Higher

Painting

Since I was a little girl numbers had been my best friends. 

They were consistent, reliable, understandable, safe. 

I thought, and lived, according to numbers. 

If I was on the brink of intense emotions, numbers would help bring me down to earth; to reality. It made me strange to my peers. Eventually, it led to a relatively isolated life which suited me just fine. I never let it bother me because being alone was safe and comfortable.

"...124, 125, 126, 127, 128..." 

I was counting under my breath, just barely audible, as I mixed the pastel green paint can.

I decided today was the day I would paint the living room. It had been on my list of things to do for years; paint all of the rooms and eventually the outside of the house. My goal was to make it look less like an eye-sore. 

My motivation had been lacking for a variety of reasons. 

However, this Saturday morning was beautiful and I didn't have to return to any of my jobs until monday. I had the three windows in my living room & the two kitchen windows above my sink open to let the warm breeze in and allow the circulation of paint fumes.

I decided that all of the new paint for my walls would be pastels; yellow for the kitchen, green for the combined living-dining room, blue for her bedroom and bathroom. I wasn't sure what the outside should be painted yet, but I had time. 

There were plenty of small renovations that had to occur before paint could be put.

ShIe had been painting for 2 hours and 12 minutes when a faint voice reached me. Taking a moment to listen closer, I realized that it was familiar, and drifting in through the kitchen windows. Confused, I put down the paint roller and made my way to the kitchen to peek out the window. Before I could make it half-way through, there was a series of three quick knocks at my door and the voice calling out:

"Ms. Jeanne! It's Damien!" 

He sounds excited and hyper; definitely like the energetic child I'm is realizing he is.

I wondered if I was ever that way as a child, or if I had always been the more reserved quiet girl. I couldn't remember a time I wasn't. I opened the door expecting to see only little Damien again, ready to scold him for wandering so far once more, but was surprised to see his fathers' towering form behind him and the black truck parked in her driveway.

"Good morning, Damien. Why are you here today?" 

I greeted while glancing from him to his father, briefly, before looking back at the boy.

Damien was far cleaner than last time I saw him, about a month ago. 

It seemed his ankle had healed well enough considering he was bouncing on his toes without a grimace. I was surprised to see him here. I assumed that his fathers obvious distaste for me would have him keeping the boy far from this area. Before Damien could reply his father placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing my attention back up to his eyes for 2 seconds before I settled for looking between his eyebrows.

"Damien wouldn't stop asking to come see you again. It seems he has formed some kind of...attachment to you in the short time you spent together. I decided to bring him so he wouldn't wander over here alone. Again." 

The man's voice was not unkind; it even seemed to hold some curiosity.

"What is your name?" I asked, looking away from the pair to my car while wringing my fingers.