Grey Street // H.S.

Chapter 15: "Do you do this a lot?"

Everyday of the next week seems to blur together and before I know it, it's over. Between work and having to watch Ethan, because Bailey went on vacation, I feel like I haven’t had a solid moment to think. I haven’t seen my mom since the day of the presentation and I almost wouldn’t count that since she didn’t even know I was there. I heard my dad talking to her on the phone a few days after and from what I could make out she is no longer embarrassed by it, just furious.

It’s funny how often my parents talk on the phone considering they are almost always within the same twenty mile radius of each other. I think sometimes they prefer to it over the phone because they only have to put in half the effort of giving attention to the each other.

Finally after what feels like a month, even though it’s only a week, I have a day off from the diner. Bailey just got back from where ever the hell she went to and I’m glad I don’t have to worry about Ethan either. Not that hanging out with him was that bad. We went to the skate park every day before I had to go to work and then I’d give him as many milkshakes as he could drink without getting sick before sending him off with Gerdy, who dropped him off at our house once my dad got home from work.

Since I don’t have any responsibilities to attend to today, I’ve decided I’m going to do two things. Get super high and paint.

After talking with Bailey and Ethan briefly, I pack up my car, feeling the need to paint somewhere other than the room above the garage. I don’t feel like finishing my ‘Welcome to Hell’ sign or any of the ten other projects I’ve been working on the last few months. So I grab my falling apart easel, a canvas and the bucket I keep my paint and brushes in before throwing it all, or more like gently setting, in the back of my car.

There is a small pond on the outskirts of town and for some reason no one ever hangs out around there. I’m not really sure why because it’s kind of perfect but I’m okay with it because it’s my go to place to paint besides my make shift studio above the garage. Plus the fact that it’s always abandoned means that I don’t have to deal with other people, which is always a good thing.

The ride there is quick and even though it comes as no surprise, I’m thankful when the pond is yet again empty with people. After turning off my car and dragging out all the supplies, I set up in my normal spot under a tree, facing toward the water.

I have at least twenty paintings of this exact scene in my sight right now. I don’t always paint the pond in front of me when I come here but it happens more times than not. Every time I paint it I find something new that wasn’t there before. So even though it’s essentially the same picture twenty times there is always something different.

Once everything is in its place I take a deep breath before picking up one of my larger paint brushes. Another great thing about painting the same thing over and over is you figure out the best way to do it. Practice makes perfect, right?

I paint for a few moments until I remember the other thing I wanted to do today. Might as well kill two birds with one stone? Well I guess it wouldn’t be exactly the same idea… but close enough.

I put the previously rolled joint between my lips and pull out my lighter, flicking it open to light the tube. I take a deep breath in before pushing the smoke back out, closing my eyes and feeling it spread through my body. A smile stretches across my face as I take another puff.

After a few moments of this, I refocus my attention on the painting in front of me. With the joint still between my lips I fill the brush in my hand with paint, swiping it across the canvas, streaking it with different shades of blue and green.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I first got here, because like I said before time fades away when I’m painting. But I do know I’m on my second joint at this point and I don’t think I’ve blinked in at least an hour. My head is an absolute fog. It doesn’t even feel like I have control over my hand as it slides the paint brush across the canvas. Maybe it’s just because I’m super baked but the picture in front of me has never looked better. I guess I’ll see when this feeling fades away.