Nico Kiefer

Looking Forward, Looking Back

Marlena sat on the balcony by herself, looking out at the city across the bay. It was a mid-August evening, and the sun would set in just a few minutes. She was alone on the deck, and liked it that way for now. She would have to get used to being alone while away at college in New York.

A warm breeze blew and made her blond hair float a bit. She turned her head back towards the house and saw all of the people that she loved and would soon be away from. All of her friends were there, as were her parents and sister. Everybody looked so nice in their good clothes. Marlena was wearing the red dress that she found in the city and looked so beautiful in.

She was beautiful, too. They all were; everybody in their nice clothes. Just the way Carl and Janet wanted things. Nice looking. Never mind that in a few days she would leave the city she grew up in and not return for a long time. She was sad and scared and had a right to be, but her parents couldn’t handle the emotion.

That’s what this party really was; a veneer, the appearance that everything was okay. She turned back to watch the final moments of day slip away. The sun had painted the clouds with blazing colors, and consumed the bridge almost entirely.

Marlena took out a cigarette and lit it. Her parents wouldn’t approve but she didn’t care anymore. This was her sunset and she would enjoy it how she saw fit.

She took a drag; long, hard, carcinogenic, and nicotine infused. Her eyes closed as she exhaled and felt the chemicals spread outward from her chest to her hands and feet, letting her mind wander.

Her imagination threw images of college and life away from home at her. New York City. Apartments and studios. Famous art pieces. Coffee shops. Rain. Snow. People, but no faces.

A shiver flew up Marlena’s spine making her shake, forcing her eyes open. She didn’t know anybody in New York City. That was fine though, the whole idea was to start over anyway.

Marlena had one reservation about going to the east coast. It would be cold. She closed her eyes again, pulling on her cigarette, and soaking in the August air. If she could take only one thing with her, it would be the memory of a clear California summer’s sunset.

Another chill shot up her spine, again causing Marlena to jerk and her eyes to open. She looked back toward the house, at the people in the room. She looked hard to see if anyone was staring at her, assuming that was what caused her to shiver so, but she couldn’t find anyone.

She kept looking, and eventually drifted into an intense stare at nothing in particular. As her eyes stayed transfixed on the air through the other side of the glass door, her mind wandered still, and one image in particular stuck.

This image was not vague, like the others had been, but vivid. She blinked and came back from the clouds, but the image stuck, and she was looking straight at it. She saw a young woman in the glass, with blond hair, a cigarette, and sunset behind her, but no red dress.

_____________

Three years had passed since Marlena’s last night on the west coast. In those three years she hadn’t gone home once. She rarely even talked to her family. She very well could if she wanted to, but the urge had never taken hold of her.

Marlena detested these thoughts and tried to blot them out as she turned away from the eyes of the girl on the other side of the glass. A bike messenger riding next to her window had caught her attention. He must have thought that she was looking at him, because she could faintly hear him ask where she stops.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away from the window, wondering why the messenger was even out in this weather. It was windy, wet, and far too cold for any sane human to be out on a bicycle. She didn’t analyze it too much though, because her stop was next.

The Number Five pulled to the curb and Marlena stepped off, greeted by a frigid breeze and the convicting cries of Eddy the Evangelist. That wasn’t really his name, but Marlena hadn’t bothered to engage in any prolonged conversation with him. He was just a regular character at her bus stop.

It was freezing cold, as December tends to be in New York. She didn’t take any time to linger in the cold longer than she had to. She was a California girl, after all, and fifteen was unheard of back there.

No sooner had her feet hit the pavement than she began her brisk hundred meter dash to Café Word. Marlena was capable of making this walk in Olympic Record-breaking time, especially when it was so cold.

She stepped in the door and was cheerfully greeted by Andrew, like most mornings.

“Could it get any colder out there?!” she groaned, removing her coat.

“It’s only December, Mars. It’s going to get a lot colder,” Andrew reminded her with a smile.

