Watercolor Memories

A man who believed in past lives finds the present one unbelievably hard to accept,.

The dream faded at the knock on my door. I arose feeling a deep sudden loss. “Coming.”

“Here’s the hundred I owe you. Got lucky rolling dice. Better take it while you can. What’s this?” Henry knew my cluttered small apartment with its south facing window better than I did. After all, he’d rented it before me.

I stared in amazement at what he was pointing at, unable to express a single word.

“I didn’t know you could paint. This is good stuff. Who is she? I’d like to meet someone looking as good as that.”

I stepped forward, my gaze unwavering, as I met my dream now created by my own hand. “Jeanifer,” I said simply. The name coming from out of my unknown past. The stroke had taken so much from me, leaving me a relic of the vibrant young man I had once been.

“You dog. Keeping her from me. Tell me more.” Henry pulled a beer out of my small fridge, once his, as if it still belonged to him. He tossed me one and settled on the threadbare overstuffed couch.

“We promised in our next life we’d break the pattern. Ours was a forlorn love found in tragedy and always too late.”

Henry spit out his beer. “You had another stroke, good buddy? Past lives? Lost loves? What are you talking about?”

“You asked,” I muttered, spilling a little of my own beer as I lifted it to my lips.

“These other watercolors? I recognize the park across the street. What’s with the old buildings? Are those the ones torn down years ago from neglect?” Once Henry got on an interesting topic he wasn’t one to let it go. “Wow. The ferris wheel. I remember hearing about there being an amusement park a century ago. You’ve been doing some heavy research, bud.”

The dream was coming back to me. I closed my eyes to let it settle into my bones. “She’s coming,” I half whispered, rising on my feet to walk towards the window.

Henry stood, feeling the change in the air. “You’re expecting her? You doing another portrait of her? Can I watch?”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy looking at the keen interest in Henry’s eyes. “You’re too late, Henry. She’s mine.” I went over and opened the door.

Jennifer’s hand was raised, prepared to knock. I took her in my arms. “You’re here.”

She pulled back as she noticed my company. “I left him, He’s threatened to kills us both. I’m sorry. Who’s this?”

It was so evident, the attraction in both their eyes. I let the words tumble out before realizing where they might lead. “My best friend Henry. You’ll be staying with him. He’ll keep you from harms way while I deal with your abusive husband once and for all.”

I didn’t have to introduce them.. Henry and Jennifer hit it off, barely recognizing me as we said our goodbye’s.

The window drew my attention. There was shouting. I watched as Jennifer’s husband mistook Henry for me, drew his revolver and shot my best friend dead. A moment later and Jennifer fell beside him, not yet lovers, more than friends.

Police sirens woke up,wailing their way towards us. Jennifer’s husband glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. I nodded in answer to his unasked question. “Yes. You got the right man.” He just stood there staring at me as the police arrived.

I turned to my watercolors, paintbrush in hand. The painting of Jennifer leaning into my hug was still wet where it stood drying in the sun. “If only I had known how it turned out, would I have done anything differently?”

I wondered what I could dream up next. Could I paint a better future life with Jennifer and me in it? I watched as my hand began to paint a memory yet to become real. A fantasy? Perhaps. It was all I had to hang onto.

I ignored the police knocking on my door.