The Write Place

Under the Fruiting Tree Chapter 25 – The Write Place
Under the Fruiting Tree: Novella Table of Contents – The Write Place

“Is this for a class or just for the fun of it?” Robert asked as he leaned against the tree.  Sharon sat peacefully in a foldout chair behind her easel, painting her engaging subject.

“Depends on how it goes.  The model provides a perfect aesthetic, but he won’t stop fidgeting.  I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to use this.  But I’ll keep it one way or another….” Sharon said with a wry smile.  Robert cocked his head and laughed at the words she directed at him.  “There he goes again,” Sharon replied to his response with a shake of her head.

“Curse that handsome devil,” Robert said with a knowing smile.

“Ah, it’s not too bad.  You’re not moving your body much, it’s mostly that face behind all the scruff.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re enjoying yourself,”  Sharon said with a gentle brush of the paintbrush with her right hand.  Balancing the palette in her left hand she dipped occasionally.  Flowers were woven into hair, nestling between her ears.  She sat there in her dress, her free-flowing hair occasionally blowing in the breeze as she painted.  Stroke after elegant stroke brushed soft against the canvass. Robert’s eyes were fixed on her.  The light was hitting him from the east, casting his shadow on the tree.  His jeans and jean jacket barely moved with the wind as it blew.  The tree’s white flowers dazzled in the light and the wind.

“Good thing your hair is still short,” Sharon said, looking up for a moment.  “I wouldn’t want the challenge of keeping up with that on a windy day.”

“Remember to get my good side,” said Robert, motioning to his whole face.  “How’s it coming along?” Robert asked from behind his trim beard.

“Just a little bit more.  Then maybe a few finishing touches,” Sharon leaned in towards the easel and the painting.  “Yup, ‘bout there.  You can come on over.  I hope you remember how to use your legs.”
“I do, but a couple more minutes I’d be done for,” Robert said as he walked over to the stool Sharon had set up next to herself.  Robert pulled the stool up and sat.  Placing a hand on her knee he leaned in and took a good look at Sharon’s work.  Robert grunted his approval.

“Just needs a bit of the sunset but your part is done,” Sharon added, leaning back for a better look at her work.

“Can we still spend time together?” Robert asked with a clear flirting smile.

“Of course.  Today even, even right now!” Sharon added to a gentle flirting smile from both.  “I have more paintings to do,” she said, returning his look with a twinkling eye.

“Well, how fortunate,” Robert added with a grin.  Robert looked the painting over intently.  “You were always good, but I can see the improvement from last year,” he said impressed.

“Surely.  I also wanted more experience with lighting and shadows.  Mr. Aaron liked my work and thought I could do even better doing something in nature,” Sharon said.

“Glad you’re getting along well with your teachers.  Mine are, well, good enough.  But the arguing among them.  It’s amusing at least.  Philosophy will do that,” Robert said.

“And produce a beard on your face,” Sharon replied, dabbing a little more color onto the sun in her painting.

“Well, I knew what I was getting into when I signed up,” Robert said proudly stroking his bearded visage.  “Oddly find energy in the arguments.  Definitely feels like I belong.”

“What were you studying before spring break?” Sharon asked. Their time apart created distance a phone call only barely closed but also made for interesting conversation when they met.

“Enlightenment philosophers, and then we ended with existentialism.  Existence precedes essence,” Robert said, squinting one eye in thought.

“Sounds pretentious,” Sharon said.  Robert nodded in agreement.

“Oh it is. I’m pleased to see you have heard of it. You sound like you know what you’re talking about.  You sum it up rather well.  Basically, you exist before you have meaning.  I guess it’s materialism.  If matter is all that exists, meaning is made up.”  Robert’s face grew weary at such an empty thought.  “Not really an uplifting observation.  Especially since some of my teachers tell me the meaning of life is to make meaning.”  Robert shook his head.  “Of course, then, that is made up too and is just saying the meaning is to make meaning.  It all really amounts to nuts in the grand scheme of things.  But we’ll sit and talk about it anyway.”
“It sounds pretty depressing really,” Sharon said, looking at Robert with a concerned look of realization in her blue eyes.

