lost them forever. Color made me happy and creativity through art was the only thing that kept me sane through the teenage drama that had plagued high school. Some kids penned angsty poetry; I had always preferred sharing my emotion through pencils or paints. That would never change.
Despite my family considering it just an expensive hobby, I knew it for what it was—my soul. Without it in my life, I wouldn’t be the same person. I missed the gallery I used to work at, the smell of the paintings, the thrill of a show, being around others who enjoyed it as much as I did. I’d gone to the other three galleries in town, but none of them were hiring.
I needed a new plan and I was ready to make one.
Peering at the canvas in front of me, I dabbed more blue onto the painting. The sunlight streamed through the double windows right onto the canvas. The oceanscape shimmered with vivid colors, just as I remembered from a trip I’d taken over spring break a few years ago.
My eyes drifted over to the corner of the room where last week I’d stacked pieces of barn wood on a blue tarp. I’d been browsing the classifieds when I came across an ad for free wood from a nearby farm; they’d torn down their barn to erect a new one. Reading the ad, I suddenly had a vision: I would paint farm scenes on them and maybe take them to the gift shop downtown. Lexie and I had taken our parents’ SUV out to the farm and loaded up as much as we could into the back.
Living alone meant I had a lot more time to bask in creativity. I could sit for hours in my studio, no interruptions, and I loved it. I was lost in thought, lost in color, when my land-line rang from the kitchen, startling me. It rang again and I hopped off the stool, carrying the paintbrush with me as I hurried to the kitchen. I swept the phone up and clicked to answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, Gennie-bear.”
The sound of Brent’s voice was like a slap in the face and I flinched. I set the paintbrush down on the edge of the sink with a glare. “What the hell do you want?”
And he’d used a nickname reserved for people who cared about me, not for someone who’d betrayed me.
“Hey now, I was just calling to check up on you. See how you’re doing.”
I could hear the smile in his voice and wanted to shake it from his face until his teeth chattered. Wrenching open the refrigerator door, I said, “Brent, I changed my number for a reason. Obviously, I don’t want to talk to you.”
I eyed the beers on the shelf. They were leftovers from a night with Roxanna and Ghost Adventures and throwing popcorn at the screen every time something almost happened, but never did. It was too early to hit the bottle, though, so I grabbed an iced tea instead.
“Gennie, it’s not fair how you just up and left.”
“It’s not fair that you slept with a hooker, either.” I shut the refrigerator door a little harder than necessary.
“She’s not a hooker.”
“Stripper, whatever.” Before he could protest, I said, “And I don’t really care if she’s a neurosurgeon or cleans toilets for a living. Also, I don’t care that you think I should care what Stripper Barbie does for a living.”
There, it felt good to get that out. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just hang up, but I’d always been the curious sort.
“Come on, Gen. After you threw all of my stuff out on the sidewalk the way you did, I think you owe me this talk.”
I sputtered, literally at a loss of words. Or maybe sputtering had more to do with the sudden spike of rage. I snapped my mouth open and shut as I searched for words that eluded me—the only thing crossing through my mind was swear words, in bold lettering.
“I owe you a talk, huh?”
“You never even gave me a chance to explain!”
“Explain why you didn’t show up at the art show to spend the evening with me? Explain why you were in bed with your ex instead?”
“I made a mistake. I wanted to be there, I did!”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, you
Despite my family considering it just an expensive hobby, I knew it for what it was—my soul. Without it in my life, I wouldn’t be the same person. I missed the gallery I used to work at, the smell of the paintings, the thrill of a show, being around others who enjoyed it as much as I did. I’d gone to the other three galleries in town, but none of them were hiring.
I needed a new plan and I was ready to make one.
Peering at the canvas in front of me, I dabbed more blue onto the painting. The sunlight streamed through the double windows right onto the canvas. The oceanscape shimmered with vivid colors, just as I remembered from a trip I’d taken over spring break a few years ago.
My eyes drifted over to the corner of the room where last week I’d stacked pieces of barn wood on a blue tarp. I’d been browsing the classifieds when I came across an ad for free wood from a nearby farm; they’d torn down their barn to erect a new one. Reading the ad, I suddenly had a vision: I would paint farm scenes on them and maybe take them to the gift shop downtown. Lexie and I had taken our parents’ SUV out to the farm and loaded up as much as we could into the back.
Living alone meant I had a lot more time to bask in creativity. I could sit for hours in my studio, no interruptions, and I loved it. I was lost in thought, lost in color, when my land-line rang from the kitchen, startling me. It rang again and I hopped off the stool, carrying the paintbrush with me as I hurried to the kitchen. I swept the phone up and clicked to answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, Gennie-bear.”
The sound of Brent’s voice was like a slap in the face and I flinched. I set the paintbrush down on the edge of the sink with a glare. “What the hell do you want?”
And he’d used a nickname reserved for people who cared about me, not for someone who’d betrayed me.
“Hey now, I was just calling to check up on you. See how you’re doing.”
I could hear the smile in his voice and wanted to shake it from his face until his teeth chattered. Wrenching open the refrigerator door, I said, “Brent, I changed my number for a reason. Obviously, I don’t want to talk to you.”
I eyed the beers on the shelf. They were leftovers from a night with Roxanna and Ghost Adventures and throwing popcorn at the screen every time something almost happened, but never did. It was too early to hit the bottle, though, so I grabbed an iced tea instead.
“Gennie, it’s not fair how you just up and left.”
“It’s not fair that you slept with a hooker, either.” I shut the refrigerator door a little harder than necessary.
“She’s not a hooker.”
“Stripper, whatever.” Before he could protest, I said, “And I don’t really care if she’s a neurosurgeon or cleans toilets for a living. Also, I don’t care that you think I should care what Stripper Barbie does for a living.”
There, it felt good to get that out. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just hang up, but I’d always been the curious sort.
“Come on, Gen. After you threw all of my stuff out on the sidewalk the way you did, I think you owe me this talk.”
I sputtered, literally at a loss of words. Or maybe sputtering had more to do with the sudden spike of rage. I snapped my mouth open and shut as I searched for words that eluded me—the only thing crossing through my mind was swear words, in bold lettering.
“I owe you a talk, huh?”
“You never even gave me a chance to explain!”
“Explain why you didn’t show up at the art show to spend the evening with me? Explain why you were in bed with your ex instead?”
“I made a mistake. I wanted to be there, I did!”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, you
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