In the Moment

It doesn’t even look like me. It certainly doesn’t resemble any of my family, I thought staring at the painting.
How could I have been so misrepresented?
I know I was taking a risk when I sat ever so still for the portrait. But my god, I feel so vulnerable. My heart was racing and I felt sick to the core.
I had bared my soul to that woman and she had milked it for all it was worth.
She promised me I’d be famous. She said I would be a star. She told me not the worry. But now I just felt stupid.
My legs were wobbly so I crouched on a nearby bench. I was in the middle of a Brisbane art gallery, completely miserable.
Hold yourself together, I told myself. Relax.
Then a thought struck me, what if my friends and family were to see this debacle. Oh the shame! I would be a complete laughing stock.
My parents had warned me about such people. People who had no scruples and would sell your soul in a second.
I swung my head back at the painting.
Why the huge green head that seemed too big for my body? She was no Andy Warhol that was for sure.
And what was with the fluorescent pink background?
She had named it ‘In the Moment’.
Who’s fucking moment exactly?
It wasn’t anything I had actually experienced. Maybe if she laid off whatever she was smoking I would look more normal.
And what was with the bulging bug eyes. Seriously, my eyes are not that shape or size. How could she get it so wrong?
My elongated legs doubled up beneath me seemed incredulous. No one looks like that. It is physically impossible to be all legs, eyes and head.
Where was the real me?
“Ahh, he’s so cute,” said an old lady.
“Daddy, can I have him?” asked a little girl as her father shook his head and moved on.
That’s right, go on and shatter what little self-confidence I had left.
Cute, my ass. I am not cute. I’m fully grown.
How would I live with this mark against my good name?
She told me she would never hurt me.
I gave myself so willingly, so completely and now everything was wide open for the world to see.
Thinking of the hours I had stayed cramped up in that position not moving so she could paint her damn masterpiece left me so drained.
I knew I had to get out of here, back to my own safe environment.
As I started to move away my legs still shaky, I vowed to seek her out.
I knew where she lived. I had no issue with pestering her until she cleaned up my image.
My shell of a body devoid of all feeling slowly inched its way out of the art gallery.
I was broken but not beaten.
I was a praying mantis fighting his way to redemption.

In the Moment

Christina Fenton

Joined December 2007

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  • stefani
  • Christina Fenton
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