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Pumpkin Patch Sighting

April 14, 2016

“You know what I just realized?” I said to my co-worker. “It’s going to be a fun weekend.”

That Saturday, our little art community was staging a coup, of sorts. An artist in a downtown gallery had been asked to cover up her nude paintings. She obliged with paper t-shirt cut outs, alerted the media that she was being censored and broke her lease and moved her gallery to New Orleans.

A Nude Artwalk was quickly organized. Many downtown businesses were going to display as many nudes as they could.

I had my own act of rebellion by printing b/w copies of classic art with bare breasts and hanging them on windows, walls and poles around downtown Saturday morning. Liz helped.

I was excited for that night. It was going to be a good turnout. I planned out my outfit and forgive me for saying so myself, but I looked fucking fabulous. My hair was curled and swept to the side, abandoning the hard lines of the straight bangs I had been sporting of late. I wore the shiny purple pants and matching kick ass shoes I had bought for an Indian event last year. And a simple spaghetti-strapped, black tank top. I hopped on my bike and went out in search of nude art and interesting people.

One gallery was having a live, nude drawing session which was cool but as I flitted from one place to another I was unimpressed with the displays. It was hastily put together and mostly student work. I even recognized the style of one of my old drawing teachers. Yup. Third year. Savoy. Drawing class. 

I was getting a little bored when I approached the cafe at the corner of Jefferson and Lee. A mini-band was playing outside. Big bass drum, trumpets, a trombone. People were gathered around, dancing freely. I went into the cafe to see if they had interesting art. They did not. When I walked back out I asked the guy sitting on a bench if I could join him. We were situated behind the band, facing the crowd.

And that’s when I saw him. I looked slightly to my right and there was Pumpkin Patch. He was with a woman who was enthusiastically enjoying the music. I looked away, determined not to look his way again and knowing I was in his full view.

I straightened up a little and looked out into the crowd, watching a dancer, swinging my crossed leg slightly to the beat and tapping my hand on my thigh, smiling at the spectacle and trying to pretend that the man who broke my heart was not a few feet away with another woman.

After several minutes, I confidently got up, thanked the guy next to me, walked through the crowd, crossed the street, my head held high, my hips swinging. I unlocked my bike, knowing he was watching me, swung my leg around, placed the ball of my heel on the pedal, dangled my purse on the handle bar and rode down the street, the wind in my hair.

Take that, Pumpkin Patch!

 

 

 

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