The Ranch WC 298

The Ranch
WC 298

A new exhibit was scheduled at the Art Institute for January 2nd. I decided to ring in the New Year with my first trip since our move to the suburbs.

“Do you want to take a drive?” I asked my wife.

“To where?”

“The Art Institute.”

“I hate Chicago. Go if you want.”

I hoped she would say no; I wanted to have my adventure alone, in memory of my father. It had been our place.

When I saw the Chicago skyline, a thrill ran through me. The Art Institute came into view; I could hardly wait to run up the stairs of the magnificent structure.

It was as I remembered: the earthy muskiness, the murmurs, the sounds of heels clicking on marble…

I studied every piece of art, stopping at one familiar painting entitled, The Ranch. As a boy, I dreamed of living in the ranch house with my father.

A lamp illuminated a man sitting near the library window, reading. My father was the rancher in my daydream. Our horse, Paint, stood in the pasture near the fence. I always wondered why he was not in the stables. Was my father getting ready to ride him into town? Or was I?

I moved on to view my other favorite works. When I checked my watch, I realized it was time to go. I had a long drive, and my wife would be waiting.

I backtracked and took one last look at The Ranch.

I couldn’t believe my eyes! My father was sitting on Paint in front of the house. I was sitting in the window reading.

I blinked, then looked again.

I was standing at the front door, alone in the dark. I looked lost…sad.

I hurried to my car as I wiped away a tear.