My alarm went off in the morning, but I didn't struggle to get up. I was already wide-awake. I had questions running through my mind and scenarios already painted in my head.
I woke up to do homework, but something else was on my brain.
I walked into my garage and pulled open the door. I let the pale light flood the room. The sunrise reflected its deep orange on the snow outside, making it glisten. I knew what to do.
The garage was cold so I brought out a coat, sweatpants, and a few space heaters. I put hand warmers in gloves and stuck every tube of paint I had into them so they would keep warm.
I put up a new canvas onto the easel and looked at it for a second. I knew what I wanted to paint.
I found some pinks and blues, so I decided to use them.
I made light blue, almost white streaks across the background. It was pale and stark, but muted. Like the sky near the horizon on a sunny morning.
Out of the corner, I painted a tall cloud. In it I mixed together greens and pinks. Small lines and shades flew around inside. Lines streaked, one over the other. blended into each other, contrasted each other. It looked beautiful as I stepped back. Chaotic, but magnificent. I painted two or three smaller clouds, then moved on.
I picked up the pink, red, and black. I painted some roses around the center. They varied in size and shape, and were generously numbered throughout the canvas. I didn't spend much time on them; I wanted them to be pretty, not perfect. After I got done, I spilled a line of paint down from a few of their petals. With a pallet knife, I streaked that line down the canvas. The paint covered other roses, dripping over them. Stepping back, they looked exactly like I felt: something beautiful, dripping with color. Like I felt when I met her.
The painting looked beautiful. Everything was light, airy, floating in the clouds. But at the same time, everything was passionate and disordered. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. Colorful things rarely are.
I took a picture of it and saved it on my phone. I set the canvas back down on the easel and marveled at the mess I had created. It might not have been the most beautiful painting, but it was ours.
I went inside and took a piece of paper from my kitchen and uncapped a marker. I wrote in the paper, A tribute to the chaotic way you've made my life more colorful. I thought for a second about what to say next.
Look at the beautiful little mess we created
I taped the paper to the back of the canvas and let it dry while I showered off all of the paint I got on myself. After I spent too long doing my hair and deciding what clothes I should wear, I left the house.
I put the painting in a bag so it wouldn't get ruined. I drove to Emma's house and placed our portrait outside of her door. After a second of waiting, I put my car in gear and left for school.
I looked for Emma all morning. I passed around people in the halls and walked into her first period classroom. I couldn't find her anywhere, so I ended up going to class. Either way, it's in her style to show up late.
When I walked into the classroom, my US History teacher, Mr. Harriet, started class in the same monotone voice he always did.
"Alright class," he bellowed. "Today we're learning about the Civil War."
He was out of breath before he got to the lectern at the front of class. I started drawing. It usually took him half the class to even get started on the lecture, so I learned to take advantage of it. Halfway through the ten minutes it usually takes him to figure out where he stored his slideshow, he got a call from the attendance office. He said his okay's and mhm's and then hung up the phone.
"Israel," he began in his booming voice. "You have an important call waiting for you. Please go to the attendance office now."
I obliged and left my books in the room. On the way over to the office, I imagined what could possibly warrant someone to give me an urgent phone call.
Upon opening the door to the office, the receptionist pointed to a phone laying face down on her desk. I picked up the phone and held it tenderly against my ear.
"Uh, Hello?"
The voice on the other end started screaming. "ISRAEL TAYLOR WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING?"
I couldn't make out the voice on the other end, but whoever it was knew my name.
"Uh... Wh-Who is this?"
It kept yelling. "YOU LEAVE THE MOST GORGEOUS AND MEANINGFUL GIFT ON MY FRONT PORCH AND THEN YOU LEAVE BEFORE I CAN EVEN COME OUTSIDE TO THANK YOU FOR IT?"
A helpless smile spread across my face. "Ooh, that doesn't really sound like something I would do. You sure it was me?"
"You're lucky I'm sick as hell or I would have busted into your first period and made out with you on the spot."
I got a surge of adrenaline at the thought. "Oh man, you're sick? No wonder I couldn't find you anywhere. I was looking."
