Chapter 19 Kit
When William opened the door to the gallery, a cool blast of air-conditioning hit my legs.
I felt the goosebumps as I reached for William’s hand.
The gallery was small but bright. The brick walls had been painted white.
The floors and ceilings had been sprayed white as well, giving the space a clean aesthetic.
The gallery had a few floating walls that divided up the narrow, formerly industrial space.
A young woman wearing a white tunic dress and white Doc Martens was sitting at a large white desk toward the back of the gallery.
She nodded at us but didn’t stand up to greet us.
I turned to William and raised my eyebrows as I stifled a giggle.
He smiled nervously at me, and I squeezed his hand.
Before we walked in, William had told me he was nervous I wouldn’t like the gallery, but I was sure this was going to be enjoyable.
It was something different than what we would have normally done on a Friday night in Creekstone.
We walked over to the first piece. It was a large colorful abstract done with acrylic paint. It reminded me of sunflowers. I read the title card below the painting. It was called “Shine” and by an artist named Andy Ernest.
“I know him!” I said, surprised. “He was one of my mom’s students. I remember his work from one of her student art shows.”
I hooked my arm into William’s and looked up at him. “Isn’t that cool?
William nodded. “It’s a nice piece.”
We moved a few steps into the gallery and looked at the next large piece on the same wall. It was another piece by Andy Ernest. This one was titled “Shadow,” and it had similar abstract shapes with dark blue and blacks. ?
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “I can’t wait to tell Aunt Rita.”
We moved on to the next piece. I stepped closer to it to get a better look. It was a smaller hand-drawn piece of a woman and a baby. The title card said that it was called “Professor” by George Cage. I spun around. “You’re not going to believe this, but George is one of my mom’s students, too.”
William’s eyebrows raised and his crooked smile slipped across his face. He shoved his hand in his pocket. “This gallery features local artists.”
A cloud of confusion took over. I tried to figure out how that was possible. I looked around at the other paintings at the front of the gallery. I silently moved from painting to painting. I recognized some of the names, but some of them I didn’t.
“This is unbelievable,” I said, completely dumbfounded, turning to look at William.
That’s when I saw it. When I looked past William and toward the back of the gallery, I saw the large, oversized painting of river rocks that I would recognize anywhere.
It was the large river rocks painting my mom had painted a few years before she died.
“William,” I said quietly. I pointed toward the back of the gallery. I felt a sense of confusion that blended and crescendoed into excitement. “William, that’s my mom’s painting.”
I pushed past him and walked to the back of the gallery. There they were. All my mom’s large river rock pieces. I spun around to see William standing behind me with an anxious look on his face. I was completely astonished. I stuttered, “How is this possible?”
“Your Aunt Rita and I wanted to do something for you and your mom,” William said softly.
“I reached out to my contact here at The Met, and I worked out a deal to have the space leased for six months for a special exhibit. We wanted to honor your mom, so Aunt Rita picked out her favorite large works by her. But you told me your mom felt that the work of her students was what she was most proud of, so we contacted some of her students and asked to use their pieces in this exhibit.”
“This is unbelievable.” I felt the swell of emotion as a sob burst from my chest. There was a sting in my nose and eyes as warm tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Oh, Kit,” William said. He pulled me close to him hugging me, and I cried into his chest. I sniffled, stepped back, and he handed me a tissue.
“Has Aunt Rita seen it?” I asked.
“She has. She was here earlier today setting up because she’s one of the artists,” William explained as we walked over to a set of black and white photos. “She said your mom taught her how to take photos. She has some on display over here.”
The photos were all of my mom and me by the river.
The first was me as a baby. My mom looked so young and beautiful as she held me up for the camera to see.
The second was of me as a toddler splashing in the water with my mom.
The next was a photo of us playing on a tree swing.
There was a photo of us walking by the river after a fresh snow.
Another one of me, maybe ten years old, holding up a fish I had just caught while my mom clapped.
Another photo of me as a teen sunbathing and reading on a rock while my mom painted.
There was a photo of us in a canoe laughing after one of us dropped a paddle.
There was a photo of my mom and me on a picnic blanket when I was home from a college visit, and the last photo was of me sitting next to my mom as she painted.
Her head was wrapped, and she had a heavy blanket draped over her shoulders.
I was looking at my mom’s painting, but my mom’s glassy eyes were fixed on me.
She had a slight smile as we held hands.
The title card of the collection read, “A Perfect Love” by Rita Campbell.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I turned and buried my face in William’s chest again.
William held me for a while before I stepped back.
He cupped my face in his hands and smoothed away tears with his thumbs.
“Aunt Rita is coming back tomorrow so we can all see it together. She said she thought you’d like to see it alone first, and that you wouldn’t want to cry in front of everyone. ”
I looked up. “In front of everyone?”
“Well, we’re having a private exhibit opening in the morning. Just some family and friends. A few of the artists.” William looked nervous.
I lost it again. I cried so hard into his chest that a dark circle formed where my face had been buried.
When I looked up at William, he looked like he was going to be sick. “Do you hate this? Are you upset? We don’t have to come tomorrow if you don’t want us to. Aunt Rita said she could handle the opening alone.”
“William,” I squeaked. “I love it. I absolutely love it. I can’t even really comprehend it. How did you do all of this without me knowing?”
William tilted his head thoughtfully, his arms still wrapped around me. “I just secured the space. Aunt Rita and your dad reached out to the students and college professors your mom knew.”
“College professors?” I asked.
“Well, the exhibit will be here through the fall semester. Local college art education programs are going to bring students who are working on their art education degrees here to see the impact teachers have on their students and how their contribution shapes the field.”
I felt the swell of tears again. “This is so unbelievable.” I sighed as I wiped the tears from my eyes. “My mom deserves this. I can’t…I just can’t even…”
“It’s okay,” William said quickly. He looked uncomfortable.
“No, I want you to know that no one has ever done something so thoughtful for me,” I said, looking up at him.
William pulled me to him, and I closed my eyes. I felt his soft lips against mine. I had wondered before, but at that moment, I was certain I was in love with William.