A Paintbrush For Alley

A Paintbrush For Alley (Ch. 2)

Chapter 2: The End

            It was the morning of October 27th, a bright Sunday morning. 

            “Alley, hurry up!  We’re leaving in five minutes!”

            “Almost done, mom!”

            Alley looked in the mirror.  She pulled a brush through her long, soft, straight, brown hair.  Her pink lip-gloss sparkled and her long eyelashes were curled upward.  She wore her favorite blouse, pale pink with tiny, embroidered roses.  It was a beautiful morning.  She unzipped her makeup bag and pulled out her eye shadow.  She chose a pink a tiny bit more prominent than her shirt and put it on carefully.  That was something Alley thought was a plus living with her mom- she got to wear makeup.  Alley was already beautiful but she liked to experiment with the colors. 

            “Okay, let’s go!” Mrs. Martinez called to Alley.

            Alley zipped up her makeup bag, put it into her purse and with a last quick glance in the mirror, left the bathroom.  Mrs. Martinez was waiting for her daughter by the front door.

            “Ooh, someone’s looking sexy this morning!” Mrs. Martinez joked.

            “Oh mom!” Alley laughed.

            Mrs. Martinez and her daughter had an excellent relationship.  They had always been best friends, and had no secrets from one another.  Alley loved her mother dearly.

            “Okay, let’s go.  Father Ryan won’t be too happy if we’re late again!”  Mrs. Martinez laughed with her daughter. 

            The two women left the house that morning in good spirits, each looking absolutely radiant in their Sunday best, with little matching purses.  Mrs. Martinez was breathtakingly beautiful.  Her skin was tan and soft and her eyes were obviously the eyes of a mother, worn and gentle.  She was beautiful, but that’s not why most people loved her.  She was what people thought of when leadership was mentioned.  She helped out in the community, cared for children that weren’t hers, picked up trash left behind, sang in the voice of a mockingbird, told stories about the stars and laughed and laughed, until she cried.  She was a woman. A woman, who was more than a woman, to so many people and yet, she was the one who had to go.

            That morning, on their way to church, Mrs. Martinez was unaware of a drunk driver.  She had just stopped at a stop sign and after seeing that the coast was clear, began to slowly crawl forward.  Out of nowhere a huge truck sped towards them on their right side.  Mrs. Martinez saw the truck a second too late.  Actually, it would have been too late anyway.  The truck was too close.  The last sound Alley heard was her mother’s terrified scream. 

            Two days later, Alley opened her eyes.  She was in a hospital bed.  Pale sunlight came in through the thin white curtains that covered the window.  A needle was taped in place, sticking into her vein in her right arm.  It was connected to a clear pouch of fluids hanging on a pole.  She was alone.  She looked around her room, immediately terrified.  Dozens of bouquets of bright, colorful flowers littered every open space of her room.  Cards stood up around the flowers.  Even several fuzzy, brown teddy bears were guests in her room.  After a quiet minute, a young male nurse walked into the room. 

            “Good morning, sleepy head!” the man laughed.

            “Huh?” Alley’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

            “Well, not morning.  It’s actually almost dinner time.” The man corrected.

            Alley tried to lift her head up to get a better picture of the man but when she tried to move, she became suddenly dizzy and gave up.  The man was switching out fluids in Alley’s IV bag.