Five Uneasy Pieces
by Dave Clapper
Her friends all notice his long, slender fingers and comment appreciatively on his perfectly groomed nails. She just wishes he'd put the damned guitar down once in a while and use them on her.
She reminds him that she has a degree, that she'd like to use it. He wonders aloud what his own degree has to do with managing a customer service department. She throws a plate of spaghetti at him that splatters on the wall. He informs her that she's just made more use of her BA in Art History than he's made of his in English Lit since graduation.
Property was a problem. Neither of them cared much for the possessions of monetary value. Each, in fact, offered the other everything in the settlement. Everything but the contents of the studio. At first, it had been due to finances. She'd needed a canvas to start a new work. He offered her one of his finished works to paint over. What began as an act of love came to symbolize their marriage, each painting over the other's works, usually but not always by invitation. But the divorce changed that. Eighteen-layered canvases were prized by both of them, regardless of whose work appeared on top. Their son came home from college for a weekend of laundry and turpentined every canvas. Reconciliation sometimes comes from unlikely sources.
He discovers a new passion for painting. He talks at length with his new-found knowledge about chiaroscuro and vanishing points, surrealism and triptychs. She politely nods. His spirits dampen until he finally asks of her why she can't take more of an interest. She eyes him and is surprised to see that he's genuinely clueless. She lowers her bifocals, puts down her crossword, and rises. Taking his hand, she leads him to the attic. In a far corner are several canvases stacked one against another and gathering dust, each bearing her signature.
He died within three days of her. The greatest surprise came in his burial instructions. He wanted to be interred with her most beloved possession, which required a specially designed coffin. Until then, the children hadn't known their mother had ever played the cello.
She reminds him that she has a degree, that she'd like to use it. He wonders aloud what his own degree has to do with managing a customer service department. She throws a plate of spaghetti at him that splatters on the wall. He informs her that she's just made more use of her BA in Art History than he's made of his in English Lit since graduation.
Property was a problem. Neither of them cared much for the possessions of monetary value. Each, in fact, offered the other everything in the settlement. Everything but the contents of the studio. At first, it had been due to finances. She'd needed a canvas to start a new work. He offered her one of his finished works to paint over. What began as an act of love came to symbolize their marriage, each painting over the other's works, usually but not always by invitation. But the divorce changed that. Eighteen-layered canvases were prized by both of them, regardless of whose work appeared on top. Their son came home from college for a weekend of laundry and turpentined every canvas. Reconciliation sometimes comes from unlikely sources.
He discovers a new passion for painting. He talks at length with his new-found knowledge about chiaroscuro and vanishing points, surrealism and triptychs. She politely nods. His spirits dampen until he finally asks of her why she can't take more of an interest. She eyes him and is surprised to see that he's genuinely clueless. She lowers her bifocals, puts down her crossword, and rises. Taking his hand, she leads him to the attic. In a far corner are several canvases stacked one against another and gathering dust, each bearing her signature.
He died within three days of her. The greatest surprise came in his burial instructions. He wanted to be interred with her most beloved possession, which required a specially designed coffin. Until then, the children hadn't known their mother had ever played the cello.
Dave, this is magnificent. The play between art and relationships. I can relate so much to this one. I enjoyed your presentation, and the form you allowed this to take. Nice surprise at the end. Says so much with so little.
Thanks so much, Cynthia.
Oh man, isn't that the way with relationships, the game-playing, the tiny evils that need to scratch the surface to make sure it's real love.
As Cynthia said, the ending's really a killer surprise. Nice work.
To me, the real surprise was that the marriage lasted.
Nicely done. Enjoyed.
Thanks, Susan and Larry. It's interesting to me to learn that people consider this to be one couple, rather than five...
Solid stuff, Dave. Most enjoyable. My favorite was the first. I think I'll play less guitar and do more heavy petting in the next couple of days, worried as that one got me.
These are great, Dave. When I saw the title, I was pumped as I loved "Five Easy Pieces." These work so well. I have to say during the first read I was getting confused thinking this was somehow one couple but then a later read got me thinking they were five couples. The last one is great but I liked #4 the most.
love this, dave! i, too, read this as the story of one couple. it works but makes a lot of sense as five, with art as the recurring theme.
this is a really remarkable line: "He offered her one of his finished works to paint over. What began as an act of love came to symbolize their marriage, each painting over the other's works, usually but not always by invitation."
Shel, Dave, Lauren... thanks so much. Y'all are too kind.
And Shel... enjoy the petting session. :)
The form is strong - and the story - which I read as one - works so well. This is great work.
Thanks, Sam.
Married life captured in so few words. And this is soooo clear. I like it a lot.
My favorite line: "She'd needed a canvas to start a new work." Followed by this: "But the divorce changed that. Eighteen-layered canvases were prized by both of them, regardless of whose work appeared on top. Their son came home from college for a weekend of laundry and turpentined every canvas." I love these kinds of lines.
Oh and the guitar and cello bit. yeah.
Thanks so much, Gay.
Great story, great title, and great journal to place it in.
Thanks much, Randy.
i read as one couple myself and thoroughly enjoyed it. the desire to be buried with cello really moved me.
Thanks, Lisa. Much appreciated.
Well done.
Thanks, James.