Member-only story
Giving Ground
When The Artist Gives EVERYTHING
Until two weeks ago, Glenn has never run out of stuff to paint, fit together, construct, deconstruct and create. Two weeks, three days and thirty five minutes ago…to be precise.
And he can be that precise.
He can almost remember an audible “click” that coincided with the slamming of his studio door. He definitely remembers sitting there looking at the closed door and being absolutely certain Ruthie would be back with her usual half-assed apologies.
She never came back. She didn’t call or email.
She took one bag with her and left everything else behind. None of their friends have heard anything; or if they have, they’re not telling Glenn. He is still stunned. They are joined on so many levels that it seems impossible for her to be gone. But he sure as hell isn’t going after her. He’s got an exhibition coming up and has only finished that one twisted thing with the rags attached (and he’s got his doubts about that one).
He has to get to work.
He’s still up at first light. There’s a drop cloth spread over in the corner for Rexxie to poop on. Another thing he counted on Ruthie to do: walk the damned dog. He tried walking Rexxie himself at first and thought that’s why he was hitting this impossible dry streak. At first…
