Jennifer told me she was a fan of October’s work and asked me rapid-fire questions about the birdcage. She was outgoing and cool, and her piece was cool too—a large-scale square panel made of wax, paint, and gold leaf on wood, with a round, celestial form in the middle of the square. When I narrowed my eyes hard at it, I felt as if I were looking at deep space and the light of the moon, or a portal into a distant, dreamy galaxy. There seemed to be as much hidden underneath as there was on the surface, and I could relate to that.
The other piece that caught my attention was a wall hanging made of dark ropes knotted together and then hung on polished walnut rods in an intricate pattern of lines and curves that, depending on where I stood, reminded me of a guitar or a woman’s body.
I overheard two young women gossiping about who October’s boyfriend was. One even asked Thomas if Chris Callahan was going to be at the reception, and she asked it in a tone that made me think it was the reason she’d come. Thomas told the girl he didn’t know, even though he did.
Cal had actually texted me a few days earlier to say he’d looked into making it home for the event, but he had a show in Berlin on Wednesday and one in Amsterdam on Saturday, and even if he’d chartered a plane, he said getting back to the Netherlands in time would have been impossible.
Bummed I can’t be there.
I’m sure you two will kill it.
Good luck and send me a pic of my girl.
Fifteen minutes before the installation opened, Rae shuffled over with Rodney at her side and said it was time for me to go get October.
The hallway to the stairs had been roped off, and a bearded behemoth of a man in a suit was standing guard. Big, shaggy, and gray, he looked like a hostile, human version of Diego. And even though he’d seen me come down earlier with Thomas and Phil, he stopped me from going up until Rae said, “He’s OK. He’s going to get Ms. Danko.”
Shelly was tying October into her dress when I walked into the room. I caught a quick flash of October’s bare back and left breast and darted back out, but October laughed and said, “Come in, Joe. You’ve seen boobs before.”
I stepped into the room but stared at the carpet until she was dressed. Once she was, she walked toward me with her arms out to the sides as if she were about to take a bow.
“Well?” she said.
She looked stunning. Like a raven that had been turned into a woman. Her gown was to the floor and made of dark feathers that sounded like whispers when she walked. The feathers looked black from a distance, but when she got closer, I could see nuances to the color—reflective, iridescent hints of gold and green and blue, like a real bird. The top of the dress was sleeveless and tied around October’s neck. It covered her torso but was open in the back. Her feet were bare. Her hair was big and wild. Looking at her made my chest feel like it was filling up with water.
“You’re a vision,” I said.
I took out my phone to snap a photo, and when I told her it was by request for Cal, she posed with her lips pursed like she was going to kiss the camera; that made me feel jealous and sad again.
“Ready?” I asked.
“One more thing.” She handed me a thick, black Sharpie and asked me to write “CHOICE” on her exposed back. “All the way across. Big and clear.”
I pressed my left palm against her skin, to steady my writing hand so I could print clearly, but also so I could talk to her without speaking. And maybe it worked, because once I took my hand away, she looked at me with more compassion than she had all week and said, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous too.”
“You are?”
She nodded, and I wondered if she’d gleaned anything else in my touch. The sadness. The frustration. The longing.
I escorted October slowly down the stairs, one hand on her arm, the other on her back, while Shelly held up the back of the dress.
At the door to the gallery, October asked Shelly, Rae, and Rodney to wait in the hallway. I stood off to the side, expecting to wait too, but she said, “You come with me.”
We walked in and stood side by side in front of the cage, both of us looking up at it and then around the room. All week long, October had been keeping her distance from me, but she broke character there, hooked her arm through mine, sighed, and said, “You know, this one belongs to you even more than it belongs to me.”
I shook my head. “It was your idea. All I did was build it.”
“But you built it with your whole heart and soul. It’s a real work of art, Joe. I hope you recognize that. And I hope you know how much I appreciate it.” She didn’t take my hand so much as she slipped her fingers around the tips of my fingers and tentatively grasped them. And her voice quivered when she said, “I’m happy we made this together. I’m happy you’re here with me tonight. I’m happy we get to offer this creation of ours to the world. And no matter what the future holds, I’ll always remember this moment with you.”
I swallowed hard and felt a rush of gratitude toward her, for trusting me to create the piece, and for believing I could. There was the pride I took in the creation itself, which felt as meaningful to me as it did to her. And above all that, I had the sense that I, too, would remember the moment.
For a long time
