3 AM in Amherst

by RC DeWinter

Title

3 AM in Amherst

Artist

RC DeWinter

Medium

Painting - Digital Oils-paintography

Description

Copyright 2014 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved

Too much struggle, too much to juggle...life overlaid with the constant anxiety of poverty makes for a grim recipe of sleepless nights, dazed days...operating on automatic, no energy for authentic living. On the verge of physical collapse, last night I popped two diphenhydramine to haze myself into sleep.
Normally, on the rare occasions when I do this I am dreamless, pitched into blackness that lingers the next day as a bleary hangover. But last night my dreams were a vivid kaleidoscope of odd and ends. Then all the fragments resolved and I was back in Amherst, walking alone in the dead of night. I remembered the location vividly - Main Street, right by Amherst Books.
The full moon was shining, illuminating everything with a hazy glow. There wasn't another soul in sight until suddenly, a figure stepped out of a shadowed doorway ahead onto the sidewalk. I remember my heart thumping, the fight-or-flight adrenaline flowing, as I wondered if I should turn and run. Then the shadow spoke.
"Good evening - or should I say morning?"
My knees almost buckled with relief. I knew that voice...clear yet soft, accented in familiar French.
"Vincent! If my hair wasn't already white it would have turned so immediately! What are you doing lurking around here at this hour?"
"Waiting for you," he replied as he walked toward me. "It's time for another little chat."
"What about this time?" I asked as he joined me and we began walking slowly on.
"About centering, re-focusing. You remember our conversation about looking past the obvious, seeking beauty beyond the surface?"
"Certainement," I replied. "But I'm having difficulty getting past the looming spectre of uncertainty. Being alone so often doesn't help. When the only voice you hear is your own it's almost impossible not to lose perspective."
"Understood," Vincent said calmly. "This is when the strength you don't acknowledge that you have must be drawn upon. And you do have it," he emphasized as I made a self-deprecatory face in response.
"If I do, it's fading fast," I answered wearily. "Never a shoulder to lean on, no one who fully realizes or cares about my predicament. My life is a house of cards - one slight tremor and everything will collapse."
He turned and frowned fiercely.
"Do you think you are the only one in the world in this condition? There are thousands - millions - in circumstances worse than yours. I realize the difficulties you face in making plans, furthering your creative work, deriving enjoyment from life because your situation is precarious. But think of those whose lives are disrupted by war, by famine, by daily violence visited upon them through no fault of their own."
I nodded. "All well and good and true, Vincent. But I can only realistically compare my life to those most similar to me: somewhat intelligent, a lover of culture and beauty in the tradition of the educated middle-class. When held against that template, I fall through the cracks."
He gestured dismissively. "So? Nothing is eating away at your intelligence, your education, your artistic gifts. What you must lose, besides the black veil through which you view each day, is your pride. You must be willing to reach out and ask for help - clearly, plainly, with no self-pity."
"And who," I almost shouted, "would I ask?"
"The world," he answered. "Put yourself out before the world."
I snorted. "Easy to say. When one's own family either doesn't want to know or simply doesn't care enough to help, what makes you think strangers would interest themselves in the welfare of an obscure scribbler?"
He stopped walking and took my arm in a way that forced me to stop too. He raised it high, pointing it toward the darkened windows of apartments over a shop.
"Look there," he commanded. "If one of those windows was to suddenly be opened by a stranger calling for help, would you walk on or would you stop for at least a minute or two to see if you could? And if you couldn't help but knew someone who could, or you knew a way to get that person what they needed from another source, would you? I say you would. It is no different in your case. Give people a chance to be helpful. You might be surprised at the results."
"I doubt it," I replied blackly. "If I had a dollar for everyone who promised this or that I'd be sitting pretty."
Vincent dropped my arm, took me by the shoulders and turned me so that we faced each other.
"You cast the net neither often enough nor widely enough," he said gently. "I know how you are. A few disappointments and you withdraw, a hermit crab cowering in its shell. Shed the shell. Believe in your worth, in the worth of your work. You must. You cannot let go all your dreams, all you have already accomplished."
At this I smiled wryly. "Accomplished? If the world were an ocean my accomplishments would not amount to a teaspoon. My failures in every arena, however, would fill at least a bucket."
Vincent sighed. "You cannot see how you shine when you insist on blackening yourself with soot. There are many windows to open, many doors to walk through. Don't nail them shut without even trying."
"I'm afraid," I finally confessed.
"I know," he replied. "You must conquer that fear. All it takes is one yes - the right yes - and all the noes will fall away like a bad dream."
As Vincent said the word dream, that moonlit street in Amherst faded to the sunlight of another day, another opportunity. We shall see if I am up to the task he set me.
~ copyright 2014 RC deWinter

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August 22nd, 2014

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