Lauren

 

For the next few weeks, I spent a lot of time in painting class watching the other students around me. There was Jess with the magenta hair and bad complexion, Stella with a half-finished tattoo of a teddy bear on her calf, and Andrew, the only guy in the class. He was a total rebel for such a quiet guy. He used a paint brush every time Chavez was gone.

Becca, the girl in front of me, dropped her palette knife on the floor, catching my attention. “I’m such a klutz today,” she said, groaning.

She looked at the end of her palette knife and saw that there was a big dust bunny glued to the paint. “Gross.” She got up and went to get a paper towel. She always reminded me of a baby ostrich with a broken neck when she moved. None of her joints seemed to be connected as they should be. Her awkwardness didn’t seem to extend to her paintings though. They were all perfect to the smallest detail.

I turned back to my canvas and looked with discouragement at my progress. Maybe I’d beaten Brody out for the coveted spot on the wall in drawing this week, but I still couldn’t paint a simple arrangement of vases.

Tawny came up behind me and I wanted to shrivel up. Tawny wasn’t technically in our class. She was one of the advanced students. She’d claimed the whole back left corner of the studio where she worked magic. And here she was looking at my smudgy mess.

“You need to simplify,” she said bluntly.

“Well, I’ve got to try something different,” I agreed.

While Tawny wandered back to her work, I removed everything from my grouping but a yellow bowl. Then, I grabbed another board that was already painted with Gesso and fitted it onto my easel. I sat for a while, staring at the bowl. My blank white board was intimidating and I considered sketching it in first like I’d seen other people do, even though it was cheating. The only thing that stopped me was that unlike my other classes, I wasn’t just here to get a grade and move on. I was here to learn. I was going to figure this out if I didn’t paint a single good thing all semester. Which was likely, since it was almost over.

I scraped the mess off my palette and squeezed out a few lines of fresh paint. I worked for about thirty minutes before I realized that the others were all preparing to leave. I wiped my palette knife carefully, and nearly dropped it when Tawny said from behind me. “See. Now you’ve got it.”

Mr. Chavez was also behind me. “That’s a good start. I’ll be interested to see how this one goes.”

“Me too,” I said, glad to let it go for now. I was both exhausted and terrified that I was going to ruin it.

A crack of thunder rumbled outside and everyone paused to listen. Even though I was in no hurry to go anywhere, I followed everyone to the big double doors. A few other students from another class were looking doubtfully at the darkening world beyond the glass as if wishing they didn’t have to go out in it.

Small tree branches and pieces of trash were tumbling around in the wind. Heavy drops of rain began to fall, polka-dotting the sidewalks. They fell faster and faster while thunder rolled ominously. A few people ran out, shielding their faces from the wind with uplifted hands, but most were still inside watching when the sky opened and the rain came down in a sheet. Slowly, like they were walking to the guillotine, or quickly, like they were being chased by wild boars, everyone left.

The building fell quiet. I walked out under the overhang and breathed in the sharp fragrance of rain and earth. It soothed my troubled heart. For weeks, Jake and I had been doing some strange dance of retreat and advance. It felt as though my whole identity was being stripped from me as I questioned my future. Where would I live? Would I ever be an artist? I didn’t dare even wonder about a future with Jake.

But in this moment, I could feel the enormity of something greater than myself. If God controlled thunder and wind and rain, surely he could direct one lost girl’s life.

Maybe, though, I had to show some faith and take a few steps forward in the dark.

With no one around to judge me, or make me judge myself, I turned and went back to the painting studio. After turning on my spotlight and turning off the overhead lights, I sat on my stool and faced the painting I had started. With the storm outside, the skylight was dark overhead, so there was no light in the room beyond my workspace. The spotlight looked at once too bright and absurdly fragile.

I sat on my chair, picked up my palette knife, and did something I’d never done before at school. I prayed. I prayed for help to figure this out.

Peace surrounded me in the fragile, golden light. I could barely see the color of my paints, and remembered them only by location. I figured the color wasn’t important right now. I could make out light and dark just fine and that’s what mattered anyway.

But giving in to some inner prompting, I put my palette knife down and dipped the end of my forefinger into the paint. I touched it to my board, letting it glide across and down. The oils from the paint felt sleek and rich. My finger moved effortlessly, fluidly over the shapes and planes I was creating. Using a different finger for different colors, I jumped from light to dark, carving out dimension on this flat plane.

A sound startled me, and I looked up to see a dark shape coming towards me. I screamed and grabbed my palette knife. Not that it would help much since it was a knife only in the vaguest sense of the word, being flat and made of metal. Fortunately, the light clicked on and I saw it was Jake.

“Oh good grief. You scared me to death.”

He laughed, not a hint of apology on his face. “Were you going to defend yourself with that?” he asked, pointing to my pitiful weapon.

“Do you doubt I could?”

He held up his hands. “Not a bit. Do you always finger-paint in here?”

Glancing down at my fingers, I blushed. In the bright light, my fingers were a rainbow of colors. Goopy bits of paint clung to the edges, but the pad of each finger was nearly clean where I’d rubbed most of it off.

“No, but I might from now on. It feels amazing. You’ve got to try it.”

