My phone dinged with a message, and the amount hit my account. Exhilaration buzzed as I carefully took the picture from him, grabbed a paper towel, wiped away the dust, and removed the price tag. I’d sold a piece before, but the memory of that transaction had been lost to the Black Hole. I supposed this was my first-known experience of an artwork sale. The situation felt bittersweet. Gaining at the price of letting go. Did these feelings mirror my January experience? Or were echoes of the really first sale tempering this moment? I would never know. I decided it didn’t matter. Feeling good was feeling good.

“You’ve made my day,” I said.

“I could say the same,” he said. “This spot stirs a lot of memories for me. This will be a nice addition to my study.”

“I don’t have paper or a bag to wrap it in.” Had I been more organized at my art show?

“No problem.” He accepted the framed picture. “Thank you again, Marisa.”

I walked him to the door, opened it, and allowed him to pass before I followed him down the stairs to the first floor. I pushed open the security door and stood outside in the chilled air. “I’ll have digital files to you in a day or two.”

He tucked the picture under his arm and extended his hand to me. I accepted it. His grip was strong. “Look forward to it.”

I stepped back into the building, and he slid the picture into the back seat of a Lexus. As he pulled away, he glanced in his rearview mirror and caught my lingering gaze. For a moment, I felt trapped.

As I took a step back, my heart thumped against my ribs. Looking from side to side, I checked the lock on the front door as a memory of distant eyes bored into me from the shadows.

14 MARISA

14

MARISA

Monday, March 14, 2022

11:00 a.m.

Back in my apartment, I walked to the row of ten pictures I’d taken of the river. Now two were missing. I raised my hand to the spot where the forgotten first-sale image should have been, as if doing so would summon the buyer and fill the blanks in my memory. Why did it matter who I’d sold the picture to?

I had no real record of the sale, but I still had the negative for the original picture. I slid on my glasses, sat at a light table where I worked with my prints. I opened a notebook filled with negatives tucked in clear sleeves and found the one for the first sale.