The Picture

This is one of my older stories.

 The Picture

The tiger in the picture was crouched low, hiding behind some fern bushes. If you didn’t look close enough you might even miss seeing the tiger. It blended in very well with the foliage. 

“Mom, tell me about the picture again.” I asked knowing that she was a bit reluctant to share the history behind her obtaining the picture. It had been hanging on our dining room wall as long as I could remember. 

“Oh Tom, you’ve heard this story before.” replied my mom. 

“I know, but I like it.” I had heard it many times but I was always fascinated by the story behind it.

She eyed me suspiciously. “The tiger picture? It was a gift from a student I taught in India. He appreciated my time spent teaching him English and in return he painted me this picture.”  It was with obvious boredom that she didn’t flesh the story out as much as she had in the past.

“And you were in India when?”

“Well it was long ago before I met your father and long before you were born.” she replied as she stepped back into the kitchen to mash the potatoes. It’s not that I think she may be mistaken.  She was there but something about the picture always bothered me. It did not appear to be what it seemed.

I turned to stare at it again for a moment. It wasn’t a normal picture that would hang in anyone’s dining room. Yes it was of a standard size and standard shape. The colors and structure were vivid and lively. There was a sense of breadth and depth that made it seem like it was pulsating. It had a spell binding quality that instantly drew your attention to it when you entered the room. No student had painted this picture. Not by a long shot. And the glass was dirty. This was very weird in our house. My mom was a clean freak if there ever was one.

“Mom, when was the last time you cleaned the glass on this picture?” 

Mom popped her head in the doorway. “Cleaned the glass? Just yesterday why?”

“Because the glass looks like it’s dirty, from the inside.” 

She walked further into the room and stood before the painting. “A little smudged but that happens,” she observed. “I guess I’ll have to clean it again tomorrow.” She went back to peeling her potatoes.

Now I know smudges when I see one and this wasn’t a smudge. It was humidity on the inside of the glass as if someone was breathing on it. I looked again at the tiger. Same place, same spot. Yet there was something different. Something about the eyes. Their intensity had changed. I leaned in for a closer look. Wait! What was that? Was I crazy? It was a picture. It couldn’t mist up. 

“Mom” I called out. 

“What hon?” she answered a bit exasperated.

“I just saw something really bizarre in this picture.” 

Mom returned quickly with a look of concern on her face. 

“What exactly did you see?” she demanded.

“Well, look at this. This smudge has grown larger since you were here the last time. “ I said pointing to the mist on the inside of the picture.

She looked at the picture for a minute. Her breathing was becoming more controlled when she decided to speak. “It is nothing,” she reflected, not taking her eyes from the picture. “Maybe,” she said softly.

“And there is something about the eyes.” I said a little hurriedly.

“The eyes?” questioned my mom as she turned towards me.

“The eyes! They look more focussed.” 

She was looking at me rather quizzically. “I’ll take it apart and clean it tomorrow. Now you need to finish setting the table and forget about the picture. Anyone who has stared at it for long periods of time has had nothing but trouble.’’

I sensed a shift in her tone. What ever did she mean about trouble? From a picture? I was about to ask her but her eyes hinted that enough was enough. I followed her into the kitchen and grabbed the plates and a couple of glasses off the shelves. It’s been me and my mom for what seems like forever. It was good that way. I walked back into the room and took a quick glance at the picture.

The tiger had moved. I don’t mean the picture! I mean the tiger in the picture. It was no longer hidden behind the ferns. It had stepped out into the open and was staring directly at me. I set the dishes down carefully, not taking my eyes off of it. The tiger continued to move around the picture with ease. He was definitely stalking something. If it wasn’t a picture I would think it was me it was stalking.

“Are you going to put those plates and glasses down in the right spots or do we just eat off the table?” she asked with a smirk on her face. “Come and eat,” called Mom as she sat down on her chair. When had she entered the room? I moved to my chair and handed her a plate and a glass. “How was your day?” she inquired. 

“Oh you know,” I mumbled looking at the picture again. I could feel a warm breeze blowing across my face. It sure felt good in contrast to the snow outside. 

“Tom, Earth to Tom!”

I looked at my Mom. 

“Are you with me?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.” I said as the sounds of an elephant, and some monkeys in the distance called out. I could smell a strong smell like at the zoo but only quite a bit stronger. Somewhere nearby I heard the unmistakable sound of a large animal walking in the undergrowth. My eyes searched the ferns, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was.

“Tom,” my mother’s voice called gently. “Time for dessert.”

“Huh? Oh yeah.” My eyes refocused. ‘What is going on?’ I thought as I stretched.  “Man I must be tired! I think I’ll pass for now mom. All that heat has me worn out.” She furrowed her brows at that statement but I was just too tired to carry the conversation further so I went to bed. 

I slept in fits and starts, dreaming about jungles and lions and tigers and woke wide awake in a sweat. I had seen the tiger move. I had seen the mist. How could the tiger move if it’s a picture?  

Curiosity got the better of me as I stepped out of bed and headed towards the door. Half way down the hall there was a noise from my mom’s room that made me jump. The snoring then resumed and I continued on my chase. 

I flipped on the dining room light and there was the picture, exactly as it was before. The tiger was back  behind the ferns, crouched low, watching and waiting.  I moved closer to examine the glass but could see no humidity. What was going on? I reached out to touch the frame and ……

The flash of light was immense. It lit the room and shook the house. 

Mom entered the room in the morning and went straight to the tiger picture. It was hanging a bit crooked so she straightened it up. Something must have caught her eye so she took a quick glance around. With quick steps she moved across the room to the other picture on the wall where she looked directly at me and shook her head.

“A bit too nosy weren’t we, Tom?” 

All I could do was nod my head in agreement. I heard movement behind me but before I turned I could smell an aftershave that was familiar to me.