The house’s basement used to be a guest room or something sense the garage is on the ground floor, so Dad had it renovated; knocked down all the interior walls, put in brighter lights, all white walls and an epoxy sealed concrete floor because of how easy it is to clean because of all of the spilt paint, tons of storage that was occupied with every color of pigment, strange brushes and everything else he could possibly want or need.

              “There you are, everything all right, you came home a little later than usual” Dad said, I got Dad’s height, making us both under five foot six or so, I myself am only five three or so, Dad is maybe five four, maybe five-five is he stands up straight. He’s kind of what you think of when you picture what happens to surfer guys after a decade or two; skin still sunbaked, freckled from how much sun he’s got, long dark blond hair that seems to be always styled like he got off the waves just a moment ago, but white shocks off his temples showing his age, heavier and darker scruff and dressed as usual for him in a cut-off gray t-shirt splattered with paint and a coverall that was off his torso with the sleeves tied around his waist and barefoot, paint smeared across his skin and a bright smile on his face with the big dimples I inherited from him, also like no muscle tone which…I also got. 90s era tribal tattoos across his arms and shoulders, still rocking a pooka shell necklace and braided bracelets, random surf memorabilia around the house, finding a surfboard somewhere weird like a random closet or shoved behind a piece of furniture and never wears actual shoes…sums up my dad fairly well, but…he’s an incredible dad; a bit doting at times, but it’s comforting to know I have someone like him so close.

              “Yeah, just…that headache that’s been bothering me got a little bad” I sighed as I walked over to where he was seated atop a ladder, trays of paint on the ladder rungs with a bunch of brushes and things shoved into the pockets of his coveralls and one tucked behind his ear. The only thing that Dad has that I wished I had inherited, Dad’s heterochromatic, his left eye is dark green, and his right is bright silver...chunky white framed glasses for Dad, gold framed ovate ones for Mom and silver square ones for myself, we’ve all got glasses.

              “Oh, so sorry there, kiddo. Could you hand me the burnt sienna?” he asked as I looked over to the huge cabinet of paint that he has as I went over to it and found the large tube of paint marked that and walked back over and handed it to Dad as he undid the cap.

              “What you working on?” I asked as I stepped back a little, the entire wall was covered in a mounted canvas, Dad has a very abstract and impressionistic manner of painting, there’s been times when galleries around the city or other cities wanted them and paid incredible amounts of money for them, but most of them are sold to collectors to the best of my knowledge.

              “Just a little something” he shrugged, “I was thinking of trying a new form of painting, I saw a thing where you fill balloons with the paint and throw darts to pop them and however the paint splatters and falls is how it stays”

              “You better put tarps down if you want to do that, remember last time you got paint hella-everywhere?”

              “Oh, I wouldn’t risk getting your mom that angry again” he laughed

              “Did a client order something or inspiration strike?” I asked

              “Little of both” he added, leaning forward as he flicked the brush along the large canvas before hopping down off the ladder as he grabbed the pallet off a rung and went about his painting.

              I loved to spend time down here when I was a kid, Dad would let me play and paint with whatever was left on his pallets when he was working, or he’d do something like show me how if I dragged the wheels of one of my toys through paint and ran it along the canvas or paper it would make cool patterns and textures. One time, he just let me use my hands and finger-paint on a canvas he was using for a gallery showing and he did credit me on it and all, so I can say that my name has been in an art gallery. People talked often about how he would put my name or Mom’s on his pieces or let us help with his pieces, it was often a family thing when I was a kid. Been a while sense I spent significant time down here, almost been avoiding it a bit the past week because of how he has those extremely strong and stark overhead lights, not florescent, but pretty close to them.

              “If you head hurts, Herc, you can head up, I’ll call you down when dinner’s ready or bring it up to you if you feel worse or…if you feel like eating at all” he said, his voice concerned and worried about me as he looked at me.

              “Thanks, Dad, I’ll…I think I just have been getting not enough sleep or something” I said, he nodded softly

              “Okay, maybe go to bed hella-early tonight” he offered, I laughed at that

              “I’ll see if I can, maybe it’s just the weather or something”

              “Just as long you’re not coming down with something, you know how Mom gets when one of us gets sick” he sighed as he reached over and softly gripped my shoulder, I nodded as I gripped his hand over my shoulder, “Head on up, get off your feet.”             

              “Thanks, Dad” I said, he nodded as he leaned over and softly gripped the base of my skull as he pressed my forehead to his before letting go and letting me go up the stairs back through the house and upstairs to my room. The rain had let up, but not left entirely, so my room was thankfully a bit darker than it would be if it was a bright sunny day. I just dropped my bag beside my desk as I walked over and flopped down across my bed.

              I don’t know if it was maybe a migraine or something, but as I laid there; my eyes closed and just trying not to think about anything, this…weird pattern started to appear in my vision; like when you have your eyes closed for long enough and start to see the weird colors and lights, but it wasn’t random patterns like that, it was a grid…a network of white lines that expanded and contracted in the darkness of my closed eyes, but bursts of color formed on each crossing like some sort of weird optic illusion thing, but it just made my head spin and feel worse as I tried to get rid of it, but the more I tried to clear my head, the more clear and brighter it got till my vision was white with it. The movement of the light was almost like a massive creature, or something was breathing, though it might have been my own.