Paint It Black

by Jake Rivers

Tags: Ma/Fa, Romantic, Tear Jerker, Slow,

Desc: Drama Story: This story is my take on what the words for the Rolling Stones great song might mean. Sad and dark at the beginning but bright and sunny at the end. Follow Jim as he deals with his loss and gives up on love.

Author's Note:

This has long been one of my favorite songs; it has such an elemental rhythm that you can feel the song. There has been a lot of speculation over the years about "what does it mean?" but little agreement. This story is what I feel as I hear the song.

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards wrote "Paint It Black" with the assistance of other members of the band, especially Bill Wyman and Brian Jones.

Thanks to Techsan for his editing support - without his aid readers would be literally swamped with a plethora of misplaced commas and semicolons.


Because of some quirk in human nature we always seem to remember what we were doing when some life-altering event happens.

For me, well, it turned out I was doing something stupid and trite. We had just finished a major project at work and everyone on the team was given a week off. Half were to go one week and the other half the next.

I remembered my boss, Wayne, pleading with me, "Damn, Jim. I know you have worked even more hours than I have on getting the new disk array out the door. But, Jim, I'm having problems with Judy. I swear if I don't take her to Maui ASAP she'll either leave me or kill me!"

I laughed at him, making him sweat a little. Jen and I had been living together for two years and we were close to making a decision to make things permanent. I'd already talked to her and we just wanted to spend a lot of time together and make some plans. She didn't care which week I had off.

"Jeez, Wayne, I don't know. Jen might have already made plans. Let me think... aw, shucks, Wayne, you've been such a good boss I'll let you take the first week."

Wayne was so happy he didn't even call me an ass for jerking his chain.

So when I got the call from my neighbor, Ben, I was diligently working on a problem of strategic importance to the company... well, I was playing solitaire. I was trying for a personal record of three games in a row when the phone rang. I almost didn't answer it since I told everyone that was working that day to take a long lunch and I would stay and cover in case some honcho called — I figured it was better to say I was in a meeting than to explain why I was the only one in the office. With some degree of annoyance I took the call.

For years afterward, when I would think about that fateful day, the thing that would stick in my mind would be that stupid solitaire game.

"Jim, this is Ben. You'd better get home right away. I heard a noise about fifteen minutes ago. I thought it was just a car backfiring but now there are two police cars in your driveway."

I drove home as fast as I could — the hell with the company; some things are just more important. When I got to the house we were renting, there were now three police cars, two ambulances and a news van from Channel 5.

The next several hours were a blur; I couldn't begin to recreate exactly all that had happened. The gist of it was that a burglar had broken into the house - not knowing Jen was there. He'd surprised her coming out of the bedroom door and shot her once without thinking. The detective I talked to speculated that the burglar was as startled as she had been and he just panicked. He was running out the front door as the first police car arrived and was killed in the ensuing shootout.

I had to leave while the investigation was still going on. One of the detectives took me down to the station and went over the details about the house being a crime scene. It was late before a rookie in a patrol car escorted me home to pick up some clothes and my shaving kit. The house was taped with that yellow tape they use to keep people out.

I was doing okay until I saw the door to our bedroom. The once glossy black door was splattered too generously with what had to be Jen's blood. Without realizing what I was doing, I fell to my knees and put my hands on the still tacky red hell that was all that was left of my love.

I gasped in a weak voice, "Paint it black! Oh, god, paint it black."

This clearly scared the hell out of the rookie cop and bought me back from my daze. As I gathered my stuff under the eyes of the now more diligent cop, I remembered the argument.

When we had rented the house it really was quite a dump. The guy that owned it said he would give us a break on the rent if we did some of the work ourselves. That seemed okay with us since we both liked to do that sort of thing.

We had painted everything and had only the door to our bedroom left. Funny, we had readily agreed on all the other colors we had chosen but for some reason we just couldn't agree on the door. She wanted something I couldn't even pronounce — did you ever fight with someone and you couldn't even pronounce what you were fighting about? — this color called Peau De Soie. It didn't really look all that bad, kind of a chalky white, but I couldn't get past the stupid name. I wanted a tint called Harmony. It was really a kind of pukey white but I loved the name.

Of course the argument turned out much worse than it should have. I guess there were some things that had built up and needed to be "discussed." She had to go over to her sister's house, and had the last word, "Just paint it whatever damn color you want!"

Well, I felt bad and decided to paint it the color she wanted. I liked to play loud rock albums when I worked around the house, I had my favorite one on by the Rolling Stones. I was ready to start painting when "Paint It Black" came on. Unbidden, the idea came out of nowhere, and feeling nice and devilish, I scrounged around in the garage and found a can of glossy black. I knew I was just doing it to give her a hard time for not letting me win the argument.

I finished and... it was ugly! I mean really butt ugly. I felt bad but I couldn't do anything until the black crap dried. Jen came home and gave me a big hug and apologized for the argument. Now I felt really bad. She started back to the bedroom and I tried to think how I could stop her. Too late. She was staring in awe at the door! Awe or shock, I wasn't sure.

I started stammering, "Jen, it was just a stupid joke, I... " when she started laughing, falling on her knees and pointing at the door. It didn't take long before we were both rolling around on the floor, laughing hysterically. That quickly led to our big brass bed and fireworks.

Later, lying there half asleep, I started telling her I'd fix the door the next morning.

Thoughtfully, she mused, "No, Jim, let's keep it this way. It is ugly but let's keep it! This can be a sign of our love. Every time we see the door we will be reminded of our first fight and of how we need to listen to each other and learn how to compromise."

"Are you sure, Honey?"

"Yes, I am! Let's leave it just as it is."

When people would come over and comment on the color of the door, we would just smile and say, "Oh, it was a compromise."

And now, I saw a red door and I wanted, no needed, to paint it black.



Before I could possibly be ready, it was time for the funeral. Jen's sister, Angie picked me up from the hotel I was staying at. I just couldn't go back to the house. I kept thinking about that door, covered with the red of my love's heart. I see that red door and feel that I have to paint it black. If I couldn't see the red I could possibly escape facing the facts. It's not easy being honest with yourself when your whole world is black. I hadn't had time to think about anything. My heart, my soul... everything seemed so gray — no, it was black.

As we drove through the park to the church that bright summer day I didn't see the green leaves and lawns that were so painstakingly taken care of. I saw a day the gray of pewter. I saw the girls in their colorful summer frocks, the bright colors, the girls that were so... alive. As I watched one girl with a shining yellow sundress - her face glowing with a pretty flush from the sun - she started fading, the yellow to gray, and her face to black. I had to turn my head until my darkness went away — if it ever would.

Angie turned and looked at me, seeing the darkness on me, the color of my life fading. She squeezed my hand and I felt a sudden guilt at the dampness in her eyes. At the same time I felt a faint, disturbing jealousy: the pain was mine and I wasn't ready to share it.

The church was crowded; black seemed to be the appropriate, predominate color. The mood was subdued, quiet. It struck me suddenly that this was not what Jen would want. She was such a vivacious person, engaging others even if they were happy in their solitude. If she could look down — and I had to believe she was — I knew she would be mad at me for the blackness overwhelming me, emanating from me.



As I walked to my place people would turn to me, prepared to offer condolences, a touch, a smile, a reassurance, some contact with me. But the blackness was upon me and people would turn their heads and quickly look away.

Most of it was a blur. People would move around, do things, say things, stand up, kneel — I just... did whatever I did. I know not what.

Angie gave a talk that caught me for a moment.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Romantic / Tear Jerker / Slow /