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He’s quick to dismiss his unfinished work and I sit down next to him on the empty stool. Unlike all the other children, he’s chosen to keep himself to himself for now. “Well, for an unfinished sculpture, it’s pretty amazing, Clayton. You have a talent by the looks of it.”
He gazes down at his candle holder and smiles. “Do you think so?”
I nod. “I really do, but I’m curious, what made you choose to make a candle holder out of everything else you could’ve picked?” He hesitates, looking around the room and shaking his head before looking back down and carving some more detail into the side. “There must be some reason, you can talk to me about anything.”
He starts picking the clay out from under his nails and shrugs so I decide it’s best to drop it.
“Ooohhh, did you make that, Clay? What is it?” Izzie sings in a sweet voice, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“It’s a candle holder. I’m finished now though, where do I put it?”
I point to the stand in the corner and he walks over to it.
“I want to make Clay another one next week. Can I?” she asks.
I smile. “Sure, but do you not want to make something you can take home for yourself?”
She thinks about what I’ve said for a moment, her face screwing up. “No, I want to make another candle holder so Clay can see.”
I frown. “What do you mean so he can see?”
She lowers her voice and leans into me. “Clay’s afraid of the dark. Daddy told me that there’s nothing to be scared of so I’m not, but Clay is.”
I nod at her, my mind working overtime at learning this tidbit of information. A plan starts forming and I look back down at Izzie. “Your daddy is right, there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it’s nearly time for your parents to pick you up, can you go and tidy your area please, Izzie?”
She skips back over to her bench as I clap my hands, gaining all of their attention. “I know up until now you’ve been allowed to experiment with all of the different tools, but next week I have a fun and special project for you all.” The speculations on what it can be start up and I have to whistle to get their attention again. “Quieten down, thank you. Can you all ask your parents or guardians to bring in an empty glass jar next week, please? Also, I want you all to start to think about what your special project will be for gallery night in three weeks. I want to do a group painting, but what it is is yet to be decided on, so have a think for me.”
They start talking between themselves again so I wait until the noise dies down to say, “Come on, guys, you know what time it is: paintbrushes and palettes need to go over to Jessica and Ben, paintings need to go on the drying rack, and the sculptures need to go over on the stand.”
The kids all band together to get everything tidied up in record time and Mom walks over to me. “What special project? Do you need me to bring in some extra jars in case some forget?”
I smile at her. “Good idea, thanks, Mom. We’re going to make firefly jars, just like Dad and I used to when I was a kid.”
Mom beams and nods, her eyes sparkling. “They’ll love that.”
I look over at Clayton helping his sister take off her coveralls and smile. I’m hoping he will.
Niall Horan—This Town
One Republic—Counting Stars
Owl City—Fireflies
The sound of children playing echoes around the expansive play park: laughter, cries of happiness and squealing. I smile and relish in the sounds as I look up at the bright blue sky that is dusted with clouds that look like big balls of fluff.
I watch them for a while, seeing them glide across and erupt into new shapes and figures. I lift my hand to shield my eyes as two clouds separate and the sun blinds me for a second before a cloud covers it slightly, giving me a brief reprieve.
Anyone else would only see the blue of the sky and the white of the clouds, but I see more than that. I see the different shades of blue, how it gets lighter the closer to a cloud it gets, slowly transitioning lighter and lighter until eventually it turns to white.
My mind starts to wander, remembering how I was taught to spot the shades and colors from something as simple as the sky. My eyes close slowly and my head leans back as I shuffle down the bench and stretch my legs out in front of me. Basking in the warmth and the sounds around me.
I can see her honey eyes now as if she’s right in front of me, watching the yellow swirls that run through them intently and change with each emotion that she feels.
I’ve never seen eyes like it before and the first time we met in college, even though she was one of the “poor scholarship” kids, I couldn’t deny the pull they had on me. The first time I saw her in the quad, everything slipped away and nothing else mattered. Then she covered me in paint—head to toe—when she tripped and dropped her box of art supplies. We stared at each other for what felt like hours but it was in fact only minutes. Her with a shocked, wide-eyed look and me with a smirk.
Her eyes were windows to her soul back then and I could always tell exactly what she was thinking from the color of her eyes. For weeks all we did was stare at each other and she would always break the stare first, a blush rising up her cheeks. Back then I had no idea what affect her eyes would have on me, it wasn’t until later that I realized how much they captivated me.
My favorite was when she would get mad: the green would brighten and look almost otherworldly. They’d darken as she calmed down, the yellow muting in color, just to pop to the surface again when she was happy or excited—which was a lot.
