Close Your Eyes, Come With Me

III

Just like Jack had predicted, he ended up alone again. He didn't pay it too much mind. After all, if every kid he brought in got a taste of the breeze and the view yet still for some reason wanted to stay confined indoors, that was their problem. More freedom for him. And he could never have enough space.

Still, it was irritating. He didn't normally find himself getting close to his peers, so he didn't know what to think of this newfound loneliness. He made up for it by spending more time in the theater with Medda. The painting was his outlet. It could be anything. Fear or worry, restlessness or frustration, anger, those moods on the down in the dumps days. They all made great paintings. Medda sometimes teased that she ought to sabotage Jack's life because the more dramatic backdrops made more beautiful shows.

"You're awful moody, dear," Medda said, breaking Jack's concentration.

Jack looked over his shoulder at her. "Anything else outta the ordinary?"

She swatted him on the head. "Don't play dumb with me, boy."

He shrugged and turned back to his work. "Just dreamin' and wantin' as usual. For all the stuff I can't get here."

"All that fantasy is gonna get to you. I'm not discouraging none of your dreams, but there are things you do have that you got to appreciate," She replied.

Jack grinned up at her and batted his eyelashes. "Like you, Miss Medda?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You and your flattery. What are trying to get?"

"Oh, nothin' at all, no! Not from you, Miss Medda! I could never!" Jack feigned shock and innocence. "Only your lovely company and a few more hours before ya kick me out."

Medda place a hand on her hip and fixed him with a look. "Hours? You need to sleep, Jack."

Jack scoffed. "Oh yeah I'm gonna get a whole lotta refreshin' peaceful rest when I'm worked up. If anything ya makin' it worse if ya make me leave now," he stuck his lip out and looked up at her. "You just gonna send me on my way, all restless?"

"Alright, you win. Lock up. And clean up after yourself when you're done," she wagged a finger at him.

Jack clutched his chest and gasped. "Are you implyin' that I have ever left a mess?"

"That sass of yours is gonna get those hours taken right back," Medda warned as she left.

"Love ya!" Jack called after her.

"I love you, too, dear," She called back.

Jack bent back over his painting, squinting for a moment. He twirled the brush in his hand pensively, only succeeding in slinging a drop of paint in a spot is shouldn't be in. He swore and quickly dunked the brush into his paint water, retrieving a different brush to try and cover the mistake. That one spot now seemed a little smeared, so he picked up from there and worked around it. Now that he'd focused so intently on the smudge, he'd begun noticing detail after detail that needed to be added or fixed. It went for a while, all of Jack's focus honed in. The silent isolation kept him going with no interruptions. Time passed without Jack's noticing. That is, until his hand had begun to ache. He stopped and set the brush in the water, clenching and unclenching his fist and rubbing his wrist. Another discomfort came to his attention, so he stretched his back. It made an awful, loud cracking noise.

"Wow," Jack muttered to himself, twisting side to side and getting a few more pops out of it. Just how long had he been sitting there unmoving?

As much as he didn't want to, the aches were probably a sign it was time to go. He stood to his feet and immeadiately stumbled as dizziness came over him. He could feel the blood rushing to his legs. Once he'd steadied himself, he began cleaning up the brushes and paints he'd been using. Joking aside, he really did have a tendency to walk off without a second thought to storing his supplies. Usually it was due to him working for so long that he could hardly muster up the energy to even stand let alone clean up. But he pushed through the exhaustion this time. He owed Medda this much.