the afternoons have been tricky lately
“Can I come now?” I ask her over the phone, already in the car and heading in her direction.
“Yep, I’m home and I’m painting!” Her voice is cheerful, energetic; alive.
Minutes later I arrive with coffee in hand, three hours earlier than we had originally planned
but she doesn’t need a lengthy explanation
and I don’t really want to give her one
She’s just glad I came
as soon as I walk through the front door
so am I
“So, what do you think?” she asks, as she watches me survey the streaked dining room walls.
“I love it,” I tell her.
And I do.
It has potential.
I ask her for a paint brush
knowing she won’t try to stop me
and I grin at the ease of our relationship
after so many years
it’s not strange that I would end up here before breakfast to help her paint her house
She asks me if I want the roller brush
I want to focus on the details.
I feel like I need to focus on the details.
It’s something I’m not very good at
but today I harness all of my stress
and I detail the shit out of her kitchen
I can’t remember the last time
I stopped fretting long enough
to just focus on the details
but right here
it’s just me and this paint brush
and what seems like a million stubborn nooks and crannies
and I don’t have to think
i stop thinking altogether
It’s a pretty color
soft on the eyes
though I probably wouldn’t have given it a second glance in the store
in her warm house
this warm color
“Stop calling it Orange,” I tell her when she marvels at how good “Orange” looks in her entryway. “It’s fancier than Orange. It’s like a Burnt Sienna. It deserves a good name.”
“It’s actually called Butterscotch,” she says.
“Gross. That makes me think of a Butterfinger and your walls look nothing like a Butterfinger. We need to think of something better.”
She’s quiet for a minute.
“How about Terra Cotta?”
I say it silently to myself
love the rolling of the rrrrrrrrrr’s
love the staccato of the ttttttttt’s
love the way putting this new color on top of the old one makes me feel
like there’s potential
“I like it. Terra Cotta. Terra Cotta it is.”
I dip my paint brush into the can
wipe the excess along the rim
as my hand guides the brush along the narrow space between her sink
my stroke steady and confident
my only concern that I do a good job
I listen as she catches me up on her part of the world
while i gratefully
tune out of mine
and together we transform this space
in between fits of giggles and comfortable silence
and I am filled with peace
filled to the brim
with my usefulness
and the warmth of this color
a pool filled with the stuff
promise myself more of it in my life
because suddenly i feel alive
that a color