Texting Mona Lisa

Angie Saw Things / 2016 / Pasted paper collage / Russell C. Smith

I texted Mona Lisa. She said she was hung up. I said I can dig it. What are you hung up about? I liked life better when Lennie was painting me. I felt so free, and loved the feeling of being seen. Come lunchtime, I’d go walking down to the local pizza parlor for a slice or two. Lennie made me laugh. The world was so much slower way back then. No one knew Lennie was going to become such a big deal genius. Same with Mike. Lennie painted me, and Jesus and the gang at the long supper table. Remember that drawing of the naked man in a circle? It flowed out of Lennie’s hand in less than two hours. Mike painted God on the ceiling – before God shaved off his beard. Anyway, Lennie was cute back then. Too bad I wasn’t his type. My boyfriend found me by peeking into the open backdoor of Lennie’s studio, gazing at me from the doorway, covered in late summertime afternoon light. He came in and peered over Lennie’s shoulder at the painting he was making, that would make me immortal. Paolo claimed then and there I had a much better smile than the one Lennie was creating on the flat version of me, while I was practicing for immortality. Paolo loved knowing I was barefoot while Lennie painted me. An intimate detail no one else has ever thought about. My naked feet. Lennie kept making masterpieces as the Fifteenth Century rolled along. I’d sometimes drop in to say hi, bring him a bottle and a few slices of pizza. As brilliant as they are, geniuses can’t seem to remember to eat.