Page 14 of The Art of Vanishing

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this,” I said as I rolled onto my side to face her.

Her expression was one big smile, which got even wider when she saw that I was looking at her.

We held that eye contact long past the moment when it might have ended.

I needed to kiss her. Instead, I asked a question. “What has growing up felt like?”

“Like one long string of responsibilities.” She let out a sigh as she took a big swig of her drink.

“Like there’s always something I’m falling short on, always something I’m behind on, always something I didn’t do well enough.

I know I’m too young to feel this way, but it seems like life is already passing me by.

” Claire chewed on her bottom lip. “But it’s not all bad, of course; sometimes life is beautiful and awe-inspiring in ways I never could have expected.

I just have to remember to take the time to see it. ”

“I think we all feel that way sometimes,” I said. “Even in a place like this, where it feels like there’s nothing but time.”

“Do you ever wish you could leave this world?” she asked. Her question took me by surprise.

“Of course I have. I spend all day watching strangers for a fraction of time before they hustle back to their lives, wondering what it would be like if I could just follow them out through those doors, if that would give my life any sense of purpose. It feels like all there is to do in here is waste time, except time goes on forever. But, aside from its being physically impossible, it’s been so long and so much must have changed; I can’t even picture life out there.

Your being here, my learning little things about your version of reality, it’s bracing.

The world out there is so much larger than I’ve been imagining it. ”

“But it used to be like that for you too, that large. Before, you know, you were in here.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right. One hundred years is a long time. I don’t remember that as my reality anymore. It feels more like a dream.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“And I have barely a frame of reference for what your life is like. I can’t even conjure up a mental image of what it looks like when you step out onto the street, just outside the museum walls.”

“You’ve moved, though, right? Didn’t the museum used to be outside the city?”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Technically yes, we moved a handful of years ago. It was a whole to-do; the collector had been so particular about what he acquired and how we were hung and who was allowed to come in and see us. He would deny access to some of the most elite members of the art society, back in the day, just because he could. He’d been so exacting about his specifications for the foundation that after he passed away, it took them years to get the approval to move us here.

And even then, they did not want to change anything about the way we were displayed.

That was one of the special components of the experience, after all, so they rebuilt the interior here exactly as it existed—”

Claire gasped and sat straight up. “No, no way.”

“…exactly as it existed in the old gallery.”

“So to you all”—she gestured to the revelers who surrounded us on the lawn—“it looks exactly the same. You’re staring at all the same things. All day long.”

“Yes, precisely.”

“That’s…”

“Monotonous, certainly.”

“I was going to say hella boring, but yeah, monotonous too.” I laughed at how sincere her concern was. “Well”—she reclined against the yellow grass, her body casting an indigo shadow behind her—“there are worse places to be stuck.”

“This is certainly true.” Especially now that you’re here— the words remained unspoken. I wanted to tell her how much these past few weeks had meant to me, how they had changed everything. Instead, I said, “Have you ever wished you could just stay here?”

“I am so entirely different in here,” she said.

I noticed that was not an answer to my question.

“Like, outside this world, I’m all business.

I don’t even know how it happened, that wasn’t what I was like when I was younger.

But all of a sudden, bam. I’m an adult and all I can do is worry about everyone at home making it through to the next day. ”

“You’re hardly a full-blown adult—how old are you?”

“Twenty-one. Technically, I guess. But I feel like I’m forty. I had to grow up pretty fast.”

“I think I get what you mean,” I said. The thoughts were coming to me as I said them.

Normally, I waited to speak until I had time to process everything, sure that I meant what was coming out.

But now I didn’t want to wait. “I was still a teenager when I was dropped into this life. So I feel like I was just starting that part of my life. And I guess it exists here too, but it’s different.

” What was different was her. If she hadn’t walked right into my world, I would never have had the chance to meet anyone like her.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s different but the same.

It’s not that I wouldn’t want to stay here with you.

” She had returned to answer my question.

“It just doesn’t seem real. And this version of me, this person who asks every question that crosses her mind and jumps headfirst into someone else’s home and drinks wine in the middle of a lawn, this just isn’t the real me.

