Stories Based On Taylor Swift Songs

RED: 58. Red

58. Red (1/24/21)

"Are you kidding me?" My sister, Emily, asked, standing over my bed with her arms crossed against her chest. "What are you doing?"

I kicked my leg in the air, sending the comforter to the floor. My whole body was exposed, and I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. The room seemed too bright, until I realized Emily must have turned the lights on.

I glanced at her and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"You said you would come painting with me today," Emily replied. Judgement was dripping from her eyes like tears. "But it's obvious you don't want to go."

I let out a groan. "Why would you even say that?"

Emily boiled over like a pot on the stove. "You haven't called me in three days! It looks like you haven't left this room in three days, either. What's with you?"

She plopped herself down on the edge of my bed, so I sat up and looked at her through squinted eyes. "Simon broke up with me."

Emily's face went blank, and I wondered if she even remembered who Simon was. We hadn't dated for very long, but my memories informed me that Emily had met Simon a few different times.

"I didn't realize you too were still together," Emily whispered, although it was clear she hadn't meant to say it out loud.

I groaned and stuffed my head under my pillow. Despite my best efforts, the tears wouldn't come, and Emily was rubbing my back as if she was my mother or I was a dog who needed comforting.

"I'm sorry," she cooed, "but you need to get up! Simon didn't deserve you, and he certainly doesn't deserve all these tears."

Out of all the people in my life, I was fortunate to have Emily here after a breakup. She always knew exactly what to say.

"You are going painting with me. It's very therapeutic," she explained, rising from the bed and walking around the room. "I can tell that the energy in this room is off."

"What does that even mean?" I muttered before tossing my pillow onto the floor and climbing out of bed.

When I met Emily's eye, she looked annoyed. "Just get dressed. The class is in a half hour."

Emily waited in the living room while I showered, brushed my teeth, and picked an outfit that would make me look somewhat presentable. I had put on a bit of a front when my sister was around, but my body ached when I searched through my closet and looked for something to wear. Every article of clothing reminded me of Simon. The red sweater he had liked so much. The charm bracelet he bought for my birthday (which, now that I was looking at it, appeared quite cheap.) The high-heel boots I always wore on dates because Simon was tall, and it hurt my neck to stare up at him. My closet seeped with memories, and I couldn't just get rid of them. It sounded like Emily expected me to forget about my relationship with Simon, and I knew I couldn't do that.

I finally decided on an old pair of jeans and a loose-fitting sweater. Emily raised an eyebrow when she saw me descend the stairs, but didn't say a word. I wasn't in the mood to argue.

We arrived a few minutes late to art class, but Emily's one friend had saved us two seats in the back. A quintessential bowl of fruit sat on a pedestal at the center of the circle of easels and stools. Young women and a few men were digging through piles of paintbrushes in search of the right one. I just stared at my blank canvas, at a loss as to where to start.

Emily led me to the paint table, and all the colors seemed to scream at me. Each and every one of them wanted to be used in my painting. I glanced back at the bowl of fruit; a few apples, a banana, and a bunch of grapes were sitting in a while bowl atop a white pedestal. It wasn't the most colorful display. I decided, in that moment, to take some creative liberty and squirted drops of every color of paint onto my pallet.

"Green? Orange?" Emily asked once we were back at our easels. Like I had done a few moments ago, she glanced at the bowl of fruit. I only smiled in response, and she shrugged, leaving me to my own devices.

I knew, before we even reached the art studio, that my final painting would be littered in reminders of Simon. Painting Simon or something related to him was probably not the right thing to do during a break-up, but I wanted to throw everything I had into the painting. With a large paintbrush, I mixed reds and blues and grays until the color for the background was ready. It ended up being a light purple, and when I didn't like how it looked on the canvas, I added more red. Then more blue. Then back to red. It was a mess, and I relished in it. It was my mess. The relationship was messy, and now it was over. And maybe I was happy about that.