Mama's Paints

I’ve always loved painting. There’s just something about the creative spirit that comes with making something totally new and unique that I live for, even if it’s tried to kill me more than once before.

I was thirteen the first time it happened. I was sitting in my moms old art room working on a project for art class while on a video call with my best friend, Elizabeth, Eliza for short. We were working on the same project. All we had to do was make an art piece depicting some type of pollution in the world. I chose to paint the impact of plastic in the ocean and Eliza picked to make a paper mache sculpture of trash washing up on the beach.

“How can you just paint the way you do? I could never do that.” Eliza complained. 

I chuckled at her frustration. “I guess I was just born that way. My mom was a painter, I just ended up like her.”

“I’m still jealous.” Eliza groaned, crumpling up another newspaper. “I wish I could paint like you could, Embry. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this paper and glue. It’s so hard.”

“Do I have to remind you that it was your choice? No one forced you to do paper mache.” I could barely talk, I was trying so hard to hold back my laughter.

Eliza scoffed. “Do I have to remind you that I can’t draw?”

“How could I forget?” I said through crooked breaths. “It’s not everyday you meet someone who struggles to draw stick figures.”

Eliza laughed behind an eye roll. “Whatever.” I glanced over at my computer screen to see her aggressively rubbing her paper ball against the glue stick in her hand. She looked angry.

I chuckled to myself and turned back to my painting. My mom would’ve been so proud of it. I had modeled it off of one of hers. I painted a turtle in the center of the canvas with a six-pack ring around its neck. It was nearly finished, I was just working on putting the finishing touches on the sides. Extra lights on the coral and bubbles in the back. I wanted every little detail to be perfect.

“I don’t get why we still have to be in art classes.” Eliza complained. “Like, we are in the eighth grade. We are basically adults. Why are we forced to be in these dumb electives we don’t even want?”

“I enjoy the class, and the teacher is quite knowledgeable.” I acted like I didn’t care how upset she was just to hide my laughter. “I don’t know what you are complaining about.”

“I’m complaining because I’m going to be a lawyer when I grow up, not an artist like you.” She groaned. “I just find these dumb classes so trivial and ridiculous and I don’t want to partake in them anymore.”

Snap. I was so focused on Eliza’s shouts, I hadn’t even realized that I was pressing my paintbrush into the easel below my painting and it had snapped in half. 

“Are you okay?” Eliza asked, looking straight into the camera at me. “I heard something snap.”

I took a deep breath and put my paintbrush down on the table in front of my tablet. “I’m fine. My paintbrush just broke. Nothing serious.”

“Okay.” Elixa shrugged and went back to her project.

I looked through all of my spare paintbrushes for another thin one like the one I had been using. Nothing even came close. I turned around and glanced over my mom’s shelves of art supplies. I hadn’t dared touch them after her passing, I couldn’t bring myself to. Her art was so important to her and she had always taken such good care of her stuff. I couldn’t bear to ruin any of her things.

But, I had to make sure this project turned out perfect. I couldn’t let her down, especially when it came to painting. She probably wouldn’t have minded if I used just one paintbrush, right?

I decided to take a small box of paint brushes off the shelf and started sifting through it to find the little brush I needed. Nothing. I put it back exactly where I had found it and pulled out the one next to it. All thick brushes. Next one. Too thin. Next one. All scrapes. Next one. Perfect. I finally found the brush I needed.

I pulled it out of the bin and put the bin back on the shelf. I didn’t want to disturb my mom’s stuff more than I absolutely had to.

“Ooh, you got a new paintbrush.” Eliza gushed.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s one of my mom’s. I just have to finish this project and I doubt my dad would be willing to take me to the store to get a new brush at this hour.”

“True, true.” Eliza agreed. “Just don’t break your mom’s brush. You don’t want to have an angry ghost haunting you for the rest of eternity.”

I just laughed her comment off. Ghosts weren’t real. The only thing that would be haunting me would be the guilt from breaking my mom’s paintbrush. I carefully wet the tip of the brush and started painting. I had used oil paints for the base and major details, but for the finishing touches, I was using watercolor to give it more of an underwater or oceanic vibe.

I dipped the wet paintbrush into the blue paint, wiped it off slightly on my paper towel, and connected the brush to the canvas.

