muttered, drinking his wine and a fair amount of the confetti that had already fallen into it.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” A voice said over the loudspeakers. “Please make your way to the Modern Art Exhibit, where another patron has volunteered for our Art is for Everybody Program!”
“What did she say?” Tim asked. He started glancing around the room, looking for this person who had actually volunteered to make an ass out of themselves in front of strangers. Finally, he found the owner of the voice, a heavy black woman in a well-fitted museum uniform, wearing a shit-eating grin.
She was coming right for him.
“Oh, shit,” Tim said. “We got to go.”
But Moth was nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t go anywhere, sir!”
The museum employee had caught up with him, and had put a polite but firm hand on his elbow. Not that it mattered. A crowd was forming around them already, politely bemused. There was no escape.
“My name is Shalissa, I’m with the Museum’s Community Outreach Program! And what’s your name, sir?”
“Uh…….Tim.”
“Tim! Wonderful! Nice to meet you! Now, come on over here with me, Tim.”
She pulled him along like an aggressive game show host with a less-than-TV-ready contestant. Tim shuffled along behind her, trying to spot the exit.
What the hell is happening? Oh, sweet mother Mary, no.
She was dragging him toward a stage.
It was a small stage, sure, but it was still a fucking stage. It was in the corner of the large Modern Art room, how could he have missed it? Maybe his eyes had glazed over it, thinking it was its own terrible piece.
The stage was not empty. There was a canvas, hanging the wall, the same size as the canvas he had just been standing in front of. A little table stood on the stage, covered in a selection of paints.
Oh, no.
Shalissa brought Tim up on the stage. The crowd had followed them. It was a Saturday afternoon, why had they come on a Saturday afternoon? They knew it would be crowded, and it had been, and now the entire crowded museum had packed into the Modern Art room to watch Tim.
He spotted Moth in the middle, grinning from ear to ear. He raised his glass to Tim and then drank, slurping down a bunch of confetti that had still been in the glass.
Fucking Moth.
“Everybody, this is Tim. Say, Hi Tim!”
Shalissa held the microphone out to the crowd, who all dutifully chanted back hi Tim!
“Now, as you may or may not know, the museum implemented a new program last year called the Why Don’t You Try Program? There’s a big sign out in the lobby, but I don’t know, people just seem to miss it!”
She chuckled along with the crowd.
“How it works is, anyone in our Modern Art exhibit who wants to have a chance to make their own, gets that chance!”
“Oh, uh, no,” Tim said, finally understanding. “I don’t…I didn’t…”
“But you did, hon!” Shalissa said. “And we want all of our community to get into the spirit of art, so in that spirit…”
She stepped back and gestured at the paints and canvas.
“Have at it! You’ve got everything you need here, canvas and paints, and we can get you more if you need them. The museum closes in three hours, so that’s how long you have to make the modern art masterpiece of your dreams! I feel like this program is so important, because not only will our patrons get to try out painting, others will get to watch the magic happen!”
The two of them stood in silence as the audience clapped. And then in silence as the audience watched the two of them stare each other down. Shalissa’s words had been genuine, but there had been a definite…tone…to them, that told Tim everything he needed to know.
You think you can do it, wise guy? Well, fucking be my guest.
Tim put down his wine glass on the little table and straightened out his waistcoat.
“Okay, you know what? I’ll play your little game. Give me that brush.”
“That’s the spirit! Let’s give Tim some encouragement!”
The audience clapped once more, and someone (probably Moth) whistled and hooted.
You want to embarrass me just because I think modern art is stupid? Well, I’ll show you.
The only artistic expression Tim had ever done in his life prior to this moment was doodles in his notebook. He hadn’t even wanted to come here, he had only agreed to go with Moth because in return he agreed to go to the Chunkin Pucks concert next weekend. But now, he was going to reach deep and making something fucking phenomenal, something so emotional everyone in the audience would shit their pants and weep at the same time, and he was going to prove to this fart-smelling, wine-drinking, holier-than-thou bungholes that anyone could do this modern art shit.
Tim entered into a frenzied state. He couldn’t tell the passage of time. He was unaware of what was going on behind him. He asked for more paints three times but would never remember doing so. There was a cacophony of colors in his head, and he was going to put them all on canvas.
“All right, the museum closes in fifteen minutes, come on down to the Modern Art exhibition to see what Tim has made for us!”
He stepped back from what he had made. It was not that different than the painting he had been standing in front of when he’d made his ill-fated comment. An unholy smattering of colors, clashing, contrasting, complementing. It all depended on where you looked.
But there was something different about this one. Something that…well, it was speaking to Tim. It was telling him things. Crazy things. Wonderful things. Stories of his childhood he had completely forgotten, hopes and dreams he’d left behind in the alleys of broken chances.
He heard the crowd gathering behind him and froze. It all seemed too much. He had created a window to his soul and now people were peering in.
“Wow, look at this folks! Isn’t this great? I think it deserves some applause, come on.”
Shalissa came back on stage and gently turned Tim to face the crowd as they applauded politely. It was just a gesture. A societal thing, to keep Tim’s embarrassment from becoming their own. He was sure, once he raised his eyes, they would be holding back laughter, tittering behind hands.
But they weren’t. Well, maybe a few in the back. But the others up front, close to the stage, were actually examining the painting. Pointing at spots. Making comments to one another, nodding to those comments.
They were appreciating his art.
“Anything you want to say about your painting, Tim?” Shalissa asked, before pointing the microphone at him.
“I…uh…well, I guess I see these colors a lot. In my head, you know? I never really noticed them before, but then once I saw the paints…”
He trailed off, unsure how to go on. Shalissa took over effortlessly.
“That’s great! And what do you call it?”
“‘Return.’”
He hadn’t even know he was going to say anything. The word had fallen out of his mouth.
“There you have it, museum patrons. You are the first to witness our newest exhibit, ‘Return’ by Tim!”
The crowd applauded again. Some dispersed. Some hung around, taking pictures of the painting and Tim, still talking about it.
“You’re…you’re going to hang it up?”
“Unless you want to take it home yourself.”
“No, no, I don’t have the room. Keep it.”
Shalissa smiled at him, this time without the undertones. “Anyone can do art, Tim. Only some people actually take the time to do it. And now you’re one of them! Congratulations.”
Shalissa walked off back to whatever post she usually worked at, leaving Tim to stare at the painting, his painting, on the wall.
“Pfft, I could do that,” said a voice behind him.
Tim smiled to himself, before picking up a paint brush and turning.
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 