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Gabriel put on his t-shirt, hugged me from behind, and placed his head on top of mine. “I love that painting,” he said.
“Me too.”
We both stood for a while and just looked at it.
It was a portrait of me standing strong, with my blond hair blowing in the wind, and an expression of determination on my face. I was wearing my black pants and my military boots with my left hand victoriously in the air, clutching a wig of long black hair.
My other hand was tearing off a black button-down shirt, revealing that underneath I had a Superwoman costume on.
Ten minutes later when we brought it to Bruce he, of course, had his own interpretation of my painting.
“I see you have torn off your black façade and found your inner strength,” he said and gave me a nod of approval.
“Yeah, pretty much, although I don’t feel like a hero or anything,” I emphasized.
“Cia, sit down for a moment.” Bruce pointed to a chair. “I like your paintings.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean, I don’t know much about art so my opinion isn’t worth much, but I know someone who does know about art.”
Gabriel sat down too. “Who?” he asked.
“Darren, a former client that I helped a few years ago. I remembered him when I saw your first portrait of G, because he always sends me invitations to his art gallery in Seattle, and I thought that I would ask for his guidance on how best to help you. I called him last week and we discussed ways for you to make money off your talent and came up with different ideas.”
“Such as?” I asked.
“Well, to mention a few, you could illustrate children’s books, or work at paid company events painting portraits. And of course there’s the option of teaching art classes to children or others who want to learn. Anyway, he asked me to send him photos of your paintings, so he could spread them around in his network to see if someone has a job for you.”
“And?” I asked and almost held my breath.
“And he called me today with good news.”
I moved to the edge of my chair. “Someone has a job for me?”
“Not yet, but he was so impressed with your paintings that he wants to do an exhibition with your paintings in his gallery.”
“What?” Gabriel cried out and broke into a huge grin. “That’s amazing, sugar.”
I could hardly breathe. “What does that mean?”
Bruce pushed his glasses up on his nose. “From what I understand, he’ll exhibit the paintings and invite people who love art to come see them and buy them. He gets a cut and you get the rest.”
“But I don’t own the paintings, they belong here.” I said. “I’ll have to create new ones.”
Bruce made a “tsk-tsk” sound and waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you own the paintings, Cia, I just wanted you to express your emotions as part of the therapy. If you want to donate one of the paintings to our facility we would be honored, but you’re welcome to take them all with you when you leave.”
I resolutely went to the row of pictures leaning against the wall. “I want you to have this one,” I said and picked up the one with the two hands he had loved so much, and handed it to him.
“My favorite one,” he said and smiled. “Thank you, Cia, I hope to see you make good money off your art and I will cherish this painting.”
“So what happens now? Are we done now?” I asked and sat down again.
“No, today we will sum up what has happened these past two weeks, which means a lot of reflection. I’m happy that you’ll move in with Gabriel when you leave tomorrow morning, and hopefully you’ll have a job and a place to live before he moves to Missouri in a few months. We’ll continue with weekly phone sessions, and I’ll write a report for your court hearing.”
“All right, sounds good.”
Bruce leaned back in his chair. “So let me ask you this, Cia, did you achieve what you came for?”
