Life in Paintings

Chapter 36 - Midsummer Eve Bonfire on Skagen Beach

Chapter 36 - Midsummer Eve Bonfire on Skagen Beach

I appear on a beach. It's the evening, the sun has set, but the beach is lighted by a big bonfire. People are gathered around it, adults and kids, chatting together and laughing.

They're all wearing old-timey clothes. Their outfits make me think of the old Anne of Green Gables TV show.

"Are you new? I've never seen you before," a woman asks me.

I didn't see her walk up to me and I didn't have time to prepare a scenario in my head or think about anything clever.

In my head, I'm still on a mountain and a father is calling his son Gustave. I heard his name and everything stopped.

But the kid is gone and my Gustave is not here. And these people seem normal enough.

What can I say to explain my presence here without freaking her out? I started a fire too and now I'm here?

"Yes, I just got here. The fire seemed inviting." I hope this is the right answer.

She smiles at me. I guess it was. "The more the merrier," she tells me. "I'm Marie."

"Melody," I answer.

She stands beside me, like we're exchanging secrets. People are still chatting and laughing around us. Kids are running around chanting songs. "My husband Peder is the man over there behind the easel," she says, pointing to a man standing a few ways behind the group. He's not focused on his drawing the way Gustave had been when I saw him for the first time when he was older. This man is smiling and talking with his friends hanging around. Marie waves at him and he waves back.

There's something casual and effortless about the whole ordeal.

"He's a painter?" I ask. He must be painting this scene, and this is the painting I'm in.

"Yes, as I am. Art is what connects our little group."

"Is everyone an artist here?"

"We're all lovers of art, yes," she answers. "We like to think that we're like the French Impressionists, in our Skagen, painting outside, painting real things like they did," she adds, chuckling.

"You sound like someone I know."

I'm always thinking about him after all. But I don't want to mention Gustave's name. I think I heard too much about him from Vincent. I don't like learning about him from other people. It makes him feel... less real somehow, distant.

She's talking about the French like she's not French, and like Impressionist are not new. Gustave must not be within reach here either, so there's no point in asking the year or about him.

"An artist?" she inquires.

I smile. "Yes, a great one."

Is Gustave an Impressionist? I can't remember what time period they painted. I'm pretty sure Monet or Manet was an Impressionist. For a second, I almost regret not listening during my art class. The curse kid must be loving me admitting this. I'll have to ask Gustave if he knows him. I'll have to tell him about Van Gogh too.

It's more bearable to think in terms of when rather than in if.

I wonder at what point I started to think, not in terms of getting back to my own reality, but where I am in time and place, and if I can get to Gustave instead.

I'm pretty sure the curse wasn't intended for me to go running around trying to catch my Man Crush Monday.

I change the subject because I need to stop thinking about him. "Why did you gather here? Is this some kind of ritual sacrifice type of thing?" I always need to look out for myself. This might start as nice and cute, but it can totally end as some kind of cannibalistic party. Artists have fucked up ideas.

She laughs at my question. "Oh, no, not at all, it's Saint John's Eve. We're helping the witch get on her way," she explains.

I do a double take, not sure I heard right. "You're... helping the witch?"

"Yes, to get to her destination."

"Huh..."

She chuckles at my reaction. "You seem perplex."

"No, it's just that usually people don't help the witch. They burn her."

She smiles at me, like I'm a cute child. "It used to be something like that, the fire used to be to fend her off. We're going a little different way. She's not meant to stay here anyway, so we might as well help her to find her right path."

Part of me thinks she know. She knows that I'm not meant to be here, that in this scenario, I'm probably the witch. She knows and she doesn't care.

Because they're here to send me on the right path...

I can't say anything to her because suddenly, Marie's attention is elsewhere. "Careful darling," she tells a little girl that's running around. "Our daughter Vibeke," she explains.

"She's cute."

"Thank you. Do you have children?" she asks me.

I shake my head. "No."

There's a gentle smile on her lips. "Do you want children?"

For half a second, I see Gustave and me walking around the streets of Paris, holding our kid's hand, swinging him between us. And then I disappear. "I'm not in the best situation to start a family."

The gentle smile is still there. She presses a hand to my arm. "It's okay, there are other paths." Oh she knows. She hundred percent knows. "Here," she hands me a shawl. "It can get quite chilly here. You can give it back to me later, I should go catch up with other people. But feel free to join in."

With a little pat on my shoulder, she leaves me there and joins her friends.

I should mingle. I should talk with these people. I should go chat with the artist and get to know him.

Instead, I walk a few feet away from the gathering and sit on an abandoned log.

The fire is still burning strong and the people are still chatting happily. I catch glimpses of their conversation. I see their smiles and the gentle attentions.

I look at them. I'm jealous of their simple happiness, of their connections and their love. Their ease. They know what they want. They know what drives them. Art connects them. Art is their purpose. They're families and friends, but art is at the center of their connection.

I don't have anything like that, nothing to make me feel connected with other people.

I'm lost. I'm truly lost. There's one thing in my life, one thing that I've only found in these fake worlds that's ever made me feel connected to anything.

If I'm really the witch in this painting, please let me find my way back to Gustave, I think as I drift into slumber on the chilly beach.