Loved One

by Aisha Muharrar

Standing in front of the Frankenthaler painting, I was reminded of the stage festooned with blue and green twinkle lights, the fire truck pulling into the firehouse, the spotlight on Gabe, of that week in December, and wondered: What if he returned now? What if he walked right into this room? What if it had all been a brief disappearance into the wings, Gabe hidden backstage, a show trick? Come back, come back. It can’t be over. Because—and I know it sounds strange—I felt his presence in that painting. It was almost like he was back and I knew that if he had walked up to me at that moment, I would have been exactly like a fan in the crowd, cheering and stamping my feet in relief. I thought about that blond woman with the braid and wondered where she had been when she found out Gabe died and what she had done when he didn’t return this time.