Blown Away

September: In Which I Meet Philip Hamilton

Part I
The day I decided to take up a new hobby was the day my life changed.
Every day I walked to the post office to check my mail, and between my apartment and the post office was a little craft store called Paris Paints. It was a cute little shop full of canvases, paints, paint brushes, and pencils. Every day I walked by and I wished I was brave enough to go in and try painting again. I used to paint when I was 12, but gave it up when the boy down the street made fun of me for always having paint on my clothes.
I'd always wanted to take up painting again, and when my father changed me to try something new on the first day of September, I woke up and decided that it was time. I'm 19 years old and by gosh it was time I did something more exciting than gardening. And besides that, my apartment was getting cluttered with all my plants. So, on the morning of September first, I got up, took a shower, and poured myself a cup of Earl gray tea (with four spoonfuls of sugar) before I set off to the craft store. I bought two large canvases and two cans of paint: one red and one blue. I didn't buy any paintbrushes because I figured I'd go all the way and use my hands and feet in place of paintbrushes. After all, this was art!
I raced back home, excited to try everything. It was a nice day, so I opened the doors to my balcony and let the sun light up my small living/dining room. After changing into an old shirt and jeans, I pushed the sofa, love seat, and coffee table out of the way and rolled up the rug, leaving a space of bare, hardwood floor behind the barricade of furniture. I stood up to go get my first canvas, and realized I had made a huge mistake. I hadn't bought any drop clothes wih my other painting supplies. Instead of going back out and purchasing some drop cloths like any sane person would have done, I raced to my closet and got out an old floral sheet that I never used. Triumphantly, I spread it on the floor and placed my canvas on top. I wasn't sure what I was going to paint, but figured inspiration would come once I had the paint out. I tied my curly brown hair back in a ponytail and set to work prying the red paint open and pouring it into the paint tray. Despite everything being set up, I still had no ideas.
With a sigh, I dipped my hands in the red paint and held them over the blank canvas, letting the red drip onto it. The messy drops of red contrasted against the white canvas was oddly thrilling, and I repeated the process. Before long the entire canvas was covered in red paint dots. Pride bubbled up inside me. I had done it! I pushed a scrap of hair off my forehead as I stood to better view my art. As I stepped back, I slipped on a wrinkled edge of the sheet. With a shriek, I fell right onto the canvas, my left hand landed on the edge of the paint tray, which spilled red paint over the sheet.
"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap." I quickly righted the paint tray before moving the wet canvas out onto the balcony and leaning it up against the rail. I raced back inside, knocking over one of my empty flower pots on the way in. Soil spilled onto the floor and I nearly tripped again. Since I wasn't prepared and didn't know what to do, I wiped up the red paint with the sheet before hanging the sheet out on the balcony to dry. Avoiding the spilled soil, I dashed into my kitchen to get several wet paper towels to wipe up the rest of the paint before it dried.
Once the floor was free of paint, I looked down at myself. I was a mess. My hands were covered in paint, as was my front. The spilled paint covered the left side of my chest, I had dots of red on my chest from where I'd fallen on the canvas, and I had apparently kneeled in some paint as well. With a sigh, I shuffled to the bathroom to wash up. When I got in the bathroom and looked in the mirror, I realized just how much paint I had on me. It was all over my face from where I had bushed my hair out of the way, and my hair was also red. I began running water in the sink and got out a scrub brush to get started on my hands and nails.
Suddenly I heard something from the living room. I could hear my door rattling, then it opened.
This is it, I thought. This is how I die, covered in paint.