"Well, trust me when I say that, for the first time, I want to be at school so I could see you. Ugh, it was so beautiful."
"Thank you, you're too kind. Why did you call the school for this? I feel like this is something you could have done with a cell phone."
"Oh, like you would answer your phone in the middle of class. Besides, I needed your full attention, and I thought it would be fun to pretend to be your sister that just got engaged."
"Wow, that's such good news."
"Okay, well, get your studious ass back to class while I pound back this cold medicine so I can get back there as soon as possible."
"Sounds good, see ya later," I paused for a second, "and congratulations, my dear sister."
"It's the day every little girl dreams of. Okay, bye."
I gave the phone back to the receptionist and walked back to class. The entire way back, my legs wanted to move faster than I would let them. It felt like I was tripping over myself, but I didn't care. The world was dancing.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. I talked to anyone I wanted to, and I met up with groups of people I didn't know. I felt like running through the halls rather than walking. I wanted to sing more than I wanted to talk, and I wanted to talk more than I wanted to stay silent.
It was like I inherited Emma's spirit through the phone. Everything she did made me want to be more like her.
I got wanderlust walking through the halls. They made me want to climb trees, dive into oceans, conquer mountains, and, more than anything else, drive. Drive to Colorado, California, Canada, and Mexico. But first, it made me want to drive to her house, so I did.
I shot to my car the second the bell gave me the green light and hurriedly fumbled with the keys as I put them in the ignition. I drove imagining that my legs were the ones running at seventy miles per hour, not my engine.
I got off the interstate while cutting off cars, making close calls, and feeling alive the whole time I did it. That energy brought me to her house as I sprinted up to her door.
I fought the urge to start jumping up and down before she opened.
Finally, her face appeared. "Israel, I told you. I'm sick. I can't have any-"
I grabbed her by the waist, pulled her in, and kissed her.
"Emma McKenzie, you say that like there is any way I could care." and I kissed her again. This time, I grabbed her lower back and held her cheek. I bent forward as she bent backward.
She fixed her shirt and wiped her mouth tenderly with her hand. It was the first time I had ever seen her blush. "Wow. thankfully my dad didn't answer the door."
I stepped further into her house. "Is it alright if I stay here for a bit?"
"As long as you want." She said with a smile on her face.
I know this sounds gross, but I wanted to be sick with her. Being healthy and alone couldn't possibly match being sick with Emma. She coughed as she led me down a flight of stairs to her basement.
"Okay Israel. First off, what the hell. Secondly, thank you. Thirdly, you're amazing, and... fourthly," she stopped and thought. "That's a word, right? Fourthly? We'll go with it. Fourthly, I loved it."
"Well thank you," I replied. "I don't really know how I got the idea, but it felt good to be painting again."
She sat closer to me, and I put my arm around her.
"What do you want to do when you grow up?" I asked.
She looked at me. "What?"
"Like for a job. What do you want to do?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering."
"Well I don't really know," she said, pausing to think. "I haven't figured out what I want out of a job. I could see myself pursuing fame or wealth, like being an actress or a businesswoman, but I could also see myself living off of nothing and traveling all the time in an old van I renovated. It could go either way"
"I guess that's the rough side of being a wildcard," I joked.
"What about you?" she asked.
"Well, my realistic dream is to become something in business. I feel like most of my intelligence is more street smarts than it is book smarts, and business is one of the few majors that caters to that skillset. But other than that, I would love to be a freelance artist or author. But the people who succeed at that are, quite literally, one in a million. I know my mom tells me I'm one in a million, but I don't know if the world agrees."
She squinted her eyes at me and scoffed. "Israel, let me tell you two things. First of all, the phrase 'dream realistically' is stupid, and it's one of the biggest oxymorons I've ever heard anyone use. So please, never say those two words again. Secondly, betting on your dreams might be a risk, but it's not nearly as risky as not pursuing them. Are you willing to risk the regret? The lost happiness and opportunity that comes with ignoring your own dreams? I've heard you talk about your artwork. I've seen tyour devotion to it. I've never heard you speak a word about accounting or finance."
