The Memory Painter

Linz stood rooted to the ground, watching him leave. She wanted to pull him back and replay the moment all over again.

As if he could read her thoughts, the man turned and stared at her once more before disappearing into the next room. Linz hovered, unsure of what to do. She felt a strange compulsion to follow him, to reenter the galleries and pretend that she had not just wandered through the whole thing. But it wasn’t like she could just strike up a conversation about Nefertiti and ask for his number. She had never hit on anyone in her life, and she wasn’t about to start at the MFA. With a sense of reluctance, she dropped off the headset.

When she exited the museum, the world outside felt different somehow. Playing chess at the Square didn’t seem as appealing as it had five minutes ago, but she figured she would go anyway. Maybe focusing on a game would help still the strange flutter of her heart.

As she left, she couldn’t quite brush off the brief encounter with the man inside or the odd feeling that she was making a mistake by walking away.

*

Harvard Square was a postcard come to life, where people from all over the city gathered to play chess. Her opponent, an old man wearing a golfer’s hat, made his first move. Linz countered within seconds, listening to the quiet play from the other tables, and her pent-up tension gradually released. Within ten moves, she had won.