Masterpiece

Chapter 8

"Ok, how about this? Why don't you paint like a grassy terrain on a sunny day." It's midnight and we haven't come up with one good idea. John stands against the wall, gulping down yet another can of soda.

"Because that's like the go to idea for anyone under eleven."

"Point taken." He tosses the empty can in the trash can.

"Ok, it's late. You should get home. I'm sure I'll figure this out before seven tomorrow." My eyes hurt from staring at this empty canvas all night and quite frankly, I need sleep.

"Aw, you're kicking me out." He pokes his lip out, his eyes like saucers.

"Yes I am. Besides, don't you have a sister to get to?"

"No. She's with my older sister."

"Oh. I didn't know you had an older sister. Well, you're still out of here, bud." I softly push him towards the door.

He slips his arms through his jacket sleeves. "Alright, alright. Don't work too hard without me, though." He winks and wished me luck before sauntering out the door.

-

I've had an epiphany between the time John left and now. I've worked my fingers to the bone and needless to say I'm exhausted. My fingers are now stained a faded blue.

I stare out into the room and a small ocean stares back. I decided to recreate the painting my mother so mercilessly destroyed.

It's three in the morning and I still have to teach in a few hours.

Ugh, when did life get so complicated?

-

"Ramona, look!" John's younger sister, Sophie, runs up to me and shoves a piece of paper into my hands.

This picture was of the sky. She painted puffy clouds and w shaped birds. This time I taught them how to paint with paint brushes and water colors rather than finger painting.

"This is so good, Sophie. I think I'm going to hang it on the wall." After saying that to her, I felt obliged to hang them all up when the parents arrived.

"So don't leave me in suspense. What does it look like?" John approaches me while I stand on my tip toes, struggling
to hang a photo on a wall with a silver nail.

"What does what look like?" He walks over taking the portrait from my hands.

"Move over, short stop. The painting, Mona. What does the painting look like?" John pins the paper on the wall with ease.

I roll my eyes. "First of all, I'm totally getting you back for that wise crack. And it actually looks pretty good." A blanket rests over my work and I unveil it.

"Not bad, Lewis, not bad." He folds his arms over his chest. "You might just get through this thing."

I fold my arms and stand next to him, my stance identical to his. "You think so?"

"Yeah." We smile at each other and I get lost in the deep pools of blueish green that are John's eyes. I never noticed them.