Volume 11: Part 2- Dha Chathair: Thursday, October 6th, 6:25 P.M.

Thursday, October 6th, 6:25 P.M.
Today was another day where I just didn't feel like working.  It's not that I'm stressed out or overwhelmed or anything like that.  When I woke up this morning I didn't feel like following the usual routine.  As a result, I went to go get breakfast as a diner, then my day just unfolded from there.  Sure Sam will be pissed that I bailed on my work, again, but, really, I don't care.  October 22nd, then done.
After I got breakfast and skipped out on the bill, I made my way to the Modern Art Museum.  Admission was free, it wasn't raining in there, and I could spend several hours just milling around without anyone hassling me.  Also, because it was modern art, I was fairly confident I would see some naked boobs.  I didn't, but I did see something that held my attention almost as well as naked boobs.  Almost.
As I was making my way from the impressionistic wing toward the portrait alley, I saw someone standing in front of the Morrison piece in the conceptual art space.  It was Rinoa.  I didn't want to yell out "Hello Rinoa!" because she didn't know who I was, and I know I would find it really strange if someone I didn't know just out of the blue shouted out my name.  I walked up and stood next to Rinoa.  Not too close to where I was invading her personal space, but close enough so that, if she wanted to, Rinoa could talk to me.
For what felt like a long time, borderline eternity, neither of us said anything to each other.  Not a word.  There were occasional glances, fleeting ones not meant to let the other one know we were glancing at each other.  Then there was the glance where our eyes met them immediately went back to the piece.  Finally, something both monumental and epic happened.  Rinoa said something to me.
"So, what do you think this piece looks like?"
"Well...Um...I think...Maybe it's...It could be...Ahh..."  I had something on the tip of my tongue, but I did not want to say that I thought the piece looked like a giant penis.
"I think the piece looks like a giant penis."  Instead it was Rinoa who said exactly what I was thinking, which we both got a laugh out of.  "I believe I recognize you from somewhere.  Do you work the fields of Nongbu Farm?"
I could barely contain my elation at Rinoa recognizing me.  "Yes, Sam's got me working pretty hard."
"I thought so.  I'm Rinoa."  Rinoa extended her hand toward me.
"I'm Hato."  Shaking Rinoa's hands put me on a plane of existence I had never visited before.  As I shook her hand, I should have known Rinoa was going to do something when she looked over her shoulder behind her.
"You wanna see something cool," and with that Rinoa darted off, with me unknowingly along for the ride.  Not that I didn't enjoy following along behind her.  The sight of Rinoa's hair bouncing and swaying as she gleefully ran in playing over and over in my mind as I craft this entry.
After running up two flights of stairs, down three hallways, and past half a dozen security guards who thought nothing of two opfers tearing their way through a museum, Rinoa came to a stop in front of one of the landscape paintings.  I came to a stop too, but only after nearly running into Rinoa.  Rinoa pointed at the painting and said, "What do you think that looks like?"
I looked at the painting for a moment and nothing profound came to mind.  So, I just started rambling.  "It looks like a peaceful meadow with people having a picnic, people climbing on trees, and kids playing on two gently sloping kills."
Rinoa looked at me imploringly.  "Yeah, but what do you really think that looks like?"
I looked at the painting again and tried to find something profound.  "The leaves on that tree kind of look like marijuana."  I failed.  Rinoa looked at me slightly annoyed, then clasped her hands on her chest.  "Um, hands," I asked meekly.
"Breasts.  Breasts!  Those hills represent breasts.  Conservatives won't tell you this, but any art geek, like me, will tell you Fray Ortiz adored the female form, and incorporated it into all of his paintings.  This painting, Playground Meadow, breasts.  The one over there, Twilight Forest, long slender legs.  Across the way, Silent Churchbells, ample, curvy hips.  And that one, Section Of A Vibrant River, cleavage."
I was stunned.  Not just by the subtle use of feminine imagery in art, but also by the forward way Rinoa was talking about it.  "No shit?"
"No shit."
"Hmmm.  I hesitate to ask if Ortiz ever tried to use the, um, vagina in his art."
"Well, it's not on display here, but Ortiz's Blackened Bush does exactly that."
Before I was stunned, now I was shocked.  "Really."
Rinoa let out a sigh, and said. "Yeah, Fray's puns started to break down late in his life.  There's a portrait of him downstairs with the woman considered to be his muse.  You wanna see it?"
"Do I want to see the Silent Churchbells?  As long as you don't yank my arm out its socket, sure," and with that we were off.  Rinoa and I spent the rest of the afternoon going from art exhibit to art exhibit, Rinoa explaining all of the pieces in full detail, and I delighting in hearing her speak.  This is an experience that I hope to replicate far into the future.
Oh, damn!  I forgot to ask Rinoa if she wanted to go to the Dramatica show.  I'll have to ask her when I see her tomorrow.
Hato Shurtleff

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