Misfortunate Molly: Would Heartbreak, Break You?

Chapter 5 Van Gogh

I grab the bag with angst turning it upside down and dumping the contents onto the bed. A pink notebook, it is actually a sketchpad, #2 pencils, two boxes of different colored pencils, a box of black Sharpie markers, and a box of fine point different color Sharpie markers. I see more as I push the materials around the bed with my hand. Pens; black, blue, red, glitter, bright, pastel, and pens with a thicker tip. Some fat white erasers and a pencil sharpener. I am a little confused.

Why would he get me these things? I am not artistic, nor do I draw. I mean, I doodle when I am bored or sitting in class. My mom was, maybe still is, a great painter, but me? I have never really had an interest in drawing or arts at all. I was not particularly good in art class. I received an award and had my 9th grade drawing displayed in my middle school for the entire year, but that is about it.

I start to put the things back in the bag when my inner me speaks back into frame, TWO PIECES? Okay! That IS IT! I need a distraction and this will have to do.

I open the new sketchpad and dump out the pencils on the bed next to me, tossing the now empty boxes to the other side of the bed. I enjoy the sound the pencils make while falling onto each other. The clinking soothes me. I tear the sharpener package apart and rip one of the erasers out of its package. I sharpen one of the #2 pencils and spread the colored pencils out so I can see most of the colors sprawled out next to me. I grip the pencil I sharpened and press it up against the blank paper of this sketch pad.

I love the smell of the freshly opened sketchpad. Odd? Whatever. It smells good. I take a deep breath and start. Start what? I do not know and do not care. I need to be taken out of my personal thoughts. I inhale deeply again and relax letting my fingers work with my mind.

NO MORE THINKING!

The light coming from the TV dims. Paying it no mind, I keep moving my writing objects all over the paper. Shapes form. Words are spelled out. Thin lines. Thick circles. Random shapes. Colors blend. Eraser marks everywhere. Tracing and shadowing. What is it I am drawing? I have no clue. I stopped thinking a while ago. Simply letting my hands do the work.

This is an amazing distraction.

I can feel the difference in the pencil tips when they go from sharp to dull. I smell the strength of the markers when I pull off the caps. The smell fades but still lingers when I replace the cap covering their tips. The ball in the pen losses color as I glide it over pencil markings. I flip the page when there is no more room left on the once plain off-white, tan-ish paper. This feels so therapeutic. Calming. Relaxing. I am drawn away from the pain and memories. My thoughts have paused. My emotions steady.

This is nice.

I remember when I used to color with my friends and family at sleep overs, parties, and gatherings but I do not remember this being so calming. Us kids would lay on the floor, bellies down, knees bent with our feet swaying back and forth in the air. Usually with some sort of kids show or movie playing on in the background. Trying our best to color in the lines. Sometimes it was hard with those huge, fat round crayons that I could hardly grip in my small hand. I was always thinking about who I was going to give the picture to when I was finished.

Markers were always fun. The colors looked so different when they were wet. I used to get frustrated when I would flip the page and there would be random color spots of marker that seeped through the page colored before it. I would always skip over that page. It was ruined. Bratty? Maybe! One day my mom showed me a little trick and put a blank piece of paper in between the two pages so the marker would not make it through to the next. I was so proud to show off this new trick anytime the chance arose.

I think back to me and my mom sitting at the table eating sliced apples and coloring in my character coloring books. My favorite was the My Little Pony one. Mom usually colored in the princess one or did her word searches. Strangely, I am not annoyed by this memory of her. I move on from my recap and continue my otherwise thoughtless sketching. Sketching? I am sketching. Go me! Or better yet, go dad! I wonder why he decided to get me these things out of nowhere.