The Curse Of The Crying Boy

“Yes?” I answer quickly.looking at him.

“The painting you wanted is getting auctioned next” he nudges at me. I automatically focus my attention on the auction.

This man in a black suit walks up with a rectangle painting covered by a white sheet. He puts the painting down gently; he takes the cover off it and I’m instantly mesmerized. It’s an oil painting of a little boy, sitting down in a blue long sleeve with a brown jumper. With this beautiful angelic face with light brown hair, big beautiful blue eyes that match his shirt. Crying two big tears from both eyes, falling down his rosy cheeks. He almost looks real. I feel as if his eyes are looking into my soul.

“Wow” I gasp, my eyes watering. The beauty and the pain this painting gives out at the same time is incredible. This is true art. He is speaking to me without words. I feel his emotions as if I was there when he got painted.

“May I present the next piece? The crying boy, Giovanni Bragolin vintage original oil painting. This painting is unique and one of a kind, as there is only one of it in the whole world” the auctioneer says.

“That’s the one!” I tell my husband, smiling, grabbing his hand. Not breaking eye contact with the boy in the painting.

“This panting and many others were painted for the whole purpose of adoption. The artist that painted was called by an orphanage to paint a picture of the little orphans for the ones that wanted to adopt them. It was said that the artist wanted to remain unknown because he would use the orphan’s blood as the colour red in the painting. The same night the orphanage burnt down and the only thing that survived was this painting” the action ever continues.

“Ohh my poor sweet boy!” I whisper to my husband.

“Yeah those poor kids” he squeezes my hand.

“Let’s start the bid at 1000 dollars” the auctioneer yells.

“50 000 dollars” I yell before anyone else can bet.

“50 000 to the lady in blue… going once… going twice…sold to the lady in blue for 50 000 dollars!” He bangs his Woden hammer on the stand.

“Yay!” I jump in joy and hug my husband.

It was love at first sight. I had to get it, no matter the cost. We go meet the auctioneer in the back. My husband takes out his check book, he writes a 50 000 dollar check and gives it to the man.

“Thank you sir for you generosity” the auctioneer says, shaking my husband's hand.

“Thank my wife! She’s the one that saw its value and bid 50 000 dollars before anyone else could bid” he says looking at me with gigantic eyes. As if 50 000 dollars was going to make him go broke. He makes that in 10 minutes in his company. He owns a solar energy company.

“This painting has had many owners, but it always came back to us. It’s never found a permanent home. I hope yours will be its last” the auctioneer says, handing me the painting.

“Ohh this poor beautiful boy, who wouldn’t want him.It will certainly be his last home” I say, looking at the little boy in the eyes. I swear I can feel his happiness in my heart.

“You guys are talking as if he’s real, it’s a goddamn painting” my husband takes it out of my hands and heads out the building.

“Take good care of him for me please” the auctioneer takes my hand in his two hands and squeezes gently. I smile and follow my husband out.

We get to the car. I open my door, sit, and close my door. I look in the side mirror. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My husband is putting him in the trunk. I get out of my seat as fast as I can.

“What are you doing?” I speed walk to my husband, I take the painting.

“I’m putting the painting in the trunk?” He answers, confused.

“He doesn’t belong in the trunk” I say, furious. Putting him lying down in the back seat.

“It!” He says, loudly. Correcting me.

“What?” I turn to face him.

“It’s a painting Kathleen” he spits out.

“I know it’s a painting Rene!” I spit back. I go sit back down in the car.

“So why do you keep saying him?” he follows me in the car, sitting in the driver seat.

“I don’t know, I feel a… never mind. I don’t know, it just comes out. Sorry” I lie. He starts the car and we make our way home.

He wouldn’t understand. Just like he doesn’t understand why I still cry some nights over the loss of our baby boy, when it’s been already 6 months. He’ll never understand the emptiness I have inside of me since I miscarried. I only had three months left to go until I got to meet and hold my baby boy, but no, I got it stripped away from my own hands and it took away my happiness with it. I’ll never recover from that.

Today is the first day in a very long time, that I’m actually genuinely happy in my head and in my heart. It’s all thanks to my new painting. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness is absolutely wrong. I grab my husband's hand and stare out the window, smiling with pure joy.