She just rolled her eyes and pulled an apron over her sweater, then proceeded to make herself a cappuccino. She usually drank four in a shift to supplement cigarettes. Smoking breaks were extremely unpleasant this time of year.

“So, California,” Andrew began, “you going back home this year, or holding up with my family in upstate again? You’re invited, of course.”

He knew the answer. It was the same as it had been for the last three years.

“How are you doing, by the way?” he asked her with some genuine concern. She hadn’t been doing so well lately and he noticed. Everybody noticed.

“What do you mean?” Marlena said, hoping he would not press any further.

“Have you painted yet?” he asked, pressing further.

“I threw three tubes of acrylic against the studio wall when I got sick of staring at a blank canvass for an hour.”

“Take a picture of the wall and send it to Robert Hughes. You’ll be famous by the next issue of Time.”

“Oh, Shut up.”

Andrew had a knack for improving Marlena’s mood, as any best friend usually does. They were not lovers, though many people asked. Twins separated at birth more appropriately describes them. They met their freshman year and had been inseparable ever since. Apart from appearance and gender, they’re identical. Both are painters at the top of their program, both are the archetypal starving artist working at a café to get by, and for a year they’ve split rent on a studio in the East Village.

Their job didn’t pay much, but it paid enough, and employees get free espresso. Her shifts were early, but survivable. They passed quickly on Monday, Thursday, and Friday, because those were her shifts with Andrew.

Today’s shift was neither exceedingly fast nor grindingly slow. It was a normal day that began at four in the morning and took a break for a few hours around one in the afternoon, when she took a nap before class. Today there was no class though. There would be no classes until January 22^nd when break ended.

 Ideally she would have woken up and gone to the studio to paint, but inspiration hadn’t come her way in some time. She could easily paint on assignment for class or the occasional commission because those were easy. Those projects were always finished quickly because she had someone else telling her what to paint and how to paint it, and these other people were far easier to satisfy.

Around four in the evening Marlena got up from her nap and went to the studio, knowing that she wouldn’t paint anything while there. It was a short walk though, and the cold air would be worth it if Andrew were there. He would no doubt have worthwhile plans.

Sure enough, she found him, just as he was closing up for the evening. She helped clean up, and soon enough they were out on the town with their friends.

They were all artists of one form or another. The group that she and Andrew had gathered over the last three years was made up of eight artists, actors, writers, and musicians. They always had fun together.

Their fun took energy though, and lots of it. This became exceptionally clear to Marlena when her phone was ringing at three in the morning and contributing an immense amount of displeasure to the hangover that she was going to have.

“Hello?” she said with a groan, letting her bleary eyes adjust to the ungodly hour of the morning.

“Why, hello Marlena, darling!” chimed Janet’s voice, bright and sparkly as ever.

“Janet,” she began, “do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Oh, yes love! I called at midnight here so I’d catch you at nine Eastern Time! And don’t make me remind you to call me ‘mom’.”

“Wha? No, Janet…Mom… it’s three in the morning over here.”

“Oh, is it? But you’re three hours behind us, aren’t you?”

“No…New York is three hours ahead of the west coast…” Marlena managed, giving up on keeping her eyes open.

“Oh, well, that was silly of me then!” Janet said, cheerful as ever, “But since I’ve got you anyways, I might as well tell you the good news now!”

“What’s the good news?” Marlena asked, humoring Janet and dreading the answer.

“You’re going to spend Christmas with us!”

“What?”

“Yes, love. We’re flying you out here for two weeks, your father and I.”

“No, mom, you really don’t have to do that. I’ll just stay with Andrew.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! Besides, we’ve already bought the plane tickets and everything. Your flight leaves from JFK domestic, gate 36 at ten p.m. tomorrow night. Your tickets will be waiting for you at check in.”

“Mom, what about my job? I have shifts through the new year!”

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to tell your boss. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“No, mom, you can’t just-“

“Marlena, sweetheart, I’m not going to debate this with you. I’ll see you soon love.”

“No, mom-“ was as far as she could get before the dial tone cut her off. She sighed and rubbed her eyes jamming the phone onto the receiver.