"But what if I don't make any money? If I have kids, I want to have the best for them. I can't do that if we're living in a box because I decided that my dreams were more important than what's best for them."
"Well, I can't say you're wrong about that, but follow me."
She took my hand and led me up the basement stairs.
We wound around her kitchen and entered a short hallway that branched off into more stairs. I felt nervous as we climbed them.
"Okay, come on in."
She opened a door and I saw a painting above her bed. It was the one that I drew about my grandma. It looked fantastic against her wall. Her bed covers matched the blue and white almost perfectly. I stepped into the room and there was my other painting above her dresser. Her dressers were a stark white and looked brand new.
I kept looking around as she sat down on her bed. Everything in the room fit. I didn't doubt before now that giving Emma those paintings was a mistake, but now I know. I was giving these paintings their home.
She broke the silence. "I worked on this ever since you gave me the one about your grandma." She looked back at the painting. "I had never seen a more beautiful painting. It didn't fit into my room, but it deserved to."
"It looks amazing in here. It looks like it belongs." I said.
"Well, thank the Lord that you said that because it's been my project for the past couple of weeks. I remodeled my entire room."
She walked over to the walls and felt them. "I wanted the walls to be an off-white. I thought it would bring out the painting better. I wanted my sheets to match the blue so it would look like they belonged together. My parents weren't thrilled about the remodel, but to be fair this room was objectively ugly before this, so I had a pretty good case to change it." She laughed.
"You did all of this for the painting?" I asked.
"Yeah. I thought it was pretty and I wanted everything to go with it. I think it made the entire room look better when I did." She walked over to me and took my hands. "If one of your paintings can get a girl to remodel her entire room, then it's not just any other painting. Don't be afraid to follow your dreams because they might be risky. Find a way to make it work."
"I can't believe this," I breathed out. "It's amazing."
"I'm so glad you like it," she brought me into a hug. "Because I also risked my boyfriend thinking I was a lunatic to show him." We both laughed.
"Emma, I don't know what to say." I held her at arm's length so I could look at her.
"Well, now we need to leave. Bringing a boy into my room is on the same level as telling my parents I'm going to start selling crack or become a satan worshipper," she said as she led me out. "Let's go back downstairs."
"What do you want to do?"
"Oh, I have an idea," she said seductively.
"Oh?" I excitedly questioned.
She looked at me and chuckled. "Not that."
"Oh... Then what is it?" I replied, hiding my embarrassment.
"When I was a kid, I had this friend. We hung out all the time. We both loved movies, and whenever we would watch them, we'd make a fort. I used to get, like, five thousand blankets and make a nest out of them. We'd get fairy lights and string them across the roof. And then we'd get ice cream and eat it straight out of the container. It was amazing."
She smiled quietly to herself. She looked like she was daydreaming, living in another world.
She looked at me enthusiastically. I tried to look unsure. "I don't know Emma... You're sick and I should really get-" I cut myself off as I jerked into action.
I took off down the stairs. I heard her scream and laugh as her footsteps chased me. I felt like a kid again.
She showed me where the blankets were in the basement, and I started making our fort as she went upstairs to get ice cream. I found over a dozen by the time she returned.
We strung them over couches, tied them onto fan blades, threw one over the tv, and made sure there wasn't a place for light to get in. Once we did that, Emma grabbed the remote to find a movie.
I grabbed the quart of ice cream and started spooning it out.
She picked the movie, a romantic comedy, and sat down next to me. We settled into our nest, making sure that the walls only pushed us closer together.
The movie began and we quieted down. I shuffled closer to her and she leaned into me. I raised my arm and she moved beneath it.
The movie began the way most do - with a playboy living a life engulfed in the throws of douchery. I traced my finger along her arm as the first few scenes played out. A dopey sidekick entered the scene, his only job being to worship the main character. Emma responded by running her hand along my stomach. My pulse quickened. Her breaths subtly got faster.
She caught me looking at her, and she looked at me. She looked at my lips, and I touched her cheek. She kissed me, then I kissed her. This time harder, longer.
I can just watch this movie at home, I thought.