Thursday 27 September 2012

Flash Fiction Friday, Cycle 97

This week's challenge from Flannery Alden:-



Gray and Gold, by John Rogers Cox

"This week’s prompt is my favorite painting, that you can see at the top. It lives at the Cleveland Museum of Art, tucked off to the side of the modern art section, near the coat racks. Every time I go there, I seek it out and ponder it longer than anything else there. It’s captivating to me and suggests so many possibilities.

I’d like you to use it as an inspiration for a story and I’d like your story to feature this particular crossroads as a setting. Are you meeting someone? The devil, perhaps? Have you been walking aimlessly down a country lane and found yourself here, not sure which way to go?

Take a few moments. Absorb the scene and then decide to go down the write path."


HOMECOMING

As the plane touched down at Cleveland-Hopkins 15 years suddenly felt like a long time to have been away. I had got on with a busy life. Time had passed at a pace I hardly noticed in the hurly-burly but coming back home for the first time after such an interval put things into perspective.

Aunt Clara allowed the tears to flow freely down her cheeks when she smothered me in a huge embrace at the arrivals exit. "Goddammit, I wasn't going to cry," Clara said as she dabbed her eyes. Uncle Josh gave me a firm handshake and looked embarrassed as he shuffled from foot to foot. Perhaps this first meeting of my homecoming was too public for his sensibilities.

My aunt and uncle drove me from the airport to their house. I was seated in the back of the car, just as I had so very often as a boy. We passed familiar landmarks. Aunt Clara filled me in with a steady commentary on the changes to Cleveland I would encounter. Uncle Josh maintained an almost unbroken silence as he drove. Every so often Clara would seek his agreement on some point of geographical interest and he would respond with a firm nod. Josh always had been the silent type.

The first few hours back at the old house passed in a whirl of renewing acquaintances. A constant stream of cousins and neighbours progressed in and out of the front door. I was polite but found I had little to say to any of them. They asked what I was doing with myself these days. Fairly bland, perfunctory answers seemed to keep them happy. Mostly, they just wanted to tell me about their own lives. I realised that I had moved on in more than just the physical sense of the phrase.

That evening I found myself alone in the yard lighting a cigarette. It was good to have some time to myself. After a couple of minutes contemplating the dark I became aware that Uncle Josh was standing by my side. I had no idea how long he had been there before noticing. We were both comfortable with the silence.

"It's great to see you and Aunt Clara looking so well Uncle Josh," I said, stubbing out my cigarette at the same time.

"Oh, you know how it is," Uncle Josh said. He paused then continued, "We keep going but we ain't getting any younger either."

"I know it's a long time but I really have missed you two."

There was no response.

"Looking back now, Uncle Josh, I do appreciate everything you and Aunt Clara did for me. Taking me in like that. With no children of your own it must have been a shock to the system to suddenly have a nine year old kid taking up space."

"There was never any question for us. It was just something we had to do."

"You know I've still no recollection of what happened."

Uncle Josh looked down, turned and started towards the kitchen door. Pausing, he said, "Probably best to just let it go, Sam," and continued indoors.

At no other time did Mom and Dad get mentioned during that first day back in Cleveland. Everyone knew that I came to live with my mother's brother and his wife after the disappearance. I guess, though, nobody wanted to rake over the painful past. It was more comfortable to steer away from the tragedy and concentrate on the trivia of the here and now.

By the second day Aunt Clara could probably sense that I would benefit from a change of scene. Uncle Josh, who was way past a normal retirement age, had gone to work. My aunt suddenly announced that I needed to be re-acquainted with the 'sights' of Cleveland and drove me into the city centre.

After a late morning caffeine fix at Starbucks I expressed a wish to call in at the Case Western Reserve University Bookstore. It was an old haunt that I genuinely wanted to see again. When we came out my aunt said that in all her years living in the city she had never visited the Cleveland Museum of Art. It was close by. I agreed it would be a good idea to go. It would placate Clara and provide a subject of conversation other than meaningless small talk.

