AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One step…one deep breath…
My stomach hears my thoughts and rumbles to remind me I want a pastry with my coffee, so I pick up my pace again. I sniff the air and can practically smell the blueberry muffin I’ve been craving almost as much as I crave Vaughn. Gah. I can’t even think about food without Mr. Tall, Charming, and Sexy intruding.
The stores transition from retail to business offices as I continue my walk, and when I pass signage for an attorney, I’m hit with a stab of nostalgia. As much as I dread law school, I do miss my law firm internship. Not the legal aspects, so much, but I miss being busy with work and hanging out with the other interns.
Distracted by the recollection, I turn the corner and bump right into someone. Oomph.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say to the woman whom I’ve literally knocked off her feet. She was already kneeling, so she didn’t have far to go. By the time I crouch down she’s already back on her haunches, so I help pick up the flyers strewn all over the ground. “Are you okay?”
She waves away my concern. “I’m fine, just klutzy. I’m sorry I’m practically taking up the whole sidewalk.”
I study one of the flyers. It reminds me of a Matisse painting, the colors vivid and bright, and drawn if I’m not mistaken, by a child. Bold black typeset tells me there is an art exhibit happening courtesy of Art In Progress.
Once we’ve gathered all the papers, we stand. The woman is maybe ten years older than me with deep brown eyes and dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail. “What’s Art In Progress?” I ask, handing her my pile of flyers.
“Thank you.” She adds them to her stack inside a small box then adjusts the strap of the messenger bag hanging over her shoulder. “AIP is an organization that helps people in need through art.” She nods to the storefront behind me. “This is our studio.”
I turn to see the words Art In Progress beautifully etched in gold lettering on the window and different pieces of art on the other side of the glass. Twisting back around, I notice a car parked at the curb, the trunk open, and several boxes marked AIP.
“Do you need some help?” I ask.
“Would you?” she asks with gratitude and relief. “It’s just me this morning, and I’m running late, as usual.”
“Sure.” I grab two boxes and follow her inside. The space is large with hardwood flooring and dark painted walls. Framed photographs, sculptures, and a piano decorate the area. I put the boxes down near a reception desk, and we make one more trip to her car.
“Thank you so much,” she says, wiping her hands down the sides of her jeans. “I’m Candace, by the way.”
“Kendall. It’s nice to meet you.” I take a closer look around, my gaze drawn up to the ceiling, and all the air whooshes out of my lungs. Somebody’s painted a cross between a rainforest and outer space up there. “Wow,” I murmur.
Candace tilts her head back. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she says with awe. I bet no matter how many times someone looks up, he or she always feels like they’re standing on the edge of the world, about to jump into a heaven of living color.
I drop my chin and take one of the flyers. “Can you tell me more about this place?”
“I’d love to. Would you like a tour?”
“Sure.”
“We were founded twelve years ago with the goal of using art as therapy and offering a safe place for young people grappling with various types of challenges to share their creativity with others.” She leads me down a hallway and I’m shown a room filled with musical instruments, then a room overflowing with canvas and easels and paints, and then another one with a puppet theater and garment racks filled with clothes. By the time we walk through French doors to a small outdoor theater underneath an open tent, I’m officially in awe.
“Wow. Inspiration lives in every nook and cranny of this place.”
Candace laughs. “Inspiration lives up here.” She taps her temple. “Our mission involves finding the right ways to unlock it. We provide workshops in Music and Movement, Fashion and Design, and Visual Arts, which includes film, theater, painting, and photography. Leading experts designed our programs to support adolescents going through difficult life changes by offering creative tools and mentoring to help them assess and express their emotions, gain perspective, and reclaim power over their responses to the challenges they face.”
As we return to the lobby area, I smooth my hand along the wall. Maybe I can absorb some healing just by being under the roof of this really cool operation.
“Are you a nonprofit?”
“Not exactly. We’re a not-for-profit organization.” At my frown, Candace continues. “Meaning our founder generously funds our operation and any profits, or donations, go back into the organization. Anyone who needs our help receives it at no cost.”
I read the flyer in my hand. The art exhibit is next week. “This is open to the public?”
Candace plops down in a chair behind the desk. “It is.” Her phone rings from inside her bag and she raises a finger. “Excuse me a minute,” she says as she pulls out a notebook, eyeglass case, an apple, sunscreen, and her wallet before grabbing her cell in victory. “Hello?”
I stroll around the room to give her some privacy, but easily hear her side of the conversation. Someone named Tiffany quit to go backpacking in Europe with her boyfriend and yes, the timing is terrible, but Candace placed an ad with an online employment company this morning, so fingers crossed she’ll have a new assistant by week’s end. She goes on to talk about an upcoming workshop, some other business points, and dinner plans for Saturday.
A nanosecond after she’s said good-bye, I spin around to face her.
“Sorry about that.” She looks up from the desk, rubs the side of her forehead like she might be getting a headache.
