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DREAM
“Idon’t understand – body painting?”
Mom’s voice drifted up to me as I poked around in one of the enormous storage closets in her house, looking for my boxes of art supplies. I’d taken an offer to do some face and body painting at the local farmer’s market that the town held one every weekend down by the beach. I used to do it when I still lived in town, and it was always lots of fun. I’d make some money, get some fresh air, and practice my art.
After everything that I’d been through over the last few weeks, I needed something to take my mind off it all.
“Why do you say it like that? You’re making it sound weird.”
“Because it is weird,” she said. “What are you doing, exactly? Painting landscapes on people’s bodies?”
“It’s not like that. Well, I mean, it’s kind of like that. People come in and you paint on them. It’s cool – you get to do all these designs on them. And there’s always lots of cute kids who want their faces painted.”
“I see. Sounds like time you could be using to find something a little more lucrative in town. But that’s just one woman’s opinion.”
I held my tongue, turning my attention back to the room.
I picked up one of the nearby boxes off one of the many shelves, opening it and hoping that my art supplies were inside. Instead, there were many sets of expensive looking swimwear that, judging by the fact that price tags were still on them, hadn’t been worn once.
“You know, Mom,” I said. “There’s this little trick that some people do when storing stuff, it’s called ‘putting labels on it so you know what it is.’ You might want to look into it.”
I glanced over my shoulder and shot Mom a smile, letting her know I wasn’t trying to bust her chops too hard. Dressed in her usual outfit of expensive athleisure-wear, today’s color an eye-catching electric blue, Mom leaned against the entry to the closet with a glass of white wine in her hand.
“Oh, whatever. You’re more than lucky that I actually still have all your art things from high school. Never say your mom doesn’t love you, right?” she flashed me a smile full of pearl-white veneers.
She had a point. As much as she gave me crap about wanting to be an artist, she had supported me in my dreams when I was a kid.
“But what I want to know is why you can’t simply get your stuff from Adam’s place. Surely, he still has what you left there? Why not just call him up and ask him to ship it?”
I paused in the middle of opening another box, a sick feeling rushing through me at the mere thought of Adam – let alone talking to him.
“It’s not like that, Mom,” I said. “Things are…they’re not good between us. And you know this.”
She scoffed. “Yes, likely drama that would be easily resolved by a mature phone call. But what does your idiot mother know.”
I chose not to take the bait, instead opening another nearby box.
“Yes!” I let out a cry of excitement as I laid eyes on my body painting supplies. They were all there, just as I’d left them.
“You find them?”
“I did!” I was totally thrilled to have all my stuff in front of me. I picked up the box and hurried out of the room, rushing past Mom then stepping into the kitchen and setting the box down on the bar.
“Now, don’t make a mess with all that stuff,” she said. “The help can clean it up, but I’d rather them spend their time on more important things.”
I said nothing as I pulled out the paints, brushes, and patterns and all the other things I’d need.
“That doesn’t look like much,” Mom observed. “That’s going to be enough to paint at the farmer’s market?”
“It’ll be enough to get started. And if I need more, I’ll just go to the art supply store.”
She opened the fridge and refilled her wine from the bottle inside. “Well, sure. But it just seems like a waste knowing that Adam likely has supplies to send you. We can call him right now, in fact!” She reached for her phone on the kitchen island. “Yes, we can call him now and maybe even discuss some other matters in the process. I think that’s a great—”
“No!” The word shot out of my mouth as I turned around to face my mother. “We’re not going to do that. We’re not going to call Adam; we’re not going to hash things out. We’re not going to do any of that. I made my decision and I’d like it very much if you actually respected what I’ve decided for once instead of trying to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Mom said nothing, her eyebrows arched in mild surprise, the bottle of white wine still in her hand.
“The breakup is still fresh and, as much as I’m sure I did the right thing, it still hurts to think about. There was a time when I thought he was going to be my forever person and, well, that sure as shit didn’t happen. I’m doing my best to get over it and it’s not helping when you’re constantly poking at the open wound. So, stop!”
