“She’s trying to hand off my stuff and then she acts like I’m the one being crazy!”
Camilla stomped and trudged over the gray, cement floor of her grandpa’s art studio. Not more than a few hours earlier, Camilla had tossed on her clothes and hopped on her bike to head here. The frustration from yesterday still circled her.
“Well, Emilia can be a bit brash at times”, her grandpa offered. He stood in his smock next to the canvas before him, with a brush in one hand and a tray of paint in the other. “But she probably has a lot on her mind, what with the wedding and the move…”
Camilla scoffed and clicked her teeth in disgust.
“Come on Cammy, you’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”
She slumped over to one of the art tables and rested her hand on it, looking downward.
“I-” Camilla started, looking for words. “When mom started dating I… dealt with it, but marriage!? What could she be thinking?”
“Well she’s probably lonely,” her grandpa said as he swished colors on to the canvas. “I mean, it’s been four years since … Eric.”
Eric. That was Camilla’s father’s name. Her Grandpa’s voice trailed off when he said it. There’d been a bit of a pact between everyone in the family to simply not mention him, and her Grandpa seemed to have forgotten for a moment. Camilla didn’t comment on it. She sat down near an art table and began poking at the brushes that stuck out of a glass jar.
“Why would she be lonely? I’m around.”
“Yes, but your mother probably has… other… needs.”
“Gross!”
“Just being honest!” her grandpa giggled.
Camilla was spared from wondering about her mother’s “needs” when a knock came from the studio’s door. A young woman nervously poked her head inside.
“ Hey… you!” she mumbled hesitantly, staring at the old painter.
“Hey there, Staci,” Camilla’s grandpa replied. “What do you need?”
Staci hastily scurried into the studio.
“So, uh, funny thing! I got commissioned for a piece and it turns out that happy sunsets require a lot more orange than I expected.”
“Funny that,” the older man playfully teased.
“Hey,” responded Staci. “Most of the sunsets I draw are dark and purple like my soul!”
The two artists chuckled at each other as Camilla rolled her eyes. She scanned the woman up and down. She had short, ice blonde hair swept up into a pointed faux hawk. Her loose, baggy tank top sat in contrast to the tight, bright blue, skinny jeans she wore. Camilla chafed just looking at the pants.
She had noticed these types when they came by. They were all loudly dressed twenty-something artists with multicolored, dyed hair and bracelets up to their elbows. Camilla’s grandpa’s studio didn’t sit by itself; it sat in a community art center with many other artists having studios in the complex. Sharing the building with others meant that anyone could simply drop by. Camilla had noticed that her grandpa had become a bit of a target for young artists looking to mooch.
“ I’ve got a tube of orange, right over there. Help yourself,” said Arnold with an affirming smile.
“Thanks Arnie! You’re a life-saver!”
Camilla didn’t appreciate people coming to the studio specifically to take her grandpa’s stuff , but even she couldn’t deny the pull of the place. By itself it was as simple as the other studios, a cramped, wide room with gray floors, white walls, and fluorescent lights. But in the time her grandpa had been here he had turned it into a much more special place. Toy planes that her grandpa had collected over the years hung from the ceiling along with tiny string lights to brighten up shadowy corners. Thin swatches of purple and red fabric that they had picked out at the hobby store hung from the wall, draping gently from the push pins they had used to place them. Other furnishings from hanging mobiles, to a short bookcase, to a standing lamp, and even a stuffed chair were also present.
Some people had called it a fire hazard, but to Camilla it was just as much home as any other place. With the way things were turning, Camilla wondered if the studio would be the last place she could really call home.
Staci found the tube of yellow-orange that she had been looking for and quickly scampered out of the studio, sending Arnold a quick wave before she left.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Camilla inquired the minute the woman had left.
“Doing what?”
“Just handing out your stuff like that,” Camilla continued. “She’s got to have been the fifth one this week to come by looking for something.”
“Eh, I don’t mind,” said Arnold. “I don’t like using orange from the tube anyway. It’s way better to mix it yourself.”
“It was still your’s though.”
Camilla’s grandpa let out a long "hmmm" as he thought of a way to address the young girl's concerns.
“Well,” he started. “I guess I didn’t really need it right then. But I know she did.”
Camilla turned her head in confusion.
“It’s just… sometimes it's good to really look at people. I don’t have any big projects coming up soon, but she does and so do a lot of the kids who come down here looking for brushes and paint and scissors. I didn’t need the paint as much as she did right then. Sometimes people need things more than or just as much as you do.”
