Paint By Memory

A mocha skinned girl stood in front of an easel and some art supplies. She turned on a radio, tied her curls back, and a smock over her T-shirt.

The she took a pencil and sketched out a scene from a memory of long ago. Something she hadn't seen since she was young. Something it might never be again.

Detail was the only important thing to her. She wanted it to be real for her. The home she had left so many years before.

The house was two stories with a black roof, but the rest was white. The porch had an old swing that had vines growing around it. The view inside was covered by red curtains.

On the porch stood two men. One had the girl's skin and hair. The other man was tan with curly blond hair and white angelic wings. The blond had an arm around the mocha skinned man's waist.

Grass in the yard was greener than green. It looked cool and flowing if you ran through it. It had specks of wild flowers growing. There was a scruffy brown puppy playing with identical mocha skinned boys boys wearing t-shirts and jeans. A little curly haired girl in a gray dress was picking the flowers. Another little boy with blond curls trailed behind her holding his own.

An old red barn was sticking behind the house with a coral that had a herd of horses grazing on the sweet grass.

Tall trees surrounded the home like they were hiding a secret. Most were pine or oak, but there was only one willow sticking out like a sore thumb. The most perfect imperfection.

But this scene will never be scene again. The little blonde boy was gone. So was the mocha skinned man, the angel man hated her practically, the twins were to far gone. The scruffy puppy was buried under that willow. The horses were long gone, all the grass had died along with the flowers. The house and barn were left with all the memories made into the walls. The only thing the same was the trees and the perfect imperfection.

The mocha skinned girl put the painting against the wall with the rest. One was of the scruffy puppy just a little older. His tan wiry coat, the mischievous glint in his eyes, and the collar made of leather his family made for him.

Another was a nursery. A white bassinet on the left of the window. A toddler bed with a plain purple pillow and blanket. The carpet was a dark brown. In the corner was an open wardrobe that revealed a full length mirror. A little blue bear laid on the floor peacefully. It was probably mid afternoon in the picture.

All the pictures were memories happy and sad that hurt to bring up. All held their own pain for her. Because none of them will ever happen again. She would never be in her yard picking flowers with her little brother. She would never get to help make breakfast with her parents. No more riding horses with her older brothers. She couldn't feel the scruffy dog's fur anymore. No longer would she hear sweet music from the piano when her mapa would play at night. She couldn't hold any of their hands or talk to them anymore.

She was alone now. Nothing could change that, but she still loved them. That would never change, the love in her heart for them.

She cleaned up and took off her smock before heading out of her cabin. Maybe one day this home might become just like her pictures, just a memory.