A woosh of air consumed me and everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was under water. I could barely see anything and my eyes burned from the salt. I pushed my hands down and kicked my feet as hard as I could to reach the surface of the water.

I took a deep breath when I finally reached the top. I didn’t know what happened or where I was. I wiped the salt out of my eyes as best as I could and looked around. There was no land anywhere around. Just water and more water. And, my arms were getting tired from treading. I was not an athletic person, I was an artist.

All of a sudden, I felt something rough and slimy pass by my foot. I splashed around in fear, trying to get it away when it popped its head up out of the water.

It was a huge sea turtle with algae all over its back. It looked exactly like the turtle in my painting. It came right up to me and nuzzled its head against my chest. I carefully wrapped my arm around its back and scratched behind its ear. It seemed to enjoy that. 

I felt something between the folds of its neck. I got my fingers around it and pulled it through the folds. It was a ring of plastic that was shaking the poor turtle, just like in my painting.

This didn’t make sense. It was like I had been transported into my painting. It didn’t make sense. The only explanation was magic, but it couldn’t have been.

“My mom was a witch.” I whispered into the sea air. It was the only explanation. My moms paintbrush must’ve been magically cursed and I was now trapped because of it. “What do I do? I didn’t mean to upset my mom by using her paintbrush. I just needed to finish my painting.”

The turtle nudged its head closer to me, bucking to try and get out of the plastic ring on its neck.

“You’re right.” I took a deep breath. “I might be stuck here, but that doesn’t mean I have to just wallow in my misery. I can still make a difference in this world.” I pulled my fingers through the plastic ring again and used my other hand, which had still been treading water by that point, and ripped the ring off its neck.

The turtle was overjoyed that I had saved it from the six-pack plastic ring. It ducked under the water, stranding me again, and then came up underneath me so I was sitting on it’s back.

“Thank you so much.” I whispered into its ear. “I’m glad I’m not stuck out here alone. It’s nice to have some company, even if you can’t speak to me.”

The turtle turned his head and smiled at me. And then, everything went black again.

I opened my eyes and I was laying on my back on the floor of my moms art studio. I quickly sat up and took account of all of myself, head to toe. I was all in one piece but I was also soaking wet. My hair was crunchy and full of salt. But I was alive and I was back home. That is all that mattered.

“Hey, Earth to Embry! Are you alive?” I heard Eliza’s voice crack through the room with static embedded in her words. 

“Eliza!” I shouted, launching up to my feet. “I’m here, I’m good.”

Eliza sighed. “Good. I was so worried when your internet cut out. I couldn’t bring myself to end the call without knowing if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” I promised. “Just fine.”

We ended the call a couple minutes later. I never told her about what happened. At first, I thought it was just a dream. But, then, it happened again. And again. And again. Time after time after time I was sucked into my paintings just because I used my moms art supplies.

The second time was a borrowed canvas I had used to do a jungle painting. I was almost mauled by a tiger and even ended up with a couple scratches down my arm when I came back from trying to save said tiger from poachers. The third trip was because I borrowed a sponge to finish an abstract art piece. I ended up having to escape an abstract puzzle while turning into another piece of the painting. Thankfully, I went back to normal after I came back from the paint realm. 

The fourth time was even more bizarre. It was a paper mache project, similar to what Eliza had done for that pollution project. The project in question was to make a model of an ancient city completely out of newspaper and paint. Unfortunately for me, the cities were assigned and I got Pompeii. The volcanic city wasn’t difficult to make out of the paper I had, but at the end of my project I had run out of the gray paint I was using for the mountainside. I borrowed a tube from my moms reserve and all of a sudden I was in the city just before the eruption.

I managed to make it out without being seriously injured but I did end up with an ugly burn mark on my arm that still has never gone away.

The one thing I noticed was similar through all of my borrowing attempts was that I was always sucked into the painting when I was nearing the end of my project. I mean, I know that when I borrowed the paintbrush and the tube of paint I was nearing the end of my projects all together, but the canvas and the sponge I borrowed long before I was done but still got pulled in at the very end.

That nugget of knowledge was all I needed to figure out how I was going to stop this curse all together. I mean, I was 18. I was more than responsible enough to take care of my moms things, but I didn’t know how to break the curse.

