My Christmas Wish [folive] ✔️

two

December 20th
Brooklin, New York, Grandma Dottie's

     Fletcher sits in the living room of his Grandma's small New York apartment flipping though channel after channel on the tiny square television. He sighs as he he settles for the news. In another room, Fletcher's Grandma Dottie is rummaging through his closet, attempting to help him clean out. He's about a second into the weather, when Grandma Dottie comes into the living room clutching about four canvases in her arms.

"Fletcher, I found some of your old paintings!" she beams. "How come you don't want to hang them up? There amazing."

Fletcher briefly glances over at his Grandma. He doesn't think much of it at first, mainly because he's bored to death, but his eyes quickly avert when he notice a specific painting out of the corner of his eye. Fletcher springs up form the couch and leaps towards his Grandma, snatching the painting from her. Fletcher looks down at the canvas that has a beautiful blonde girl painted on it. He lingers on it for too long, then shoves it against his chest so his Grandma wouldn't see it.

"Why are you going through my things?" Fletcher frets, getting irritated.

"I thought I'd help you clean out," says Dottie innocently. "You know since you've been busy with your art lately."

"I don't need help cleaning up," dictates Fletcher.

"I know, but I found these paintings and I thought they'd look nice around the apartment. If they're good enough for New York, than certainly they're good enough for this place."

Fletcher gives in. "Fine, you can put those ones up. But not this one!" He refers to the painting clutched against his chest.

"Why not that one?" Dottie points to it. She smiles. "I absolutely adore that one. You got every detail so precise. I mean her hair, her eyes, that infectious smile, her-"

"Stop!" snaps Fletcher. He looks furiously at his Grandma for the first time. "You can't put this painting up! You can never put this painting up! I'm throwing this painting away!" Fletchers storms into his tiny room. Grandma Dottie doesn't say a word, but oddly she doesn't take offense to anything her grandson had just said to her. She knows why he got upset and she does feel guilty for bringing that painting out.

In his room, Fletcher brings the painting with him. He admires it with a small smile and decides not to throw it away. He finds a tack and puts the painting above the head of his bed. He sits on the mattress and stares at the painting.

"I miss you Olive Doyle," he whispers.