The picture

'So how do I look?'
'Fantastic, as always.'
This sleepy response to my question followed by a yawn, before he
buries his head into the pillow for five more minutes. It's seven
thirty in the morning and as the sunlight trickles into the room,
through the crack where the curtains meet, it catches the diamond
pendant of my necklace. Stepping back a little I assess myself
critically in the mirror. Black heeled ankle boots. Dark grey fitted
trouser suit and red shirt, open at the collar. I have paid particular
attention to styling my hair having recently cut it I am still coming
to terms with the change. I hope my make-up is subtle but it is hard to
tell in the dimly lit room. Discarded clothes litter the floor. Have I
chosen the right thing? Will I make the right impression? Feeling as
though I haven't slept I go downstairs and draw back the living room
curtains revealing a cold March morning, I begin to feel tense. I have
never stood up alone before. At school I am Mrs. Jackson or more
commonly Robbie's Mum, at the Office simply David's wife I imagine his
secretary doesn't even know my name. Even when I was young I always had
the protection of someone else. Being just two years younger than my
brother I was Martin's little sister and he never seemed to tire of me
tagging along. If he had would I be more independent? As I step out of
the front door I feel the knot in my stomach tighten. Walking along the
road to catch the bus wonder if this will show through, will the
exterior be enough to fool them? I try to stand tall, look confident
although I am anything but! This is it, no turning back. Some might say
I am running away from my responsibilities. Maybe I am but this is
something I need to do.

The bus pulls into the stop. It is already quite busy. I find a seat by
the window and settle into it. The people on the bus seem bored and
frustrated. Looking around, I wonder, why am I so desperate to join
them? Not wanting to make eye contact I stare out of the window. My
mind drifts back to the painting. I had been feeling particularly
harassed and not in the most forgiving of moods. It was a mistake to be
in town at that time on a Friday I reminded myself not to leave
everything to the last minute next time. Finally, having made my way
through the fast moving stream of people, I stood outside the gallery
and there it was. Surrounded by a big solid frame made of beech wood
were all the colours of the rainbow and I was mesmerized. The painting
was constructed entirely of dots, each shade invading the space
occupied by the next. The red of the top left hand corner gave way to
orange and then yellow. The progression was smooth and unbroken ending
with lilac in the bottom left hand section. As I looked more closely I
noticed colour spilling over the edge onto the frame. In that instant
my mind was made up.

Married at eighteen to a man five years older, our first child born
soon after. Maybe we were old fashioned. I looked after our home and my
husband went out to work, it was the way it had always been. We worked
together to raise our children but they were growing up, forming
friendships and I became increasingly unsettled and insecure. As if I
had been left behind. They wouldn't always need my constant attention.
The other mothers, those with careers, would drop their children at
school and I would see them waving from the gates. I never envied these
women. I used to feel sad for them, that they were missing out. I think
they even used to pity me. The young mother with no choice but to raise
a family, poor girl should have been more careful, could have made
something of herself! It was a time when you could have to all but at
what cost? Having everything and being too busy to enjoy any of it! I
certainly would not say I regretted my decision. For a long time I had
been Mum. I chose to be and I was glad but I needed something of my
own. I was by myself most of the day with plenty of time to think.
Treading water, waiting for something to happen. Life was passing by,
washing over me whilst I stood still. I dealt with whatever came my way
but never actively created opportunities. My life was routine, boring
and I was fed up! I thought that making the decision would be the
hardest part but I could not have been more wrong.

For a long time David didn't understand. It isn't easy to explain to
someone something you can't grasp for yourself! He tried so hard but I
felt stifled. He was frightened that we were growing apart. That he was
losing me. How could anything be wrong? Nothing had changed. Of course
it hadn't for him. He thought if he changed I would be happy. My mind
was drawn back to the picture a lot. It seemed to echo my desire to
break free, to challenge my boundaries. I went to evening classes. I
thought it would help me to escape, to clear my mind and find a way
forward. I had always enjoyed writing and I began to find more time for
it. It was through this that I became Ms. Amanda Stone. My mother
always thought the title pretentious but I have been working towards
this for too long to let that worry me.

I am jolted back to the present as the bus stops in the centre of town.
I am not far away and I decide to walk as I have plenty of time. The
office over looks the river and a cobbled square. In the summer we sit
on the bank eating ice cream and watching the boats. It is a busy part
of town with caf?'s and bars. The place is familiar and comforting,
slowly I begin to relax. A few deep breaths and I am ready - I think!
The office for the magazine is on the top floor, three flights up. If I
am successful I will work from home coming into the office only one day
a week to meet with the editor. In the waiting room I turn my thoughts
to David. Willing to accommodate these changes into his life. He seems
so excited as we talk now, making plans together. Perhaps he too longed
for a greater flexibility. I know I have misjudged him, thinking him
selfish, holding him responsible for all that I felt was wrong with my
life. He was always content to know that he had provided for his
family. Putting our needs before his, knowing we were happy. I wonder
why - with all that we have shared together- it took one of us to snap
before we could share our dreams. We have found so many plans we
thought were lost fortunately they were just buried under busy lives,
at the bottom of the ironing basket or under the notes for the
conference, not forgotten. I hear my name being called through the
intercom. The secretary directs me down a corridor to the editor's
office. She ushers me into the room closing the door quietly
behind.

I leave the interview and I feel free. I have done it. I am not sure if
I will get this job but it doesn't matter. The hardest part is over.
Maybe today will mark the end of the beginning of this new phase in our
lives. I have taken so much for granted but maybe we are both a little
guilty of that. I stop to collect a bottle of wine before making the
return journey. They are already home when I arrive and a subtle mix of
herbs and spices wafts from the kitchen into the hall to greet me. I
kick off my boots and walk through to the living room. My painting
hangs on the wall. It reminds me to keep things in perspective and has
shown me the value of looking at life in a different way. The frame is
strong and the colour spilling onto it is calmer, not a thoughtless act
of rebellion but a more controlled blending, fading towards the outer
edge. Blurring the boundaries of the picture and its support.