But I knew who did.

“So, tell me what you are doing again.” Eliza prodded. “I really don’t understand your plan of action here.”

Eliza just kept bugging me for information once I accepted her facetime call. She just wanted company while she studied for the LSAT.

I sighed. “I coaxed my dad to give me an old photo of my mom and I’m going to recreate it using her old oil paints as a gift for my dad since their anniversary is coming up soon.” I explained for the hundredth time. I left out the fact that I was pretty sure I would be transported into the painting once I was close to being done.

I had done my best to make my painting look as close to the photo of my mom as possible. If this was going to work, it had to be perfect. One little difference, and my whole plan would fall apart.

“I just don’t get it.” Eliza groaned.

“You don’t get what? My choice of art or your law test?” I joked. Eliza rolled her eyes at me. “I don’t get your choice of major but you don’t see me groaning about it.”

It made me so happy that Eliza was still willing to put up with me after so many years of being friends. We were even planning on going to the same college, if I could pull this off and she could pass the LSAT.

After hours of work, my masterpiece was finally done. Her beautiful auburn hair and hazel, almond eyes. Her full lips and rosy cheeks. And of course, her gentle smile that she was known for. She had splatters of paint on her cheeks and shoulders and was sitting on the same stool painting a bowl of oranges, in the same way I was painting her portrait on that stool using the same easel.

It worked. Everything went black and I was sucked into the painting and right back into the room I was just in. I had landed on my back once again. It kind of hurt this time around.

“Whoa. It worked.” A voice that was not my own called out. I sat up, a jolt of pain flooding through my body, and I turned to the source of the voice. “It’s great to see you again, Embry.”

It was my mom, exactly as I had painted her. She was healthier than I ever remembered her being. The last memories I had of her were when she was in the hospital, hooked up to machines and tubes that were keeping her alive. It was so nice to see her in her prime.

“Mom, I missed you so much.” I said with a joyous smile, pushing myself off the floor to my feet. “Again? What do you mean?”

My mom laughed. “You never questioned why you would fall into your paintings after you used my things?”

“I just thought you had cursed them to keep anyone from taking your things.” I admitted.

She laughed even harder. “Oh no, that was an unintended side effect.” She stood up from her stool and walked over to me, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I put the spell on my supplies for this exact reason. I wanted you to use them, in hopes that, one day, you would paint me when I was healthy and I would get to see you again.”

I smiled at her sentiment. “That means a lot to me, mom.”

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t get to watch you grow up.” Tears started falling down her face. “If I could’ve gone right up to God’s face and told him I refused to die until you were older, I would’ve done that and then some. But, I was so helpless. All I could do was curse my stuff and hope you would find your way back to me one day.”

“I don’t care, mom. I get to be with you now, that’s all that matters.” I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed. I was trying so hard to keep the tears from streaming down my face. “And, I can come visit you all the time. I just need to add a few more details onto this painting I just made and I’ll come right back here to see you.”

She slowly released herself from my grasp and shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that, Embry.” She said in a somber tone. “You can’t just add to a painting you’ve already visited. You have to start a fresh one every time.”

“Then I’ll do that. I’ll have a whole collection of portraits of you, mom.” I could no longer keep the tears at bay. “I’ve gone 15 years without a mom there for me. I won’t lose you again.”

“I know, honey. And you won’t lose me.” She assured me. “Just keep painting and you will never lose me. I’ll always be here for you. In your talent, in your artistic spirit, and in your determination. That’s all me, helping you grow to be the best that you can be.”

I could feel the darkness closing in. I was going back. No, it was too soon. I had so many things I still wanted to say. I pulled myself tighter to her chest, refusing to let go. “I love you so much, mom.”

She cradled my head in her chest as I sobbed. “I love you too, Embry. More than you will ever know.”

And I was back in the real world, sitting on my stool, tears still streaming down my face. I looked up and saw my beautiful moms face smiling back at me. I made a silent promise right then and there to see her as often as I could.

“Hey, are you good?” Eliza asked, clearly impatient. “Your signal went out again.”

“Yeah.” I smiled back at my mom’s portrait. “I’m perfect.”