BAILE (Where We Come Home)

Chapter 7 Ink

"You can all come up and select a butterfly-but don't rush." Mr. O'Sullivan stepped back as everyone rushed to get the good butterflies.

I took too long, ending up with a small case with one onyx black butterfly and a grey and black butterfly below it.

"Now, open your case and I want you to draw your butterfly before labeling its structure."

I unclipped the case fetching a black pen from my pencil case before starting to draw. I wasn't expecting anything spectacular but what I ended with a poor attempt for a drawing that looked nothing like a butterfly. Drawing was not my forte.

I glanced at April so see her fully engrossed in the task, using a rainbow of gel pens to draw and annotate her work. As if sensing my stare she turned my way, I quickly looked back down at my page. I smothered my drawing in black, making it near impossible to distinguish and name the anatomy of it.

I ended up wasting the entire class on just one butterfly, earning the completion of it as homework.

I rubbed my temple to dispel a forming headache as I headed towards my locker, pausing at the sound of melodic violin playing that sounded rather familiar to me. I followed the sound to look through the windows at my sister Eliza during her violin lesson. I never grew tired of listening to the sweet music Eliza played through violin, cello, harp, guitar and ukulele. Eliza always lost herself in her instruments, it was like she transcended into another world, her eyes closing and her head slightly tipped forward so her waist length raven hair shielded the sides of her face. She was so elegant.

The sound of a door closing further along the corridor snapped me out of my trance. I looked around to see the art room was adjacent to the music room I had been peering into. It was the end of the day and most classrooms were open to borders after school hours. I checked the door to see that it was open. I left it open as I passed through so I could listen to Eliza play as I wandered around the room.

Half painted canvases were still set up on easels around the room, including crusty paintbrushes in the trough and open jars of turpentine that made my head pound.

I stopped at a bench, picking up a jar of some sticky black substance. I sniffed it. It was a bad idea. I sputtered, wiping my nose before taking it and a brush with me to an easel with a bare canvas. I sat down, staring at the blank whiteness of it wondering what the hell I was even trying to do.

I let out a breath, closing my eyes, trying to transcend into another world as Eliza does. I listened to her song, humming softly as I recognised it. I dipped my brush into the jar before pressing it to the canvas. I painted without thinking, moving my hand in thick, curving strokes. I painted for a few minutes before opening my eyes.

What I saw wasn't a butterfly exactly. It looked like those ink blots you got tested with, or those paintings you'd do as a child, folding the paper in half to create an image.

"Isla?"

I turned around to see Eliza giving me an odd look.

"What are you doing?" She approached.

"Experimenting." I attempted to discreetly cover the canvas with my body as I stood up.

"I like it."

"Really?"

She nodded, moving past me to get a better look. She pressed her fingers against the wet ink, rubbing it between the tips of her fingers, her forehead creased. She took my hand, running her fingers down my palm.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Experimenting."

Her answer made no sense to me. "You played beautifully."