Michael Sheridan - Absence

Maria pondered the painting that hung above the sofa in the small apartment she shared with Lincoln.  It was just two people sitting in armchairs reading books.  They never moved, never talked.  She wondered if they ate. 

They’d bought the painting a year ago from a market vendor while on a trip to the beach.  Lincoln hung it when they got home.  Then, almost by magic they became the people in the painting.  Sitting in the living room, reading silently, never talking.

Maria couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation with Lincoln beyond, “good night” or, in the morning, as one of them ran out the door, “there’s coffee there.”  Had it been a year?

Had hanging the painting meant they had somehow fallen in to a Wildean enigma?  Ah, yes.  A picture of Maria and Lincoln where they remain together, youthful and yet emotionally absent.