The next day was almost surreal. When she got to work, her boss told her that Janet had called and explained everything. He would be more than happy to give her two and a half weeks off.

“Come on Mars, they’re your family,” Andrew told her, “What’s so awful about spending the holiday with them?”

“I’m not sure” Marlena admitted with a shrug, and before she knew it, she was flying back to San Francisco for the first time in three years.

The first few nights and Christmas weren’t nearly as horrible as she imagined they could be. But little things built up. Eventually, the absence of any inspiration- something Marlena prayed would come while back where she started- plus the smell of wet paint in her old room and Janet’s inappropriately cheery disposition toward everything brought her to an edge. She couldn’t stand these people for any length of time. She needed to be alone.

Marlena walked out onto the deck and lit a cigarette. Her eyes reached out across town to the water, then through the gate to the horizon where there was no sun. It was further south, just to the left of the bridge.

It was roughly a quarter after five in this brisk December evening and the air pricked at her skin, but the cold was nothing like in New York. A few clouds threatened to ruin her sunset. It wasn’t quite proper, because the sun was setting behind the city instead of through the gate, but it would do for now.

She took a drag of her cigarette with her eyes on the orange ember and watched a column of smoke trail off the end as she exhaled and reflected. This was her first west-coast sunset since she went to New York three years ago.

Her parents had been just as infuriating three years ago as they were now. Indeed, so little had changed. They looked the same, the house looked the same, even her dinner earlier looked like the same Saturday night chicken and yellow potatoes that she’d eaten for nineteen years before going away. Only two things had changed. The walls in her room were freshly painted white, which brought her to the edge of tears, and her sister was three years older. She was still hopeless though, just like Janet and Carl would always be.

“I’m worried about you,” Janet had said to her. Her mother always said that to her, and she never said anything more.

Janet couldn’t understand. She never had. None of them ever had. Marlena was about to lose her mind because she hadn’t painted anything with any meaning in two months. She was noticeably depressed, and all that her mother could manage was worry.

Marlena took another drag and looked back out at the sun. It was halfway behind San Francisco and would be gone any minute, leaving her alone on the deck. Instead of waiting and watching its last moments, she turned to leave the sunset to itself. It was too depressing, just like everything else about this house.

When she turned on her heels and faced her reflection in the glass door, something caught her eye. She was looking at her reflection, but it wasn’t reflecting her. Or, rather, it wasn’t reflecting her now, in that moment.

Marlena saw herself, but she looked different. She saw a younger Marlena sitting on the chair that used to be on the deck. She pulled away from the reflection to look at the chair, but it was gone. She looked back.

The younger Marlena looked back at her with the same face that she imagined she was wearing now. The girl was smoking a cigarette, and wearing her favorite dress; the red one that she was so beautiful in. Marlena dove deeper into the reflection, and was drawn to the sunset behind her younger self.

It was perfect. The few encroaching clouds were blasted with pink and orange. The open sky was a yellowy blue, and the bridge was completely swallowed by the giant orange disk slipping into the sea.

­­­­­____________

­­­­­­­­            Marlena took another drag, still contemplating the young woman she saw in the glass. It was her, but not now. Older, perhaps, and the colors weren’t right. Everything was dull; her clothes, her hair, her eyes, even the sunset behind her.

She exhaled and continued to look through the glass at her older self just beyond. She took a final drag and blew out the smoke, then dropped the butt on the deck and stood to smother it. She looked down at herself, in her red dress and heels, then back to her reflection, still faced with her older, tarnished self.

She turned around to catch the final moments of the sunset. It was perfect, and it was hers. As the bright orange disk saw its final moments of day, a split-second flash of emerald light filled the sky and disappeared.

Again she turned and put her hand on the handle to go inside, taking one last look at her reflection. Her current reflection had returned, and she breathed in the warm summer with relief. Whatever she had previously seen in the glass was gone, and she was glad, because it was a person that Marlena never wanted to be.

