Writing Exercise #4- Jessica Ste. Croix

She left him sleeping at the hotel and he didn’t know where she was going, or long she had been gone. She doubted if he even remembered her waking him up with a slight nudge to say, I’ll be back shortly. She didn’t care either, because she knew he probably wouldn’t be up when she got back and they could go on with their day in the usual manner- pretending like the night before had been nothing. Accepting one another’s existence like they did the breakfast they ate in the morning. She left him sleeping at the hotel and drove to the church, the one she had been waiting to see since fifth grade when she opened books and watched videos about Georgia O’Keefe. It was one of the reasons she had wanted to be an artist and the fact that she wanted to be an artist was the reason she was there at that moment- because he needed to be better than it. He needed her desire for him to outweigh her desire for the canvas. So she walked across the dirt path alone, and looked at the back of the church. The smooth brown walls were like big paper bags clustered together, unadorned and uneven, bare. She ran her hand along the side of the building as she circled around and looked up at the white cross, the bell, and the painting of St. Francis in the darkened doorway. She thought about him one more time, alone and unaware, before she wrapped her hand around the handle of the heavy door.