“Well, that’s because it is.  Other professors are pushing revolutionary talk.  I agree that with the way the world is right now, our country is, they’re all just not right.  There’s gotta be something more, and more than living in a box.” Robert said.  The sound of deep and heavy thought filled his words and weighed on his body.

“Staying at home, changing babies, making cookies. . .” Sharon added in between brush strokes.

“Changing diapers, keep the baby,” Robert said laughing at his own wit.  “Don’t need to have kids.  Well, keep making cookies anyway,” Chuckled Robert.  “But, yeah.  People just want things and to be left alone.  That’s not good enough for me. I want to do something that matters.  Make the world a better place.  Why should I sit at home with a TV and fast food when there’s people who starve and still fear lightning?”

“I can dig that, Robert.  My intro to philosophy class just taught me reality is a dream.  Nothing is knowable.  I don’t believe that, but I don’t know why.  I’m hungry for something more, too. Guess that’s part of being human,” Sharon said, pausing at the wonder in the thought of a truth that stood on its own.  Interested as they both were, the emptiness fed on them.

“This war in Vietnam, too. They draft me and I’m outta here.  Seems to me they just want their country and we’re shooting them for it. Going and shooting them to have a dictator either way makes no sense to me.  Even more than that the communists just want a better world,” Robert threw the words out in indignation.

“Fighting the man,” Sharon said before dipping her brush then applying some blue to the sky in her painting.

“Yeah right,” Robert said before hanging his head, then staring into the distance.  Sharon peeked over at Robert.  A knowing look appeared on her face.

“Things are worse with your dad?” Sharon asked.  Robert sighed deeply, then hung his head in resignation. The memories, as it were, were still an ongoing reality for him.

“The worst,” Robert said, lifting his face up to Sharon.  “Got into a fight earlier today, and I mean a fight.  I hit him hard in the face and down he went.  He was up and moving with quite the bruise when I left.  Moved my stuff to Brad’s place so he can give me a place to stay.  Getting my own place.  Can’t go back home.  It’s never really been home to be frank.”

“Pretty heavy stuff.  I’m sorry Robert,” Sharon replied.  Sharon put her painting implements down in the grass to reach an arm around Robert, who accepted Sharon’s touch with a hand of his own.

“This life isn’t just a dream.  I’m sure it’s not all in my head but I don’t know what it is.  My anger and hurt means something.  I just don’t know what,” Robert said with tears forming in his eyes.  “Thank you, Sharon.”  Robert reached in the interior pocket of his vest. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Smoke what?” Sharon asked.  Robert sat up in his seat.  Sharon’s tone gave away that she knew exactly what.

“So you saw it?” asked Robert with an amused smile. 

“No, but you ate like a horse before we started painting.  Or a pothead.  And you smell a bit like both.” Sharon said.

“You seem to know a lot about it don’t you?” Robert asked, changing his expression to one of surprise.

“I’ve only smoked a couple of dozen, so I remember clearly, ” Sharon answered.  ”So sure, hand one over,” Sharon said, extending her left hand.  Robert took a marijuana cigarette out of his jacket, then another.  After handing one over to Sharon, he lit his, then hers.

“Closest thing to a spiritual experience there is,” Robert said with a touch of resignation in his voice. “Hopefully I’ll get something of the sort out of it.”

Sharon took the blunt out of her mouth.  Holding it to one side she nervously looked away.  Then carefully she looked at Robert.  “Robert, do you love me?” Sharon asked with an expectant look on her face, worried as the words hung in the air..

“I’d say so. I don’t want to be with anyone else or live for anyone else.  I know I do.  But….what is love anyway?”  A look of resignation rested upon his face.  Sharon looked down into Robert’s gleaming bronze eyes.

“If this isn’t it, then I don’t want it, whatever it is,” Sharon said, holding back some tears.  Roberts’ eyes teared in return.  Robert twisted his body to reach the flowers by the leg of her chair.  He picked one then inched closer to Sharon before placing his arms around her. He placed the flower in her right hand.  His left wrapped around her waist. “Yes, I do think I love you,” Robert said, cradling Sharon’s head on his shoulder.  Sharon put the flower into her hair braid with her left hand.  As her head rested on his shoulder, she smiled softly.  The branches of the tree swayed softly above them.  The forest rustled in the wind around them as they sat in the peaceful silence.