The Portrait

The portrait hung on my wall with the fierce tenacity

of someone hanging onto the edge of a cliff. 

It simply refused to budge, and I was in a quandry

as to what to do. The wall it hung upon was old, 

just as the house that it was connected to.  And just

as I planned to paint the walls in lovely bright colors,

I planned on covering the walls with portraits of my own

not of the ones who were here before me.

But the damned portrait clung to the wall for life, and nothing

would bring it down.  In my zeal, I tried to pry it loose, but it was pointless. 

It was held by some magnetic force, and I began to wonder if the place

was home to ghosts of the past.

I studied the portrait. There was nothing amazing about it, and

it wasn't a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination.  It was

quite simply a portrait of a man and a woman, probably a husband

and his wife.   The background was what appeared to be a flower

garden.  Red roses and purple hyacinths, ivy covered latticework. 

It was a lovely place to  have a portrait painted.

But my taste tended to be of a more contemporary style, and I

favored abstracts.  My frustration mounted and I called the realtor,

asking him about the portrait, and if he had any idea how I could

remove it.

He laughed.  "If you figure out a way, please let me know, for I've

been trying ever since I first acquired the property...as did the last

two previous owners."

I hung up, now more amazed at the tenacious portrait, which

obviously had a strong affection for the house which surrounded

it. And my mind began to wonder why.  What was the history?

Did you couple in the portrait share a great love or perhaps a great

tragedy?  And had it been shared in this very house?

I walked outside and for the first time took real notice of the

run-down gardens.  And I realized that in its day, it must have

been quite beautiful.  It was the garden which was in the portrait,

only now it was overgrown with weeds. I sat on the worn bench,

probably the same one the couple had sat on to have their portrait done. 

And I wondered about their history, as well as the history of the house.

I came to the conclusion that perhaps the couple just was not

ready to let go of their home.  So I went to the portrait, and

smiled, raising a dustcloth to wipe the dust from the slightly

tarnished frame. I then called a gardner to come and transform

the garden to its former beauty. And it was almost as if I could hear

the couple thanking me.

Sometimes it's just hard to let go.