Chapter 24 – Christina's World

I wake up staring up at the sun. I'm not lying on the deck of a boat anymore. I'm lying in the middle of a field, the sun warming my skin.

I remember another time, a better time I woke up in a field and a young boy found me.

Suddenly I sit up. Maybe I'm back at Gustave's family estate. Unfortunately I'm not in France. Or at least it doesn't look like where Gustave lived.

I look around me. There is no visible landmark around. This whole place is a just a long empty field stretching out for god knows how long. But right there, in the middle of the field stands a house and a barn, with the weeds cut around to demark its surrounding area.

And I'm not alone.

There's a woman right in the middle of the field. She's on the ground, like her legs can't keep her up and she's dragging herself, trying to reach the house I presume.

I automatically rush towards her.

"Ma'am, do you need help?" I ask kind of frantically. Maybe she injured herself and she's trying to reach the house to get help.

Instead of being greeted by the scared face of a woman panicking, the woman smiles at me. She looks serene and happy.

I'm completely confused.

"No need to fret, my dear. I'm quite alright," she tells me, chuckling at my frantic face.

I reach down, to try to help her. "What happened?"

She frowns slightly, the smile never leaving her face. "What do you mean?"

"Did you get hurt?"

"Oh heavens. No." She chuckles again. "While my treacherous body does inconvenience me quite often, my condition is not the result of a recent injury. It's an unfortunate illness."

"You mean you can't walk?"

"I mean my poor limbs have no more strength to keep me up. I assume that at one point dragging myself around will become too strenuous too," she explains.

I study to be an engineer, not a doctor so I have no idea what is wrong with her. I've watch a lot of House M.D. but none of it can help me give this woman a diagnostic. I would probably have better chances of becoming a proficient addict rather than a genius doctor with the knowledge I got from that TV show.

One thing I know for sure though is that if I was losing strength in my limbs and I couldn't walk anymore I wouldn't be smiling the way that woman is. There's a very serene quality to her smile.

"Your condition doesn't seem to worry you," I point out.

"Of course it saddens me, but there's no point in worrying. There's no point in being gloomy. I can still manage to drag myself around so I have my independence. I have good friends. One of them is a painter. He likes to paint me." She tells me that last part with joy and pride.

I'm a little bit in awe. I suddenly wish I'd know more about paintings. If I knew more, I'd be able to tell her if a painting of her actually gets remembered. Unfortunately, my life in paintings has not given me better insight into naming art works or knowing what's popular and what's not.

"I just don't think I'd be able to smile if I couldn't walk again. Isn't there any treatment?"

"Not that I am aware of," she tells me. Again, she doesn't seem worried by that admission.

"How can you not be hopeless?" I ask her. Seriously, I could probably have more tact. I could maybe not be pressuring this poor woman into admitting that her life is crap, but I'm just genuinely curious. Also, I guess all of these paintings are trying to teach me something somehow. It's easier to know what that is if I press for answers.

Maybe that's how I can get out of this curse. By figuring out what all of these paintings mean.

"I might be limited physically, but my life is far from hopeless. Giving up my dear, that is hopelessness. As long as you do not give up, there is always hope."

I think about that. I think about how many times I've given up, how many times I've felt hopeless because of it, because I didn't want to fight for it.

I think about following Jarvis into that museum because I'd given up on my own future, I'd given up on accomplishing anything special because I couldn't pass a stupid art class. A stupid art class I had given up on before even starting.

I don't know what I want, I don't know who I am but the one thing I do know about myself is that I give up too easily.

"Everything can make sense if you change your perspective," she adds. "This is my home, this is what I want, to trek across my field and feel the grass under me and the sun over me. I might not walk, but that does not make me lesser."

I sit by her. I smile back.

"I'm Melody."

"Christina."

"Please to meet you Christina. I have to admit, I'd love to have your positive outlook on life," I say.

The smile never leaves her lips. "You can start by sitting her with me and just enjoying the moment. That's always a good place to begin," she offers.

So I do.

I stay there beside her on the ground, looking at the house and the barn and the field. I stay there barely moving, just trying to feel it, understand it, how this could be all that someone wants.

I don't know how long we stand there, side by side on the field. The sun doesn't appear to be moving. Time seems to have stood still.

I don't know how I leave that painting. If I faint from exhaustion or if I just blink one second too long and fall asleep, but one second I'm there and the next I'm not anymore.