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“How long has it been since you’ve been home?” June warmly investigates as she removes the keys from the ignition. “A year? Two?”
“Five.”
“Holy sh-”
“And this is not home.” Coldness coats my tone along with my gaze. “This hasn’t been home since Dad died.”
An unexpected hum presents itself. “Wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you or did you not grow up here?”
“That doesn’t mean-”
“Did you or did you not ask Santa for your first easel here?”
“That’s not-”
“Did you or did you not fill the halls and the fridge and offices and your bedroom door with artwork that I’m willing to bet my entire week’s paycheck on is still hung up in this house?”
“You have a gambling problem,” I bitterly mutter.
“And you have an avoidance problem.”
The snark is swiftly delivered a sneer.
“Just because you left home Lost Boy doesn’t mean it’s no longer yours.” She waggles her eyebrows, unlocks the doors, and motions for us to exit. My door has barely finished shutting when she playfully interrogates. “What was the first piece of artwork you remember being super proud of?”
“That’s easy.” Bending my arm for June to link hers with is attached to my response, “A Ninja Turtle eating a slice of pizza.”
“Shut the Fischli/Weiss up!” June joyfully chirps upon our reaching the first set of stairs to the front door. “No way!”
“Let me start by saying, holy fuck is it sexy that you know who that duo is,” a brief bite of my bottom lip is taken, “and then let me follow that up by adding that I can’t get enough of the artistic take you’ve given to swearing-”
“It’s a lot easier to get away with at work and around children.”
“And lastly,” more chortles wiggle in between my words, “yes. My first portrait was of Michelangelo, hands down my favorite from the crew and who – in the more recent years – has been labeled the strongest of the batch. The next was Leonardo. Then Raphael. Then Donatello.”
Amusement anchors itself deeply into her wide-eyed gaze. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah. Painted them individually and then together as a family, a portrait that stayed hung up in our dining room until I was almost ten which was when it was then moved to the in-house art studio.”
“Please tell me it’s still hung up in there,” she gleefully giggles. “Or somewhere??? Please tell me we can see it.”
Heat unexpectedly tinges my cheeks as I bashfully nod. “Uh…we can. I don’t think its my best work anymore but…”
More laughs are exchanged.
Fused.
Used to tangle us closer together like an artist and his favorite tool.
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were without a doubt my favorite shit growing up. We’re talking watched it all the time – and then even more when Dad started watching it with me – and took my action figures legit wherever I went whether it was to the art room or the playroom or outside to play. I had playsets and ate a shit ton of pizza all the time-”
“Because they did.”
“Exactly.” I thoughtlessly beam even brighter during our ascent. “I was so obsessed that for my 10th birthday my parents took me to Italy to see where the actual Michelangelo was born and his artwork. I was already pretty in love with art as a whole at that point but after seeing the sculptures of David and Moses and then the Sistine Chapel ceiling that was it. My soul had heard its calling and Fate never stopped providing me the opportunity to answer.”
“While Italy is definitely on my list of places to see,” she longingly coos at the same time she barely manages to catch herself from tripping over the final stair, “I’ll happily settle for seeing those Ninja Turtle portraits instead.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
About both.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Our arrival at the glass doors immediately fills me with so much dread that I start contemplating spinning my blue jean covered ass around and marching back to the car that’s parked near the entry fountain; however, after one look at June in her new dress, new hat, new boots – because heels are her greatest advisory – I know that I can’t.
Won’t.
That it’d be like abandoning your favorite student in the middle of a class you know they need in order to graduate.
From what I’ve learned about June, she’s always the one showing up for other people, yet other people don’t always show up for her.
But I have been.
Exposing her to new foods around the city.
New artists from around the world.
New music outside her comfort zone – shout out to the tribal metal that I brought back with me from the island.
No, I haven’t gotten her to completely scrap the need to make endless lists, but I have managed to have some of those lists be about her.
The real her.
The one she gets so busy taking care of everyone else that she forgets to take care of her too.
