Journey's Child

16

"Captain, come here and bring your friend with you," he shouted up at us.

The dog immediately headed down the path that led him to the beach and the man. I didn't move as fast, but after a while I followed the dog. I held onto the rail like it could save me from more than just the obvious fall. When I reached the beach, I took a few steps towards the stranger. I stopped, unsure of what he expected. He turned to look back at me as he petted his dog.

"Well, you came this far, you might as well come over here and introduce yourself."

I considered what he said, then slowly moved forward as I kept my eyes on his painting.

"My name is Thaddeus Squire and who might you be?"

I turned my gaze from the painting to his face. It was a nice face, sort of rugged and handsome at the same time. He had blue eyes that looked deep into me. I started to introduce myself, but I didn't want to tell him my nickname. I was afraid he might laugh like the beach bullies did.

'I'm Jillian Morris," I told him.

"Well, Jillian Morris, you are either a very brave young lady or a cynical one. Which is it?"

I fidgeted around shifting from one foot to the other, giving his question some thought.

"Neither," I replied.

"Really?" he asked, looking amused.

"I know I'm not brave because I feel afraid all of the time," I told him. "I don't think I'm cynical because I believe what you said is true, you don't like people."

"Well Jillian, I don't think you're cynical either."

It sounded funny being called by my real name.

"I do, however," he continued, "think that you're brave."

I must have looked confused because he explained.

"Bravery is doing something when you're afraid. If you aren't afraid, you can't be brave."

I considered this for a moment, "Okay, then I'm brave most of the time."

He nodded his head, then asked in a concerned voice, "Why are you afraid most of the time, Jillian?"

"My friends call me Gilly," I informed him, not wanting to hear him use my real name anymore. "I know its lame, but that's what they call me."

He smiled a kind of sad smile and held out his hand to shake mine.

"It's nice to make your acquaintance, Gilly."

He didn't make fun of my nickname or say anything stupid. He shook my hand and that was that.

"It's nice to meet you too Mr. Squire."

"Mr. Squire was my father," he told me. "You can call me Thad."

I suddenly felt special. I was making friends with the stranger, who was no longer strange."

"I love your painting in the gallery window, it's beautiful," I informed him.

"Well, thank you. I'm not sure beautiful is the right word to describe it, but I'm glad you like it."

I stood looking at the picture he was working on. It confused me. He had painted the sky dark and full of thick heavy clouds that made it look frightening. The cove was painted in dark browns and there were choppy waves out on the midnight blue water. I looked up over the picture and saw what was in front of me. I felt like I was in two very different places.

Here, the sky was a soft blue, sprinkled with a few white clouds. The ocean was held back by two rock walls that formed the sides of the inlet. The sea inside the cove lay still with just a slight splash as the water lapped up against the shore.

I looked at the picture again and was immediately back in a dark stormy place. I then noticed he had painted the boat that sat on the side of his house, in the picture. The boat's aqua blue color made everything else look as if it were washed out and sad. He had painted it sitting out quite a ways from the beach, and it was empty.

I could feel him watching me as I took in his picture.

"That row boat is over by your shed. I saw it when I came up from the trail."

"That's right. I got it as a prop to use for some of my paintings. What do you think?"

"Well, it looks sort of scary and sad. I mean, why's the boat out there empty? And why is the weather stormy?"

I must have said the wrong thing, because he started packing up his paints. He looked unhappy, maybe angry too. I thought he was going to start yelling at me, but he just shook his head and said, "It's always sad and stormy for me, Gilly."

He handed me a case that held some of his paints and then he put a cloth over the painting and folded up his easel. He grabbed everything else up and called out to his dog, who was sniffing at some seaweed on the beach. "Come on Captain. Let's go, boy."

We walked up the path in silence. When we got in front of his house, he set the easel and picture against the porch and reached out for the case of paints I held.

"I don't think your parents would be very happy to know you were at the hermit's house, Gilly. You better stay away from here."

I felt the all too familiar explosion of hurt and rejection go off in my chest. I realized I shouldn't have called his picture scary and sad.

"It's only my mother, and she doesn't care where I am or when I come back to the hell hole we're staying in!"

I could feel tears falling down my checks. I tried to breathe slower and not to yell, but the dam had already broken.

"I'm sorry I said your painting was sad, I really like it, but that's how it makes me feel."

Gilly, listen..." he began, but I cut him off.

"You're not a hermit. You're an artist. You have a beautiful house. I live in a dump with my mother who isn't really my mother anymore. You have a lot better life than you think!"

With that, I turned around and stormed off. I hadn't had an outburst like that since before the accident. It felt good and exhausting at the same time. All the way down the trail I continued to cry.

By the time I reached my beach, I was beginning to get worried because I couldn't stop sobbing. I sat down against the red molten rocks and waited for it to stop. It seemed like it took forever. Every time I thought about my mother, the cottage, the beach bullies or Thad, I had new reasons to keep crying. I didn't think about my father or brother. I almost never did, it just hurt too much. I knew I should have been with them that day. I knew that was why my life had taken such a bad turn. I wondered if they would ever forgive me - for living.

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