#10 Inspiration - Inspiration (Part 2)

My mind wavered. The enjoyment of being on the non inquisitive side dissipated. On one hand I appreciated the interest Lyle took in me, it even made my heart flutter – though I did my best to ignore it. It wasn't the questions I minded, it was the context behind their answer.

I struggled to keep my hands steady. If I were to take a blood pressure test I am sure my levels would've shot up three fold at the thought of my mother.

No less than a week after I tucked Mo Soileireacht into Unit #16 they started.

It was Ironic that I'd taken the paintings back because of a worry that I'd forget them. My mind made it terrifyingly clear there was no way my subconscious could erase such an anchor point in my life.

They began innocently enough, my hallucinations, like the one at the train station. First I would catch a glimpse of my mother's work on a plate as I washed it. In fear I would drain the water and throw the wash cloth to the side afraid that the suds would erase her work. Her paintings appeared in guests rooms as well, under their beds and nightstands leaving me searching their rooms for hours on end while I was supposed to be changing their linens. By the month I lost track of how many unlikely visions distracted me from a days work.

By the second month they grew worse. Her paintings began appearing all over the house – sometimes three at once - hanging from the ceiling or inside cabinets. Upon seeing them I had the immediate need to rescue them, shirking all other responsibilities.

One afternoon, when most guests were off in town of hiking and I'd just finished making my cleaning rounds I caught the side of a simple wood frame out of the corner of my eye. I was walking along the balcony when I saw it. A serene take on a forest that thinned out at the side leading to a pristine lake.

No bigger than a magazine the painting hung from the middle of the chandelier, eye height with me as I stood at the edge of the balcony. A string looped around the frame loosely as the painting hung at an odd angel, threatening to fall at any moment.

I had to get it down.

I remember the intense feeling that swelled in my gut and numbed my rationale. Once I began a hallucination there was reasoning, that part of me was completely gone, replaced with a neurotic need to rescue my painted friend.

In no time I'd stacked unused cardboard boxes against the railing to form a makeshift latter. I was unafraid as I took my first step and didn't bother to register the cardboards wilt as I made my way to the third box level with the balcony railing.

In all my other allusions I'd always waken up before I went too far. Before I went through a guests belongings or before I removed every plate from the cabinets in search of the one hiding my mother's painted face.

That afternoon was different, and as my right foot floated out in front of me there was no register of the danger. No ability to resonate the thin air that stretched out before me.

A shriek, not my own mind, is what snapped me from my trance. With one scream she tackled me to the ground, leaving the top wobbly cardboard stair to crumple over the railing.

I remembered little else of the event and for some reason Grace was – for once in her life – reluctant to share the details. It was apparent to me that my action scared her deeply, and we never spoke of the event again.

Seeing Grace terrified out of her mind made me upset with myself. How could I loose control so easily? I needed to change if I was going to keep my friends and myself safe. How had I done it before? There was never a time in my life where I attempted to detached myself completely from my mother's mystery, but why was I reacting in such a visceral way now?

I came to the conclusion that it was because I stopped thinking so much about my mother – even for a week. Her mystery and absence was - is - everything to me and has been since the day she left. It's made me who I am but her memory - or lack of - has done its fair share of tormenting. Moving her paintings caused the dust that I allowed to settle around her memory to swirl. Little tornados awoke in my mind enveloping me in a cloud of mystery and subsequently leading me to my own curiosity.

Compartmentalizing was the easiest way to limit my unpredictable reactions.

So I began taking longer shifts to keep my mind occupied.

I suppose too, that's why I draw. It's a manageable relationship. I am biting off a little at a time, working my way up instead of trying to stuff the whole loaf down my throat. One day I will get there, one day I will be ready to face everything head on. But I wasn't even close to penciling in a tentative date as to when I would take on that challenge.

I eyed Lyle briefly as we folded in silence. She too was a mystery to me. But in my eyes one that I might be able to solve in order to distract myself. I could ask one question, just a tiny one. I'd waited long enough hadn't I?