When she finally stepped back into the party that her parents had thrown for her, she ignored the circumstances, which bothered her severely if she let them, and instead focused on what was pleasant about the evening. She wanted to paint, but could wait. Her parents had taken the time, money, and effort to throw her this party, and the least she could do was try to enjoy herself.

The rest of the night went by as expected; she could have scripted the whole thing. The way that Carl and Janet insisted upon acting around “young people” was corny, but touching.

At some point, Carl turned the music off and forced a glass of “champagne” on everybody so that he could make a dubiously moving speech. The man could talk; Marlena could afford to give him that. He even made her stand next to him so it would be a cutesy father-daughter moment, and praised the wonderful young woman that she was turning into before his very eyes. At the end of his speech, everybody raised their glasses to “what comes next.” Then the music came back on and Marlena humored Carl by dancing with him for just one song.

Soon enough, the party was over, and she stood by the door saying goodbyes at the point of tears, as people walked out the door and maybe out of her life forever. She was sad to see many of them go. The party was fun, she could genuinely admit that.

When the last guest walked out the door, she turned to Carl, Janet, and her sister and hugged each of them, each speaking their own version of, “You’re welcome.”

She went into her room and undressed, carefully laying her dress out to inspect it for any signs of damage. Then she put her dress into her bag using utmost caution, and found a place for her heels.

Before lying down in her room one last time until who knows how long, she looked about the space. Most of it had been put into boxes. The only real sign that she had ever been there was on the walls, which she had painted, then repainted, again and again. After all, it had been her studio, as indicated by the writing on her door.

There were portraits of boys she dated, and most of her friends. Words were present that many had contributed as wise statements or inside jokes. She saw a still-life she’d painted years ago. Half of her ceiling was a continuous abstract thought, and finally, there were squares of color where she tested her paints. Even the carpet was sprinkled with dots of acrylic pigment that she never bothered to clean up. Marlena smiled when she looked at the walls and floor. Each brushstroke represented in this room was meaningful. She would kill Janet and Carl if they ever painted over it.

In her final sweep of the room, she turned to the mirror. The young woman that she’d seen earlier was back, but different. The young woman on the other side of the mirror was in a studio, and hard at work on two pieces at once, but she couldn’t see what was being painted.

Marlena just smiled warmly at the figure on the other side. The young woman noticed Marlena and smiled back. Neither lingered long. Marlena went to bed and her older self on the other side of the mirror went back to work.

___________

Marlena smiled at her nineteen year old self through her studio mirror and continued working. She was back in New York and hadn’t stopped painting since she’d stepped out of the cab and into her studio. She didn’t even bother stopping by the apartment; that would have been a waste of her time.

Her studio had all that she needed for the time being: a coffee maker, carton of cigarettes, Chinese takeout next door, and all of her paints. She began to work on two pieces immediately, painting them simultaneously.

She just put the two canvasses next to each other and worked between them for an inspired and manic thirty-six hours of chain smoking and burnt coffee. Finally, she stepped away from her marathon to look at what she had done. With a freshly lit cigarette, she sat on the floor and evaluated her work.

 One showed a girl in a red dress with a cigarette in her mouth and a blazing summer sunset in the background; bridge, city, and all. The colors were bright and brilliant. Marlena even managed to make the eyes sparkle a little and not the way cartoons do. The whole piece shined, just like she did back then.  This one she called “Looking Forward.”

The other painting showed a young woman, also smoking a cigarette at sunset. It was the same girl, just older and less bright. Her eyes didn’t sparkle here; instead they were dully and sadly glazed. The sunset was much less dramatic as well. It was darker, just like the rest of this piece. It was sad but true, that she had lost much of her shimmer. Marlena called this one “Looking Back”

These two paintings would not go to an art gallery, nor would any teacher grade them or critics evaluate them. Marlena kept “Looking Forward” and “Looking Back” in her studio. They moved around a bit; from here to there, this wall to that wall. They never left her studio though.

“They are masterpieces of an unhealthy mind,” Marlena would tell the few who laid eyes on them, “and the world never needs to know.”