Artbeat

Chapter XIII

- CARSON -

I strolled through the market, feeling a sense of liberation in my comfortable, if not stylish, outfit. My white tank top and worn out grey sweatpants were a far cry from trendy, but I didn't care. I was comfortable.

The vibrant market was alive with activity, each vendor calling out to passersby to try their fresh produce, juicy meats, and sweet treats. I navigated through the crowds with ease, exchanging warm smiles, friendly nods, and waves with familiar faces.

One would feel a sense of belonging in a community, where people were kind to one another and genuinely cared.

I wandered through the market, stopping at various vendors to gather the ingredients for my mother's hangover soup. "Two pounds of beef short ribs, please," I asked, selecting the meatiest ones. "And a bunch of napa cabbage, if you have it."

The vendor nodded and handed me the crisp leaves. I smiled as I placed them in my bag, alongside the bean sprouts and gochugaru I'd picked up earlier. "And maybe a plum?" I added shyly, treating myself to a sweet snack.

The vendor smiled and handed me a juicy plum, saying, "You're welcome, dear. Come again tomorrow, I'll have more of your favorite fruit.", I nodded, with a smile and paid before continuing on my way, feeling the weight of my bag filled with the makings of a nourishing soup.

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I sat on the carpeted floor, watching my mom slurp down the soup I made for her, trying to nurse her hangover. It's been quiet for a while, but as she finally stops to catch her breath, she turns to me with a hint of irritation in her eyes. "What? Do you have something to say?" she asks, her tone implying that she'd rather I didn't.

I take a deep breath before speaking, trying to gauge her reaction. "I'm going to be visiting dad next week." My words seem to strike a nerve, but she quickly covers it up, adopting a nonchalant tone. "Go! I'm not stopping you." She continues to drink her soup, chewing on the cabbage with a determined air.

I nod, feeling a mix of emotions. I wanted her to know, to acknowledge my decision, but her indifference stings. "Just wanted you to know," I add, my voice barely above a whisper now.

The silence that followed was heavy, and I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking behind that mask of indifference.

I got up, giving her and her soup some time alone.

After the refreshing shower I really needed, I get dressed in my comfortable outfit; black denim jeans and a sky blue shirt. I slip on my white sneakers and comb my hair into an effortless but secure ponytail, with a few strands framing my face. Feeling ready for the day, I grab my bag and head out of my room.

As I approach the living room, I see my mother still seated at the table, her empty bowl in front of her. She looked so lost in thought, her eyes gazing into the distance, and for a moment, I feel a pang of guilt.

I know my decision to visit my dad had stirred up painful memories for her, memories of the man who broke her.
But he was still my dad and I'm his only daughter. There are obviously moments when I wonder how is doing out there. Days I ask myself 'Is he okay?'

I leave the house without saying a word. I didn't need to.

The school library is open on the weekends. I'd rather spend the day there than in the suffocating space of my own home. Where mom would leave and come back regularly after drinking who knows how many bottles of whiskey.

As I walk, I kick a small stone that lies in my path, watching it skip across the pavement. My mind begins to wander back to last night's tribute exhibition, and the eerie feeling of seeing a lookalike who resembles me more than I resemble myself. It still feels surreal, like a dream I can't shake off.

A part of me longs to have seen her face-to-face though, to know what it would be like to look into my own eyes, to see my own features mirrored back at me. How cool would that be?

I can't help but wonder what she was like, what her personality was like, what her voice would sound like.

Was she nice and outgoing? Did her aura radiate confidence? Was she the exact opposite of me, maybe?

The questions swirl in my head as I make my way to the school library, lost in my own world. The stone I kicked earlier comes to a stop, and I watch it settle into the grass.

I come to a halt, as I watched Mr Donovan's car pull over in the school parking lot.

"I didn't know he'd be here during the weekends", I wonder out loud as I watched him shut the door to his car, locking it as he walked to the school entrance.

Our eyes meet, and he flashes a warm smile. "Miss Carson," he says, approaching me with a purposeful stride.

"Hello, sir," I reply, falling into step beside him as we head towards the school entrance. "I was just on my way to the library."

"Alright then. Ah, I almost forgot," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Brielle's been asking about you. She misses your company and wishes she'd gotten your number."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "No phone for me, I'm afraid."

Mr. Donovan nods sympathetically. "I showed her your artwork, and she's developed a deep respect for your talent. She's amazed by the time and dedication you put into each piece."

"Wow, that's nice of her," I say, feeling a surge of gratitude.

"She wanted to share your art on her Instagram, but I told her she needed your permission first," he adds, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

I nod thoughtfully. "I'll think about it. Thank you for looking out for me"

As we part ways, I nod goodbye.

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