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Just like I always did, I completely lost myself in the painting. Had anyone asked me how long I had been bringing my brush to the canvas and letting my emotions bleed out onto it, I wouldn’t have been able to so much as guess.
All that I knew was eventually, I began to notice the tingling in my spine and tailbone and the cramping in my fingers from sitting for too long.
I sat back on the stool, staring at my progress and determining that it was as good of a place as any to stop for the night.
I stretched out my fingers, massaging some of the kinks out of them before standing and stretching my back.
Finally, with a slight sense of dread, I glanced at the clock on the wall.
Surprise flickered through me when I realized it was only 8:30PM. I hadn’t spent as long painting as I had thought, and it looked like it would be a relatively early night.
I congratulated myself internally as I walked through the gallery, turning off the lights and finishing up closing before grabbing my bag, slipping on my commuter tennis shoes, and heading out the door, setting the alarm as I went.
The sights and sounds of Brooklyn in late November rushed up to greet me.
A man elbowed past me as he rushed forward to hop into the cab he had called, pulling the door shut behind him with a snap.
A cool breeze stirred the loose strands of my hair, and a chill broke out over my skin, causing me to tug my coat around me a little more tightly.
I made my way toward the subway, the crackling of fallen leaves under my feet and the noises of the city my only company until I finally descended the steps of the metro.
Once I boarded the car, I took a seat and pulled out a book. The ride from Brooklyn to Queens didn’t take long, but it was always something that I used as a little bit of “me” time.
A half an hour in the morning and at night each day where I could guarantee a little time to read and tune out the world around me.
Just as the book was getting good, right when the heroine finally dared to kiss the man who had rescued her, the train pulled into the terminal where I needed to get off.
I placed my bookmark between the pages and stuffed it back in my bag just as the doors to the train car opened.
Myself and a few other people poured out of it, and we walked through the terminal as a group. The sounds of our footsteps echoed off the concrete as we ascended the stairs, and the moment I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I ducked my head, making a beeline for my apartment as quickly as possible.
I’d lived in Queens long enough that I’d become all but blind to what others would call defects but I call charms.
The graffiti art on some of the brownstones.
The holes in the fence that circle the school.
I passed the bodega closest to my apartment, spying the old man that ran it sweeping the floor through the windows as I walked by. He glanced up and saw me, giving me a quick nod before returning to his business.
No pomp.
No frills.
No forced politeness. Precisely as I liked it.
When I finally reached my building, I paused only long enough to unlock the front door and walk in.
The overhead light in the entryway was still flickering, and I made a mental note to call the line for maintenance…again.
I could hear the kids in the unit to my right yelling as they played. A common sound in this building.
As I walked up the creaky stairs to the third floor, I stopped on the landing, listening to see if I heard anything from behind the door across from mine.
The sound of Lex’s TV on at full blast floated out of it, and I smiled, glad to hear she was home.
When I turned my attention back to the door of my apartment, something I hadn’t noticed just a second before grabbed my attention. A folded-up piece of paper was taped to my front door, just below eye level. My brow furrowed in confusion as I reached up to tug it off, wondering what it could be.
For a split second, the thought crossed my mind that it might be from my mother or my brother, and a small kernel of dread darted into my stomach. But I shook it off.
