Blue Period

Jane examined the man. She couldn’t look away. The man's mouth had a slight upward curve, giving the appearance of pleasure, sitting with his wine and bread. But his eyes were empty. Bleak. Radiating coldness, Jane had the urge to hand him her coat, but fear stopped her. She worried his solitude and sadness were transactional.

“Jane”

The sudden noise shattered her trance.

“We are moving to the next room.”

“I'll be there in a second.” Jane looked one last time at the man. Wishing she could do more for him, feeling guilty that she couldn’t or wasn’t sure if given the chance, she would.

Turning to leave Jane made eye contact with another man.

Chills ran down her spine, goosebumps rose on her arms. Jane couldn’t look away. His ghostlike skin contrasted against the darkness of his coat, giving off a sinister aura. Out of everything in the room, he, Jane thought, had the saddest story.

She turned to leave the two men behind in their frames. The class moved on from the “Blue Period” of Picasso and turned into an exhibit of Georgia O’Keeffe’s work.

Once again the class split across the room examining paintings.

The main reason for their visit was the Blue Period exhibit. Everything else at the Museum of Modern Art was a bonus. For the first time ever all the known Blue Period pieces were in one exhibit, one location.

Mrs. Andrews, Jane’s college art professor, wept when she found out. She booked tickets for the art history cohort class months ago.

The Blue Period art gave off a sense of sorrow Jane had never experienced firsthand, and she hoped never would. It felt consuming. Jane focused on the image of the blind man because she couldn’t bear to examine every painting.

And now, surrounded by beautiful bright flowers, Jane could only see the man with an empty face.

***

Jane found herself back in the Blue Period Exhibit. This time, alone. The room felt tight like she could touch each wall if only she was to stretch out her arms. Then, she heard a chorus of guttural sobs and screams. Jane's heartbeat quickened. The room felt alive. Finally, something came into view. It was the man again, not the image of the blind man, but the one who gave her the chills. He was walking toward her. Jane had nowhere to go. The door had disappeared and now the walls were pressing up against her skin. The man reached out his hand toward her face, eclipsing her view of his empty eyes.

Jane woke up, drenched in sweat, hand clenching her chest.

***

After the visit to the museum yesterday Jane hadn’t felt quite right. She skipped her other lecture for the day and went home to sleep off whatever wickedness she had caught.

It seemed like it had now followed her home.

Jane stood in her shower, letting the scalding water rush over her body. She hung her head low letting the water weigh down her curls, and rush over her eyes and lips. She had slept for over 10 hours. She still felt weak.

Stepping out of the shower, Jane toweled off her face and then the rest of her body and cocooned her hair in the towel. She stared back at herself in the rectangular mirror. Jane couldn’t help but notice for a moment, she looked like one of Picasso’s paintings, pale and somewhat dismal.

It occurred to her, she could actually be sick.

8:04 a.m. flashed across her phone. Class started at 9 a.m. and then work at the cafe around 1 p.m.

Knowing she didn’t have the energy to sit through class this morning, Jane opted for visiting the student health center.

She layered on a hoodie and wool coat and marched over.

As always, sitting in the waiting room felt like hours, but Jane’s name got called a little past 9 am.

I’ll email my teacher later about why I was a no-show, Jane thought.

“Alright, Miss Galloway, it says here you are feeling a bit under the weather. What symptoms are you experiencing?”

“I only have chills and fatigue, but when I saw how pale I looked this morning I wanted to come get checked out.”

The doctor’s eyes scrunched and scanned Jane’s body. They looked confused and concerned.

“Let me take your temperature real quick.”

She raised what looked like a barcode scanner to Jane’s forehead and moments later it beeped and showed a number. The doctor’s eyes scrunched again.

“Well, your temperature is reading normal and I can’t say what your skin tone usually looks like but I wouldn’t call you pale. You seem to be in good health. Is it possible you’ve been pushing yourself too hard with school? Make sure you are getting proper rest.”

Jane processed what the doctor said. She scanned her arms. This time Jane made a concerned face. She wasn’t only losing color in her face, it was as if her whole body was turning a grayish blue like she had been outside in the freezing cold for too long.

This wasn’t the first time a doctor hadn’t listened to Jane or been helpful but it felt like they were lying to her face. Jane had a feeling in her gut that this wasn’t only exhaustion, but with no other leads to go on she felt defeated.

The doctor had pulled out a pad of paper and was scribbling something down.

“Here. It’s a note for your teacher or work saying you have been feeling unwell and I recommend a day's rest. This should get you out of trouble for anything you miss in the next day or two.”

Jane looked up knowing full well she must look as confused as she felt, but not knowing what else to do she took the paper.

“Thanks”

Jane started walking home, thinking, more rest couldn't hurt.

