Our Little Cherry Blossoms

fourteen. recall

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"What's up?"

Edmund's debilitated voice rasped serenely in the acrylic painted air, early morning sunlight illuminating the specks of dust that pranced across the musty art room. His paintbrush moved to and fro on the canvas as I derivatively staggered through the open door, deplorably ignoring his casual query. A little ways behind my friend's assiduous hunched backside, I slumped on a stool as if trapped in a perennial quietus, banally glancing at the now extensively overdue project Edmund had been working on. It depicted a cage and...something else.

"You changed the colour of the cage."

My voice emerged in a sloughy cough, not thinking much of the trifling adjustment. Imperviously, I leaned closer and peered at the canvas, barely making out a muted outline next to the cage. What was it? I wondered, squinting half-heartedly to discern even the smallest clue of its identity. My friend noticed almost instantaneously. Faintly shocked, Edmund halted his paintbrush and turned to cast me a bijou stare, gunmetal tinged eyes fluctuating in an elegant disturbance. I responded with a hushed inquiring keek, and he opened his mouth as if to say something before clasping his lips back together and turning away.

"It's a lark, Case. You can't see it very well because of the sunlight."

I inhaled sharply, a bout of startled coughs stumbling out of my throat. Fortunately I reeled back and whirled away from the painting when I felt the unpleasant choking sensation arise. Lark! I whipped my head upwards in a frantic motion, only to see Edmund contemplating me with an anomalous expression of joyful disappointment. Gritting my teeth, I staggered to my feet and sprinted out of the sagacious art room as Edmund returned his attention to the unfinished canvas.

"It's good that he remembered."