I drove home thinking about Greg. I couldn't get him out of my mind. What the hell was going on with him? I wanted to hug him this morning. Even though I was mesmerized by my walls, I was stillpissed off. I'd like to play the crazy artist myself, but who's going to come up with the rent? I felt if I wasn't there, he'd get a job. But then again, maybe not. Maybe he would just live on the street and paint sidewalks. I still wondered how he got the paint and I was hoping it wasn't how I imagined.

It was about six when I got home and Greg wasn't there. I sat in my bean bag with a glass of wine and gazed. It really was amazing what he did and how fast. He must of had it completely figured out when hestarted, who, like Mozart, would never have any mistakes, rewrites, or cross outs. I had no idea what any of it meant, but I thought it was beautiful and somehow could change me- however, I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

The phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Fran?"

"Well, it's Shirley Roth, the telephone technician. Remember me?"

"Oh, yeah, how are you doing?" I felt a peculiar tingle that I didn't expect.

"Fine, I was just...ah...calling...to check on your phone."

"Yeah...?" Her nervousness thrilled me.

"So, it's working I see, or I mean, I hear." She laughed.

"That's right. It's working. Seems like you're a great technician."

"Thanks. I do my best." Silence. I could have jumped in and made it easier on her, but it was too much fun letting her squirm, it was exciting. Finally, she said, "...so what are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing. My roommate painted my walls so I'm staring at them."

"Oh yeah, what color?"

"The question is what color didn't he use. People need to see this." An awkward lull, and then it dawned me. "Would you like to come over and see-?"

"Sure," she said before I could finish my sentence. "I'm off at six." A few hours later, she was knocking on my door.

I let her lay on the bean bag because that was the best view. You could use your feet to turn yourself around and then re-scrunch the beans to sit up comfortably in any direction. I poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.

"Thanks." Shirley looked like she dressed up a bit. Her dark hair was shoulder length with no high lights and she wore a white tee shirt with a blue long skirt. It made her look more feminine than the overalls I had seen her in previously, but you could still see that she was overweight. She sipped her wine. "I wish I could do something like this. It's amazing."

"Well, it doesn't pay the rent."

"You know I used to live with my brother Hank and he never paid the rent or worked either. Man, it used to piss me off."

"What'd you do?"

"Nothing, he was bigger than me."

"Is he still living with you?"

"No, he's in jail." There was a long silence then we both burst out laughing. "Guess he got what was coming to him."

"What's he in jail for?"

"Robbery. I shouldn't laugh. It's quite sad. He had a tough childhood."

"Any tougher than yours?"

Shirley looked at me as if no one had ever asked her that question before and I could tell it wasn't something she liked to think about. She shrugged. "Oh, it was worse than some, but better than others Isuppose."

"So what do you make of my walls? What do you think it all means?"

A few minutes passed until she said, "I don't know what it means, but it makes me feel human- connected like. Almost as if I'm supposed to stay who I am. I know that seems stupid, but that's what I feel."

I looked at the walls again and realized Shirley just might not be far off.