The Painting of Abigail

Abigail threw the straw hat across the room and itched her head fiercely. “That damn hat is making my scalp itchy! I’m not putting it back on!”

“Here’s a kerchief, wrap it around your hair, then put the hat on. The hat will cover the kerchief, your itching will hopefully stop, and we’ll be good to go,” Mike said with a slight chuckle.

Abigail wrapped her hair in the kerchief and put the hat back on tilting it a little to one side.

“Leave the hat straight, Abigail,” Mike said seriously.

“Whatever you want. Hey, the itching stopped!” Abigail shifted in her seat.

“Stay still,” Mike said, and rolled his eyes.

Abigail and Mike grew up next door to each other and attended the same public schools. As adults they became roommates. Mike had just gotten his first painting gig at a famous museum that Abigail could never remember the name of, and asked her to pose for him. He told her she had a silky complexion, and stunning sky blue eyes. Her long brown hair over her shoulders would give the painting a softer touch he insisted, even though she preferred her hair pinned in a bun.

“Can I take a look?” Abigail asked.

“Give me one more minute. I just need to add some color to the background, and then I’ll be done.”

Abigail sighed.

Several minutes later he turned the painting facing Abigail. Her mouth dropped.

The Painting of Abigail

“Mike, that’s beautiful! I had no idea how talented you were.”

“Well, maybe if you came down to the studio and took a look, you’d know. You do realize this is the first time you’ve been here and it’s only because I asked you to come down and pose for me. We’ve been friends for years and you never seem interested in anything I do. I bet you didn’t even know I had feelings for you?” He looked down at the floor sullenly.

“I’m so sorry Mike. I had no idea you felt that way about me. I never came down because you never asked me. I thought it was some sort of artist code and you didn’t want anyone seeing your work. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m tired. I’ve been sitting in that chair for hours. Can we go get a cup of coffee at Charlie’s Café and talk about it.”

“Why not, let’s go.”

“You know, Mike, you really are talented and I’m so very proud of you.” Without hesitation, Abigail leaned in and kissed Mike on the lips passionately, her whole body trembling with excitement, until out of breath, she pulled away.

“Let’s forget Charlie’s and go home. We have a lot to discuss.” Abigail took Mike’s hand and they left his studio forgetting to lock the door.

The next morning when they returned to the studio, the painting of Abigail was gone, along with his other works.

“Well, at least we have each other,” Abigail said.