So, that was how we started painting my house. I didn't want the house to stand out too much and we couldn't tell what colour it had been before so I picked an off-white with a light blue trim. Mark taught me how to use a roller for the long boards and a brush for the trim. He got up on the ladder and painted all the high stuff. I painted low. It took a lot less time than I thought it would and before long we were on the last of it, painting the railing of the small back deck.
It was late in the afternoon and I was enjoying the sound of the birds settling in and the light breeze taking the edge off the heat. I was in a relaxed mood, looking forward to a coke and a shower when we were done. Mark and I had been getting to know each other over these last days and it was nice to have a friend. It was nice to have someone. A person to talk to and listen to me. It was different for me and really special.
I don't know why I did it. I analysed it so much afterwards it lost all meaning. We were sitting near each other sharing a joke and I leant over to kiss him. That was it. I had lost my brain, and I was going to plant a kiss on his lips. He was sitting close enough, our legs crossed and knees touching every so often. I didn't move quickly and when he realised what I was doing, he pulled back so I couldn't reach him.
"Mags? What're you doing?"
Oh, my gosh! I was mortified. I sat staring at the brush in my hand.
"I...I don't know." I shook my head. "I'm sorry."
It was completely awkward after that. We both tried to keep painting as though nothing had happened, but it didn't work. Finally, Mark stood up.
"Listen, I think, I'm just gonna..." he pointed his thumb towards his home.
"Yeh, okay." I barely breathed the words.
He took off down the steps and was gone in seconds.
I kept painting for as long as I could. Until the tears running out of my eyes blocked my view and I couldn't see what I was doing anymore. It was dark anyway.
I stood up and went inside, wretched that I ruined the only good thing I ever had.
YOU ARE READING
Mark DeLancey
Short StoryA small town, a neglected child, a good and kind Samaritan. Even through a life of hardship, a thread of cherished memories can trail and make life worth living. **I was sixteen now and someone like Mark DeLancey interested me. His tall, solid build...
