Image via Wikipedia

 Provocation

  “It needs something,” Jenny used to say.

  “The place is perfect just the way it is,” I replied, not wishing to prolong the discussion. I knew that if I ignored her, it would hurt her feelings, but if I tried to engage in reasonable discourse, she would have no part of it.

   “It’s just so plain and drab,” she added.

   “I like it like this. It is simple and I know where everything is,” I stated in my defense.

   “Everything is so black and white. It wouldn’t kill you to add some color to the place,” Jenny quipped with an air of sarcasm. She seemed to be studying the walls with renewed interest. Jenny’s creative nature afforded her the ability to see what was not there. Momentarily, she seemed to be lost in a trance, staring into the walls while scanning the surface. She was an artist and I was critic. Where I saw a nice clean surface, complete in its pristine, yet simple design, Jenny saw a blank canvas to paint upon; a void to be filled. In many respects, our fundamental differences defined the dynamic of our unlikely pairing. Where I saw Jenny as an optional accessory to an otherwise complete but bland existence, she saw me as a necessity to fill her endless emotional void.

    It could have been anything…I mean, that I could have been anyone and it would not matter to her, as long as she had SOMEONE to call her own…someone to fill the void. As she was an up and coming new-age artist, and I was a well-respected critic and museum curator, our paths were destined to cross, but only a perfect storm would bring us together.

   “It wouldn’t take much to spice up the walls, maybe a splash of red,” Jenny said, deep in thought.

   “Look, the furniture is black and the walls and ceiling are white for a reason…,” I tried to explain. Of course, Jenny brushed that aside.