For Stephanie

The air was cold. Not the kind of cold where your body was suddenly alive with energy and adrenaline. The kind that made you want to crawl under the covers forever. The painful kind that ruined your day before you had hardly opened your eyes. The kind that if you were to stub your toe on anything, it would feel like the most painful thing you had ever experienced. The air was bitter cold and thin, the kind that hurt your chest when you inhaled and made you gasp for more involuntarily, knowing full well it would hurt worse than the first breath. It was 3am. Freezing cold. A slow draft moved through the crowded room as dark moon-lit shadows danced through the partially closed blinds and onto the bed where a single, huddled body laid. He had, once again forgotten to close the window long after his company had packet and left, but he was blissfully unaware of the poor conditions he would awaken to since he was in such a deep slumber. 

When he finally woke, it was not from his brain turning on, but rather fear jolting his body upward as a loud crash came from outside his window. His eyes were wild with panic as he tried to process what the sound was and where it came from. Without thinking, he opened the blinds and starred out the ratty and ripped screen as a subtle wind threw rain droplets onto his face. Still not fully awake, he slammed the window shut with an ungodly amount of aggression and let out a heavy sigh as he watched white light split the sky into jagged puzzle pieces. Shivering, he pulled a blanket around his body as he leaned his elbow on the windowsill. He pushed away the smallest blonde curls off his forehead as his negative energy slowly drained from his body as he watched water droplets dribble down the screen and off the lip of the roof. Letting out a softer sigh, he smiled slightly, bobbing his head gently back in forth to a song that had been stuck in his head for who knows how long. 

Turning his body slightly, he saw the red numbers 3:12 staring back at him in the dark. He weighed his options. Tomorrow, or actually today, was Saturday. His first official day off in nearly a month. The thought of curling back up in his sheets and blankets and sleeping the day away seemed like the perfect dream. But his wide awake mind made him wonder if he would actually sleep, or lie there for hours, lost in an endless cycle of thoughts he didn’t really want to think. He wondered, for a moment, if there were other options than this. Looking at his door, in his delirious fog of grogginess, he remembered that he no longer would disturb anyone by moving around the house at night. For the first time in nearly three decades, he lived alone. Turning back to the rain, rather than dwelling on that fact, he decided that maybe it was time to take advantage of it. The ability to do what he wanted, to be a good kind of selfish, and do what he wanted in that moment. 

Sliding out of bed, he shivered and quickly put on a plush robe that he had received as a gift, but had long forgotten to whom it was from. He closed the small distance between his bed and the door and quietly pulled it open and slipped through the small opening and shut the creaking door behind him. His footsteps echoed off the walls and all around him as he shuffled down the long hallway, and down the staircase. He stared at the dark living room to his right and then the grand doorway that led outside in front of him. Rather than turning on lights, he left it dark as he made his way into the kitchen. Lightning lit up the room for a single second before thunder clashed above his head nearly a second later, shaking the ground and walls around him. The rain had progressed from a soothing trickle to an aggressive pounding against the sliding glass door that faintly glowed in the kitchen's corner. When he made his way over to the sink, he flicked on the switch, and a warm toned light exploded above him. He saw the few dirty dishes in the sink, and although his brain was buzzing, his body was still tired, so tired that the idea of cleaning a few dirty bowls seemed unbearable. 

He knew that to keep himself awake, he would have to find something to do soon, otherwise he would have no other choice but to drag himself back into bed and be lost in his own maze of thoughts. Food or beverage didn’t seem appealing in the slightest and neither did television. He leaned against the counter, stumped, without a clue of what his next move should be. Mindlessly, he began searching through the cupboards, hoping to find something other than bowls, plates, and a useless china set they had received as an eloping gift from his parents. A sudden urge filled him to grab an armful of the assorted display wear and bring it all to the back patio and violently shatter each piece and stomp all over the broken disfigured pile. However, he knew that it would solve nothing and that he really held no negative feelings against the inanimate objects, therefore it would be a waste of energy, time, and money his parents had spent on something that, at the time, meant the world to them. 

With a heavy sigh, he moved to the lower cabinets, shuffling through the Tupperware containers, until his hand hit one that did not move back like the others. Bending down, he noticed this container was larger than the rest, covered in a sloppy, uneven coat of purple and glitter that winked back at him. He pulled the box out of the cabinet and onto the granite island that stood behind him. Running his hands over the textured top, he read the words ‘For Tammi only’ with several x’s and angry faces surrounding the words. His chest ached as he read the words, and for a moment, he thought he heard her voice ringing in his ears, warning him that the box was off limits for everyone but her. He snapped open the box and tossed the lid beside him. His eyes could hardly decide on what he should focus on. It was filled to the top with assorted art supplies, from brushes, watercolor, paper and more things he didn’t even know the names of. Tammi was an artist, as her brother and mother had been. It had always fascinated him what their little minds could think of and express with only a few brushes, colors, and a blank page. Perhaps tonight could be the night that he attempted to step out of himself and walk a mile in their creative shoes. 

Pulling out a paint set, a few brushes and a blank sheet of paper and moved himself to the empty dining room table. Before he sat down, he floated over to the sink and filled a glass to the top with tap water and placed it beside his paints, like he had seen his children and wife do before. Sitting down in the chair, he carefully took the brushes between his fingertips and dipped the tip of the brush in the water and traced it along the rim of the cup. He watched the droplets dribble down the sides, like the rain outside did. With a shaky hand, he dipped the brush in the bright blue paint and hovered it over his paper. The possibilities were endless, however his dull brain couldn’t imagine a single thing. A river, a mountain, the bottom of the ocean floor with thousands of creatures creeping along the floor. He turned his neck to look back out the sliding glass door and knew in an instant that it would be his muse. Studying the glass, the rain, the leaves outside and the moonlight, his confidence grew as he turned back to the page and began making swipes against the page. Something he could never quite describe took over him with each stroke, drip and swipe he made. The page morphed from nothing into a recreation of the scene in front of him. As he set the brush down, he studied the work. Although it was near the quality of a scatterbrained 4 year old, he was immensely proud of his creation. He finally felt as though he could relate on a new level to his family. 

He stretched his arms behind his back and let out a long, heavy yawn. He stared at the faded tile floors as he watched warm morning rays creep closer and closer to where he was seated. The rain had slowly subsided and all that was left were the small drops that fell down the saturated tree leaves and shimmering blades of grass. He stood from his seat and began placing the items back in their container, leaving only his creative creation out to dry. Stepping across the kitchen, he carefully placed the container back in its hiding spot, gently patting the top before closing the door. The stove clock read 6:45. He could hardly believe he had spent that long submerged in something he knew nearly nothing about. Finally, he felt tired, like at any moment he could collapse into a peaceful and heavy slumber. With another yawn, he made his way back to the stairs. He wrapped his hand around the railing and took a single step when there was a sudden knock at the front door. He whipped his head around and stared at the door for a moment, his heart beating out of his chest. 

“Daddy?” A small, muffled voice asked through the door. “Are you there?”