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Leslie clasps her hands together and nods. “Ah, that makes sense. Well, then individual plates it will be.” She crosses to a shelving unit and grabs two plain white ceramic plates from it, handing one to each of us. “Every plate is a blank canvas just waiting for inspiration to strike. You can sit here.” She leads us to one of the tables and motions for us to sit down. “Brushes are in the middle and paint is on the ends. Paint whatever you would like, but if you get stuck, we also have some pictures that you could look at for assistance.” She pats a few books that sit at the other end of the table.
“Awesome, thank you.” Katie grabs a brush and begins opening the cans of paint.
“What are you going to paint?” I ask. My mind is completely blank. A plain white plate is so useful that I can’t imagine putting anything on it. Currently, it goes with everything but painting it will make it so that it only goes with certain things. Of course, unless they do something to seal the paint on the plate, I can’t imagine actually eating on it. Not only might it be a health risk, but washing it would wear the paint away. Perhaps it’s only meant to be decorative though I’m not sure why anyone would want to hang a plate.
She grins up at me. “I have no idea. That’s the fun of it.”
That does not sound fun to me, but I keep that thought to myself as well and watch as she begins to draw hearts around the edge of her plate. There is a twist to her lips that is not quite a smile, but for some reason I find interesting, and for a second, I wish I could be in her brain to see what she’s thinking. Then I realize what a terrible idea that would be. Her brain is probably such a chaotic mess that it would leave me curled up in a corner rocking back and forth and staring at the padded walls. That might be a bit of an exaggeration but not much.
Shaking my head, I reach for one of the books. Perhaps there is a nice landscape that I could emulate. If I pull in gray and blue, it could even work in my kitchen. As I flip through the pictures, I imagine my kitchen with its gray speckled ceramic tiles, stainless steel appliances, and light gray countertops complete with a blue vein.
An image of a ship at sea catches my eye, and I pause. Could I paint that? I have never painted outside of requirements for art class in high school due to the messiness of it, but I used to enjoy sketching and doodling when instructors got too long winded. I realize I haven’t done that since college and wonder why I stopped.
Opening the bottle of gray, I select a brush and tilt my head as I try to decide how best to start. Before I know it, the brush is sliding across the plate, leaving trails of color in all the right places. When the gray is complete, I clean the brush and select a blue to complement the gray. The sky begins to take shape and then the water. I don’t enjoy the water. At least not most of it. The quiet stillness of a lake I don’t mind. Nor does the soft trickle of a small river annoy me, but an ocean is another matter. Not only is the sand a nuisance as it sticks to your feet and clothes like Velcro, but the unpredictable nature of the ocean is enough to deter me every time. Anything that can shift from a peaceful lapping of waves to a fierce and destructive storm in an instant is something I want none of. And there’s the smell.
“Wow, you’re really talented.”
Katie’s voice reorients me in the present, and I glance down at my plate. While no masterpiece, it does appear skillfully done, and surprise floods me at how calm and felicitous I feel. “Thank you.” When I glance up at her, she is gazing at me with a look of wonder? Curiosity? I can’t quite place the emotion she feels because the small dab of paint on her chin is garnering my attention. How on earth did she get paint on her chin? But when my eyes stray to her plate, I know. It is a cacophony of colors and shapes, and the dizzying feeling after disembarking from a roller coaster floods me.
“What is it?” she asks.
I blink and drag my eyes back to her face. “You have a spot of paint on your chin.”
“Here?” She rubs the opposite side, and I shake my head.
“No, the other side.” I indicate with my finger, but when she misses the spot again, I reach out and wipe it away. What on earth? Why did I just do that? She is staring at me, her brown eyes wide beneath her bangs, but my eyes drop to my hand. Not only did I touch her face, but I transferred the paint to my hand. Of course my hand is washable, but it’s the act itself, along with the funny sensation that is bubbling within my chest, that is throwing me for a loop.
“Thank you,” she says, and my eyes flick back to her face. There is a confused expression residing there that I imagine is mirrored on my own countenance.
“You’re welcome.” And then because I don’t know what else to say, I stand and walk to the sink to wash my hands, hoping that the weird connection that was transferring between us a moment ago will have dissipated into the air when I return.
Perhaps Katie is a bit of a mind reader because when I return to the table, she says, “So, the plates appear to be a success, but what can we have them do for an activity?”
At a loss for words - something that rarely happens to me - I blink at her for a moment, sure that I look rather like a fish. “Isn’t the painting of the plate the activity?” Perhaps I’m just misunderstanding what she’s asking.
“Yes, it is, but remember there’s supposed to be something to encourage them to come here.” She taps her lips with her fingers, still covered in dried paint, and then her whole body brightens like a flower in bloom. “I know. What if we have a scavenger hunt motif? For each place we put in the app, there could be something they have to do or find and take a picture of it. Like here, they would have to paint a symbol they’re given somewhere on the plate, and then they upload the picture to a centralized social media account. The symbol could change every month, and we could have drawings from everyone who does the activities.”
I blink a few more times as my mind runs through the possibilities. “That’s actually a great idea. We could even ask the businesses to chip in prizes like coupons. That would not only encourage new users but would be an incentive for previous visitors to return.”
A huge grin rips across her face as she jumps from her chair, and for a second, I think she is about to hug me. Her arms fly up as if they’re about to encircle me, and I stand, frozen, unsure of what to do. The realization of her almost-action dawns on her face just as quickly, and her arms fall to her side as an embarrassed pink tint spreads across her face. “I think that’s brilliant, Derek. Let’s start with ours. What symbol could we add?”
I look at my plate, which is perfect in my opinion, and I can feel my forehead scrunching as I try to figure out what symbol could be added without destroying the symmetry of the piece.
“How about a crescent moon?” Katie says, and the softness in her voice surprises me. Once again, it’s like she’s reading my mind or my body language, and the realization surfaces once more that this is a skill in which I am less adept.
I offer a small smile, relieved that a moon is something I can add that will not destroy my picture. “I think a moon is doable.” We each grab a paintbrush and some white paint and add the detail to our plates.
“This is perfect,” Katie says. “Now, we just need to take a picture. Here, you hold yours and I’ll take your picture and then you can take a picture of me with mine.”
Before I can argue, she is shoving my plate in my hands, lifting her phone, and telling me to smile. My face moves, but I can only hope it is displaying a smile. I don’t really enjoy selfies. I don’t even have a social media account because the only people I really talk to are Tommy and Edith, and I can call them.
“Got it,” she says, lowering the camera. “You know, you have a nice smile. You should try using it more often.” Before I can respond, she is picking up her plate and saying, “Okay, now me.”
I set my plate down and retrieve my phone. Does she actually expect me to take her picture with my phone? As she has yet to offer her own and is currently modeling her plate and smiling at me, I assume that she does. There aren’t many pictures on my phone, and I certainly don’t want a ton of her cluttering up my storage, but surely, I can delete it as soon as we upload it to whatever media account she creates. “Okay, got it.”
“Perfect, let’s go tell Leslie our plan and find out what she’d be willing to offer.” As she hurries off to find the owner, I feel like I’ve just wrestled with a tornado, but I have no idea if I’ve won or lost.
CHAPTER5