Being inquisitive was like an impulse to me. Some people were impulse shoppers or eaters but I was an impulse 'asker'. I weighed my options lightly, I'd been good hadn't I? Besides I wasn't keen on staying on the subject of 'my' art work much longer.

Resolutions aren't meant to last forever I rationalized.

With that I decided to begin casually, dipping my toes in rather than diving head first.

"What were you up to this morning? Besides your walk."

The corners of Lyle's mouth twitched up as if she'd been waiting for me to steer the conversation in this direction. "You mean when you ran into me?"

"Hey, you ran into me remember." I protested crossing my arms over my chest and raising my eyebrows.

"Ah right," Lyle placated although there was still a tone of sarcasm in her voice.

"Do you like the artwork?" I couldn't help but ask as I remembered the splotches of white paint that mysteriously made their way to my hands.

"I do."

I nodded and furthered my line of questioning. "Sometimes they seem so inviting you have to touch them."

Lyle paused for a moment as if she was replaying my words. "I suppose that's true." She answered calmly. "Are your paintings like that?"

"They are." I answered automatically referring to my mother's incredible ability to capture nature in a two by three canvas.

"Where are they at now?" She implored confidently.

All of the linens and towels were folded and stacked a foot higher than the wicker baskets frayed braided trim could reach. I pushed down on the pile in futility after Lyle added the last few wash clothes.

"Home." I responded simply as I sat on the pile of towels for a moment, hoping my body weight would pressure it down.

I tried to regroup at how quickly Lyle had steered the conversation back to me. Usually that was my trick. She seemed amused by my simple answers and understood the irony that I was now turning on her. Though I had begun on purpose, now my short answers became more of a default, there were things I didn't want or feel I needed to share - such as Unit #16 and its contents.

"Are you coming to the bonfire tonight?" I switched the subject rising from my throne of mismatched towels. "You can fill up on s'mores in case you miss breakfast again." I added with a knowing smile.

Turning away from her I walked the few paces to unhook the clothes line and looped it a few times around my arm before hanging it on the tree branch at the other end.

"I might," She responded, her head followed my movements while her body stayed planted next to the top heavy basket. "Are you going to be there?"

"I might." I copied her answer and smiled over my shoulder.

It was nearly dark out as the sun entered its final stages in setting. I'd been so distracted by our talk I barely noticed the gorgeous sunset taking place just over the tree line. Swatches of red and purple bled together as if someone had taken a bucket of water and thrown it over the horizon, washing the clouds like a giant watercolor.

Timid shadows played off Lyle's profile as she turned toward the sunset as well. I relaxed my muscles and sighed taking in the silence and peace that enveloped our area. The green space was always calm, I'd found no matter how busy the B&B got, even during our bonfires there was always a spot of serenity. Be it near the trees or in the middle of the weed ridden field, there was something about it. I think it is because it's surrounded by nature, even the Tudor home was surrounded by trees that lends a feeling of tranquility. It's separate from the city and the town.

"Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it." I broke the silence bending down to pick up the wicker basket. It was much heavier now with the added weight of the mountain of laundry. I hooked my hands around the bottom of it in an effort to make the difficult task easier. I stood shakily before pitching forward slightly as I attempted to balance the stacked sheets.

I swore under my breath as a washcloth fell to the ground.

"Need a hand?" Lyle reached out to take the basket from me. Her hands rested on top of mine. I shook my head but after a few moments relinquished the basket to her. Her head stood a few inches above the protruding pile and I could see strands of her hair flutter freely turned to trek back to the house. Like loose leaves in the wind they followed their own path. Everything about Lyle had an air of freedom coupled with certainty. Her eyes hardly made a misstep as they took in what lay before her.

"Do I have something on my face?" Lyle interrupted as the gravel of the driveway crunched beneath our feet.

I turned my neck sharply to pivot my gaze away from her and to the doorway before us. "What?" I asked, though I had an inkling of what she was about to say.

"You're staring again."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry just tell me what you're looking for."

"I'll let you know when I find out." I muttered in thought.

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Double update for y'all since I broke this chapter up !

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