***

From the time Jane arrived at the doctor to when she was walking back onto the streets of New York, she felt worse.

The temperature was in the high 50s, but Jane was shivering like it was in the 20s. Her curls were falling flat, losing all life, including the red hue.

She pulled out her phone to text her boss that she was sick and wouldn’t be coming in, sending with it a photo of the doctor's note.

Jane waited at a light to cross the street. She felt a presence like someone was watching her. The chill came back, then the goosebumps.

She looked around, trying to remain calm. Across the street, her eyes caught on something familiar. A man, with pale skin and a dark coat. He was staring. The crowd around Jane began to move but she stayed in place. Frozen.

Someone crossing the street bumped her shoulder, forcing Jane to break her gaze. When she glanced across the street again the man was gone.

Whatever cold this is, Jane thought, it’s messing with my head. Jane picked up her pace when she was able to cross the street.

Jane made her way toward the subway hoping to take the quick way home. Waiting on the platform Jane heard something, music. It wasn’t abnormal for street performers to be in the subway to make some extra cash, but this music echoed louder than anything she heard before. It felt as if the music was originating in her own head. Pounding. Jane glanced around trying to see who was making so much noise.

Behind her in the corner by the stairs was an old thin man, hunched over his guitar strumming. His clothes were scarce, his eyes, not lost in his music, but lost in life. His skin was the color of Jane’s. A chill ran down her spine again.

Everyone was walking straight past him. Not a single person handed him a dollar or spare change. Once again Jane felt the urge to give something, anything, but the feeling she had of the blind man crept up again.

Jane turned away, pretending like everyone else she didn’t see him. But the strumming of the guitar only pounded louder.

Finally, the subway arrived. Jane rushed on. She crouched into the first available seat she could find.

The subway felt dark. The concrete surrounding the metal tube sometimes felt claustrophobic. It reminded Jane of her dream. She stretched out her legs to give herself more room.

As the subway began to wiz through the tunnels Jane stared out the window, there wasn’t anything to see, in fact, the subway was passing blank walls. But Jane was looking at something. She was staring at her reflection. It made her sick, more than she already was. Her eyes have started to sink into her face, making her look thin and hollow.

Two more stops. Then, home she thought.

Jane stayed still as the subway came to a stop and people rushed out and in. Amidst the blur of comers and goers. Jane saw him, the man.

He didn’t move. He wasn’t preparing to get on. He stood still.

Jane tried to look away to hide behind the crowd of new riders, but it felt like no matter what. He could see her.

As the subway started moving again, the man blurred from vision.

When the train stopped Jane rushed out.

She wanted to get back to her apartment. She wanted to feel warm. She wanted to be safe. And she wanted whatever this shit show was to end.

Jane made her way up the subway stairs. As she made her way back into the day, a pit formed in her stomach.

Jane thought the darkness had been because of the subway, but now, even in the light, everything morphed into hues of grey and blue. If she hadn’t been paying attention one would almost assume it was only an overcast day in the city.

But Jane watched the faces of people as they walked by. No one smiled, no one laughed. Shadows consumed them.

Jane started to pick up her pace. Trying to not draw attention or cause alarm.

Feeling panicked, Jane lost control of her surroundings. Her shoulder checked someone.

“I’m so sorry!”

Jane turned to see a woman with a clouded eye staring back at her from the ground. She reached out her hand as if asking for help. But it felt more sinister than that. Jane pulled back so the woman couldn’t touch her. She kept reaching her arm out, her one good eye piercing Jane. She stared at the woman’s hand and flashed back to her dream this morning.

Jane gave up on trying to not sprint.

Jane wanted it to stop. The hues of blue were getting so disorienting she wasn’t sure of the direction she was heading. Jane thought her apartment was only a block away, but it felt as though she had been running for over a mile.

Jane finally stopped to catch her breath and looked up.

She was outside of the museum again. Jane didn’t know she knew how to get here without directions.

At the top of the steps the man was there again, but this time he moved and turned toward the entrance. Jane followed.

No one stopped her, it was as if the rest of the visitors couldn’t see her or the man.

He led the way back to the Blue Period exhibit, but once Jane entered the room he was gone.

Jane locked onto a portrait again, one of the men. In his dark coat, Jane recognized Picasso. He had been following her. Staring at her.

In one sudden rush, the music from the subway pounded in her head again, Jane felt chilled to the bone, and blue blanketed her vision.

A hand appeared from the nothingness, reaching for her.

Exhaustion grasped Jane. She felt too weak to fight, unsure if she wanted to.

Only a moment later. Jane’s vision returned. She could see the room again and the visitors. Across from her sat a man in a frame with some wine and bread. The blind man.