Reality's Illusion

Chapter 4

I wasn't a huge fan of pizza or beer for that matter, but I had to admit that Harley's Tap Room had the best pies I'd ever put in my mouth and seventy-something beers on draft. It was relatively low-key, located off Main Street, and the staff was as eclectic as the beer-overall, a friendly hang out, although it was more Nate's kind of place than mine.

The hostess seated us at a high-top near the back. I stood six three to Nate's inch-taller stature, so higher tables were a godsend. While I looked forward to the free beer and pizza, I wasn't interested in the interrogation or my attempt at an explanation to Nate. Not even the cute waitress made the situation any better.

Tall and thin, she was easy on the eyes. And while I appreciated her figure and the angles her lack of weight created, Nate preferred women with a little meat on their bones-minus all the ink this girl was covered in. She was sweet, and he entertained her flirting long enough to place an order. Then he promptly dismissed her and any inclination of his interest. He wasn't an ass, but he had a way of letting someone know when he was done, even if they weren't.

Nate didn't beat around the bush. "So, what gives?"

"With what?" I played coy.

"I'm not some b***h that doesn't know you, Bastian. You've done nothing other than barely exist in that house for years. Today I come in, and somehow, Stella got her groove back. What happened? You didn't just wake up and decide, 'f**k, it's been a long time. I think I'll create a masterpiece.' You work from inspiration, always have. So, what is it?"

"I'd love to explain it, but you'll think I'm crazy if you even believed me, so let it go. Just be happy I threw food on my wall and got out of my 'funk.'" I used air quotes to piss him off.

He glared at me, hating when I used my hands for emphasis. "Try me."

The waitress brought us two glasses, and I waited for her to exit. This wasn't going to go well, but I couldn't come up with anything other than the truth to pacify him.

"Fine." My chest rose when I took a deep breath, hoping to gain courage as I inhaled, but defeat consumed me when I release the air. "I met someone."

His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "That's f*****g awesome! Where'd you meet her?" Nate hesitated, and then his excitement morphed into confusion. "It is her, right?"

"Yes. Jesus. Look, you aren't going to understand. Can't we just leave it at that for now?"

"Ahh f**k. Is it more of this f*******: bullshit?"

I didn't respond and dropped my line of sight to the table. Nate had hit the nail on the head.

"Why, man? Women would drool all over you if you'd just get the hell out of that coffin you call a house. Why do you insist on existing in social media as if it's reality?"

I searched the crowd as if I were interested in something when in actuality, I was just uncomfortable. "This is why I didn't want to tell you."

"Have you actually met her?"

The opening at the gallery didn't count since I didn't remember her. I shook my head. I couldn't stand his disappointment.

"Okay. For once, I'm going to put my opinion aside and hear what you have to say. Tell me about her." Nate normally wasn't a bullshitter. He called a spade a spade, and he didn't sugarcoat anything.

"Why?"

"Because when I walked into your house today, I saw a glimpse of Bastian in your eyes again, and any woman who can bring you back is worth hearing about, regardless of how you know her."

I hesitated, knowing my approach was crucial. "Her name is Sera Martin. She's a sculptor. She's twenty-five-"

He held up his hand. "Quit ticking off items like she's a grocery list. What is it about her?"

I tried to keep my emotions in check. I wasn't a f*****g p***y, but I couldn't. My eyes filled with tears. "She looks just like Sylvie. Carbon f*****g copy."

"No s**t?"

I wiped away the remnants of my weakness as I nodded, confirming what I'd already told him. "Just like her. Could be her twin."

"Wow. I don't know what to say. It's been a long time, Bastian. Maybe she just resembles her, or what you want to remember of her in your mind. When was the last time you even saw a picture of Sylvie?"

My brow furrowed when I glared at Nate across the table. "I'm an artist, dickhead. I don't have to have a photograph to remember every detail of my wife's face, the color of her hair, her eyes, the way she looked at me. That's all etched into my brain. I see her every f*****g day of my life, in every room of my house, in my dreams. She's always with me."

"I get that. I'm just saying that our memories tend to take on a shape of their own, remembering only the good and wiping away the bad." He took a long drink of his beer, and when he set down the glass, he wasn't done. "Maybe she's all the good you remember in Sylvie but doesn't really resemble her all that much in reality."

I shook my head, denying his accusation. "Exact replica."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and touched the screen before handing it to me. "I want to see."

Facebook glowed in front of me. I searched her name, and that gorgeous face filled the screen. I stared at it, probably too long, but I couldn't get enough. I handed it to him, waiting for his reaction.

There was no denying the resemblance. "Fuck." One word confirmed that Nate saw it, too.

"Sylvie?" I asked.

"Sylvie."

Neither of us uttered a word, not knowing what to say. There were tons of people milling about in a crowded bar behind us, yet our table was shrouded in silence.

Nate spoke first. "So, what are you going to do?" He acted as if there were anything I could do.

"Well, I'm hoping to have the chance to get to know her. Maybe spend time with her."

He ran his hand through his hair and leaned against the wall. "Are you going to get to know her for her, or in an attempt to make her Sylvie?"

"I'm not trying to recreate Sylvie, Nate."

"Then what's the fascination with this woman? How did she become your inspiration to paint?"

"Look, I talked to her on instant messenger for all of three minutes. I smiled for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. When she signed off, my hand burned. I'm not thinking about any of this. I'm just going with it."

He leaned forward and lifted his glass. "Be careful, man. Don't hurt her, trying to find yourself."