Camilla rolled her eyes again and went pack to plucking the brushes in the jar.
“Come now, Cammy. I want you to listen this. I know you’re mad at your mom and a lot of other people, but I want you to know you’re not the only one here getting a new house and a new parent and a new life.”
Camilla tugged on the brush bristles.
“I … know,” Camilla paused, her words coming out very unsure. “I still don’t have to be okay with any of this, though.”
Her grandpa let out a big, hearty laugh. “Well, no one said you had to do that!” He placed a loving hand on her shoulder.
Camilla smiled. She continued to look downward at nothing in particular, but then looked up and found herself staring in the direction of her grandpa’s painting. Camilla hadn’t really payed attention to what her grandpa was painting before, but her interest was suddenly peaked. She stood from the stool and walked to the canvas.
“What were you working on again?” Camilla looked into the painting. Depicted on the board, in a array of golds and blues, was a sad little boy in a flowing, sky colored robe.
“Just a painting of a little boy that showed up in a dream I had.”
Camilla focused in on the face of the painted child. A small tear fell from his eye towards the long frown he held.
“Why does he look so sad?”
“Well, that’s how I saw him. And who knows? Maybe he’s got a lot on his mind.”
I can relate, thought Camilla. She looked deeper into the face of the young boy and thought back on what her grandpa had said about really looking at people. The small boy wasn’t drawn very realistically, but the pain in his face still showed through her grandpa’s simplified strokes.
“He seems familiar,” Camilla observed.
“He could be. I feel like I’ve drawn a character like this before, but I don’t remember him being so sad.” The elderly man gave the painting the same questioning looks his granddaughter did. “You kind of feel bad for him, don’t ya?”
Camilla looked again.
“Yeah. I do.”
The rest of the day went on as peacefully as one could hope for. Camilla lazed about the studio and flipped through her grandpa’s art books. She even sat down and made a few sketches of her own, occasionally looking up at her grandpa to see his progress on his painting. Soon the sun that streamed in through the windows began to dim and the only light left in the studio was the faint glow of the string lights and a standing lamp. Night fell over the studio, marking an end to the day.
Camilla could hear the sounds in the hallway outside the studio. The other artists were packing up their belongings and locking their studios for the day. Her grandpa tossed on his windbreaker as he checked for his keys. His somber painting was put in a safe place so that it could dry. Camilla tossed on her hoodie and scurried to his side. With everything packed and cleaned the two switched off the lights and left the studio in quiet, shadowy peace.
Everything seemed so right. Spending the day with one of her favorite people, and ending it on such a pleasant note made Camilla feel calm in a way she hadn’t for months. There was no soon-to-be stepfather. There were no upcoming stepsisters waving wedding plans in her face. Camilla didn’t even wince at the young artists passing by and calling her grandpa “A-Dog” and “Arnoldo” like she usually did. She felt peaceful and satisfied.
“Dang it!” her Grandpa cried. The two of them were nearly out the front door of the art center when he started patting himself down. “I left my medication in the studio.”
“I’ll get it,” offered Camilla. She got the keys from her grandpa and dashed back down the hallway.
The inside of the studio looked the same as when they left it. Camilla only turned her head slightly before she saw the orange bottle of prescription medicine sitting on the edge of one of the art tables. She quickly reached for it, but stopped when something caught her eye. She looked over to the corner of the studio. Her eyes fell on the painting of the young boy. Streaks of moonlight from the window lit up his sad face. It was just a painting, but Camilla couldn't shake the feeling of sympathy she felt for it. Her gaze was completely locked on it. She couldn't look away at first, but a sound came from behind the studio door that stopped her from questioning. A sound that made Camilla’s stomach lurch so hard that it practically went into her throat.
Coughing. Down the hallway, Camilla could hear strangled, suffering, desperate, coughs; they were uncontrolled and coupled with a set of wheezing gasps. But the coughs and gasps weren’t as frightening as the sound that came next. A thud.
Camilla broke from the room with the pill bottle in hand and flew down the short expanse of the hallway, praying that what she thought had happened, hadn’t. But Camilla’s fears were confirmed. Lying there on the floor, next to the front door, sprawled out on his side and still breathing heavily, was her grandpa. He clutched his chest as he clung to consciousness. The hallways of the art center were filled with the muffled echoes of an old man’s choked breath and the young girl who cried out for help for grandpa.
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