One of his eyebrows twitched and he smiled. “You’re adorable.”

Something about his tone sent my pulses racing. It was a simple compliment, but there was so much warmth and affection infused in his voice, it felt like more.

“You make me sound like a little girl,” I teased, hoping it would dispel the charge in my emotions.

“Well, I definitely don’t think of you that way,” he said, his voice taking on a deeper tone.

Okay, that didn’t help at all. I was melting inside. He had to stop doing this to me!

Then he cleared his throat. “I came to ask a favor. Grams just called me because her power is out. I have a faculty meeting I can’t get out of. Would you mind going over and checking on her?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling stupid as I held my paint covered fingers awkwardly in the air.

“And if you don’t mind staying till I can get there, I’d appreciate it. This kind of weather makes her feel lonely.”

I smiled, thinking it doubtful that Irma would ever admit it if she did. “Of course. I can stay as long as she needs me to.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When he’d gone, I stepped back and studied my work. The painting was definitely going well. Maybe I’d finally figured this out.

I scrubbed my paint smeared hands, first with mineral spirits, then with soap and water. As the bubbles of soap grew dingy with the leftover fragments of paint, I got distracted thinking about Jake and splashed the hem of my shirt.

“Of course. Can’t I look normal, just once?”

It was ridiculous that I was so nervous. I’d been over at Irma’s house practically every weekend since I met her. What was the big deal about going over there tonight?

Outside, the air had an eerie warmth to it for a November night, but a cold breeze whipped the tree branches into a frenzy. No wonder it was storming. The rain had let up a little, but distant rumblings warned me that another thunderstorm was rolling in on the tail of the first. Not wanting to get caught in it, I ignored the sidewalks and jogged across the lawn to the parking lot.

Though the rain held off as I drove, I saw flashes of lightning in my rearview mirror. I loved thunderstorms, but I wanted to be safe inside when this one hit, so I sped down the empty residential streets. At Irma’s house, I ran to the porch, feeling as though the gathering rumble of thunder was chasing after me. Just as I rang the doorbell, a crack of thunder boomed, sounding as if the whole sky was crashing down on me.

Clamping my jaw shut to keep from scaring Irma, I breathed heavily through my nose and waited. Finally, just as I was getting worried, I heard the deadbolt scrape back.

Irma opened the door and peered out at me, looking tiny wrapped up in a big quilt. Her eyes were huge and her skin pale, but her chin was thrust up in the air. Once she saw me, she relaxed. “Oh, Lauren. I wasn’t expecting you. I’m sorry, but I can’t have visitors right now. My power is out.”

“That’s why I’m here. Jake sent me over to check on you.”

She harrumphed. “That boy, sending you out in this weather. I don’t know where his brain’s gone a’begging. Well, come in, but be careful. It’s as dark as a cave in here.”

She was right. I could barely make Irma out ahead of me as she moved surely through the labyrinth of antique furniture. If not for the white patches on her quilt, she would have disappeared into the shadows.

“Do you have any candles?” I asked.

“Yes, somewhere, but I figured if I waited long enough, the lights would come back on and I wouldn’t need them.”

“No worries. I’ll light them for you if you want.”

“They’re in the linen closet. The matches are above the stove.”

As she spoke, she moved back to her recliner in the living room and settled in. I didn’t hesitate to grab an armful of candles. Irma needed light to feel safe again. It took seven matches to get all the wicks lit, but once I was done, the kitchen glowed with warmth. Walking slowly to protect the still delicate flames, I carried two of the candles into the living room and positioned them near Irma.

“Oh, that’s much better. Thanks, my dear,” Irma said. Her eyes now sparkled with reflected candlelight, but it surprised me how fragile she still seemed. No wonder Jake was so worried about her.

“Have you had anything to eat this afternoon?” I asked her. I knew she didn’t eat enough as it was, usually because she was caught up in her art.

“No, but I’m fine.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” I answered, knowing it would do no good to argue with her. I just went in the kitchen and got to work. Luckily, she had a gas stove so I was able to cook something.

After taking a look in her cabinets and dark fridge, I made a pot of cocoa while I got broccoli cheese soup simmering on the stove. I carried the cocoa into the living room on a tray and put it on the table next to Irma where she could easily reach it, then went back to the kitchen to finish getting dinner ready.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door open and Jake’s voice as he called, “Grams?”

“In here,” she called back, her voice sounding stronger now.

I watched from the kitchen as he went straight in to check on her.

I dished up a third bowl of soup as I listened to them talk. From the lighter tones of her voice, I could tell she was feeling better.

Jake joined me in the kitchen as I finished spreading butter on a few slices of bread. He stood close behind me, and when he spoke, his breath stirred the tendrils of hair around my ear.

“You cooked dinner too? Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

I shrugged and turned toward him. “You know I don’t mind. I love her too.”

Our eyes met, and even though I’d been talking about Irma, the word love hung in the air between us. I glanced down, breaking the tension.

“Want me to take the tray in?” he asked.

I nodded and followed him, deciding to leave as soon as I could without being rude. Jake in a candlelit room was doing dangerous things to my defenses.