I dimly remembered visiting the museum during the course of, perhaps, one school trip. The lay-out was unfamiliar. I was happy to meander in an unplanned way. Eventually we came to the modern art section. There, near the coat hooks, was a painting called Gray and Gold.

The shock caused by what I saw was visceral and instantaneous. I found myself rooted to the spot and utterly transfixed by the picture. Waves of panic started to surge through me and then I was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to vomit. The light in my peripheral vision started to fade. For a moment there was nothing but the intensity of the painting then that, too, dimmed. Eventually, there was only blackness.

When I came to I was aware there was a huddle of people - museum staff and members of the public - standing round me. I was flat on my back in the modern art gallery. I heard Aunt Clara's voice and tried to focus in the direction it came from.

"Oh Lord, Sam, are you alright? What came over you?"

Paramedics gently pushed her aside and tended to me. Full consciousness slowly returned. After a series of tests and questions satisfied them I would be alright Aunt Clara was permitted to take me home.

During the drive back to the house recollection started to surface. I realised that when I had looked at Gray and Gold snatches of memory of what happened the day my parents disappeared were triggered for the first time.

I was standing alone at the cross-roads portrayed in the painting. We had been in a car. Something was wrong with it. We pulled over and we all got out. A light appeared. It seemed to be all around me. Then Mom and Dad were gone. I stood there, shouting at the brooding clouds and calling for them to come back.

“Aunt Clara,” I said, “Uncle Josh was there wasn’t he? The day Mom and Dad disappeared.”

“Yes Sam, he found you. He arrived at the cross-roads in his truck and saw you there alone. It was a squally day and you had your waterproofs on. He said you were screaming at the storm clouds.”

“Why doesn't he talk about it?”

“Oh Sam, it's been so hard for him. He’s a black and white kind of a guy who has had to come to terms with something unexplainable and extraordinary. He lost a sister he was close to in circumstances he can’t fathom. You were the only one left behind and he doesn’t know why.”

The rest of my stay in Cleveland passed without incident or further reference to the loss of my parents. I felt relaxed about realising how deeply I loved my aunt and uncle. The need to get away from Cleveland 15 years ago had been overwhelming. Then I had been confused about my past and haunted by self-doubt brought on by the amnesia. Now I had the beginnings of recollection. I still had no understanding of how or where my parents had been taken but, for the first time in my life, I had the feeling that I was at the beginning of a journey of discovery.

On the day of departure Aunt Clara and Uncle Josh drove me to the airport. They agreed to stop off at the Cleveland Museum of Art on the way. I made my way quickly to the modern art gallery while they waited in the car.

I stood in front of Gray and Gold. There was no physical shock but, once more, I found myself transfixed. This time, however, it was not a flood of memories that induced my reaction. It was the appearance of a small figure in the painting itself. A child in rain gear was standing at the cross-roads staring towards the clouds and surrounded by luminescence.

It came to me then. I was the portal.






10 comments:

  1. Intriguing story and a spooky ending. Like the altered painting too.

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  2. Wow. This is terrific. Eerie and frightening, yet comforting with its air of acceptance. Knowing is all. Well done!

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    1. Thank you for the comments.

      PS I've put a post up confirming chapter 3 of Frank's tale is up.

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    2. I can't wait to dig into Chapter 3. Knowing it's there is sending all kinds of thoughts flooding in trying to figure out where you took it.

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  3. Great narrative here! I like the suspense... how the story unfolds gradually... and building to an end I did not see coming.

    Knowledge is power... knowledge is also peace. The peace of knowing is a release... such as that from a prison of uncertainty.

    This is very well done. Thank you.

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  5. Great Tale. I love you're take on incorporating the painting into it. But I feel this may be better as a longer piece. It would be cool to dig into the story about the disappearance a little more.

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    1. Completely understand where you are coming from Zack. One of the limitations of the flash format I suppose.

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