But if all of that didn’t exist, sure, I think I could be very happy here. I feel safe in here, with you.”

“I’d be happy to have you. Any and all versions of you.

” We smiled at each other; I could feel the corners of my eyes crinkling as my smile stretched all the way up my face.

She leaned forward and I thought, for a brief second, that she was going to kiss me.

Instead, she grabbed her glass, draining it as she reclined.

I wanted to kiss her. This wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed my mind, but if there was ever a moment, it felt like it was right now. I didn’t, of course. I couldn’t. I was frozen in place, an embarrassingly earnest grin on my face. I felt as restricted as I did during the day.

“I hate to be this person, in this moment,” she groaned, “but I should probably get going. I’ve lost literally all sense of how long I’ve been here.

” She pulled her cellphone out of herpocket.

It was the first time I had ever seen one up close.

She brought the screen to life with the nearly indiscernible tap of her finger against a button I hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, how bizarre,” she said, staring at the colorful piece of glass in her hands.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I don’t have any service. It’s like this world is a total dead zone.”

“No service? What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t have any reception. This thing”—she clutched the device in her hand—“won’t work in here.”

“It looks like it’s working to me?”

“No, not working like that,” she said. “It will physically turn on and, like, keep the time, but it won’t be able to do any of its technological things that connect it to the outside world. Of course there’s no cell reception in—what year is it in this painting?”

“1905 or 1906, I think.”

“Oh my god, I have to get going,” she said as she double-checked the numbers on the screen. “I shouldn’t stay too long—what if I missed a call…”

I could tell she was getting panicky, though I couldn’t imagine who would be calling at this hour.

“Right, right, let’s get you back,” I assured her.

I always regretted any chance that I could put her job in jeopardy.

I stood and offered my hand to help her to her feet, a gesture we were now intimately familiar with.

She rose and we made our way back, giving Andromeda our best.

“Come back and see us sometime! Please, do not be a stranger.”

“Thank you! I promise I will,” Claire said as Andromeda wrapped her arms around Claire, pulling her in tight for a hug.

We headed back to the forest, the atmosphere around us turning bright orange and red as we made our way into the tree cover.

I was moving hastily, worried about how much time had passed and who might notice how long Claire had been gone, so it took me by complete surprise when Claire stopped walking.

Her hand was in mine and her halting was like an anchor; our arms were taut and I stopped, turning back to make sure everything was okay.

As I turned, she pulled a bit, bringing my body in line with hers and suddenly, I was right in front of her and she was reaching her hands up to my face and bringing me closer for a kiss.

A firework went off somewhere around my kidneys and robbed my body of its breath. I stepped back, stunned, and saw worry clouding her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, “I went too far. I just thought—” I’d regained my wits and I was back, wrapping my arms around her waist, her hands in my hair and our lips moving greedily against each other.

I wanted to hold her so tightly that there’d be no air left between our bodies, but I also needed to run my hands over as much of her as I could possibly touch.

After what somehow felt both like a lifetime and a few seconds, she pulled back; we were breathing heavily and she held my elbows in her hands, as if she’d lose her balance if we disconnected.

“I have to go,” she said. “We shouldn’t have done that.

” I opened my mouth to apologize, but she cut me off.

“What I mean is, I really, really wanted that. But this feels so absurd. Is this even real life? Don’t answer that.

” We slowly stumbled down the hill, back toward my house.

As we approached the frame, she said, “I’ll be back.

The day after tomorrow.” And even though I’d known she would be, it brought a swell of relief through my lungs to hear her say it. “I’ve got some things to figure out.”

“I’ll be here,” I said, meaning it as a joke, but neither of us laughed. It felt more like a promise, one I wanted to double down on. “I’ll wait; I can wait for as long as we need.” I didn’t know what exactly I was referring to, but it felt like what we both needed to hear right now.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied. She lifted up onto her toes to kiss me once more, before she crouched down and hopped back onto the gallery floor. She pushed her cart with her mop and bucket out of the room.