The Secret Masterpiece

Left stroke here, then up and down and slowly...twirl.

I sigh in relief having ultimately completed my masterpiece. However, the sight I take in is nothing short of a crime scene; chunky splatters of red merge as one with a sickly shade of green. It was hideous to say the least. A face! I was only but attempting to paint a simple yet beautiful face. In turn; some species of Ogre greets me with unsymmetrical and frankly quite lopsided features on the now ruined canvas.

Why? Why did I struggle so much with something that came only so naturally to others? All I wanted was a spark of creativity that I lacked so apparently, that anyone who caught sight of my works would ask if my four-year-old brother had been the one to paint it. At this rate, he would become even better than I could ever hope to be.

Usually I am quite talented in many areas, even the things I don’t know how to do at the beginning; I rapidly learn to perfect them in no time at all. That is why this is bugging me so fiercely, I could not for the life of me figure out how to paint anything that didn’t make someone want to run to the nearest restroom.

Cleaning the brushes with an anger lacing my movements, I suddenly hear the door to the classroom squeak open, footsteps clicking repetitively behind me.

“Still in here are we? I thought you would have found a better way to pass your free time by now.” A voice so familiar that it haunted my dreams; echoed throughout the empty room sprinkled with whimsical and wonderful pieces of artwork that I was evidently extremely envious of.

I roll my eyes and swivel to meet his gaze, “I don’t like to give up on everything so quickly, unlike you; I persevere. I will get better just you wait and see, Winton.” I spit his name, my patience wearing so thin, it could compete with a needle.

Trying to appear calm and in control all the time grew so tiresome sometimes that I threatened to break the charade, but no one was allowed to know that I felt vulnerable at times, that would puncture a hole inside me. Therefore, I had to prove my strength and present an image of solidarity.

I, Kailee Sailor, will conquer painting and I will be absolutely fantastic when I do so!

“I guess I should expect nothing less from you. Will you perhaps allow me to help you?” He begins rolling his white sleeves as I gape at him with grand uncertainty.

On what Earth did Winston Green try to ‘help’ me (or any other living being for that matter) in anything. It was only fact that Winston lived by ‘every man for himself’ and that is why no one could blame me for my skepticism.

I puff out an audible breath and approach him with a clean, wet brush, anticipating for him to make a fool out of himself just as I had done for my own person-on several accounts. His eyes flicker with either amusement or some other type of joy that I can’t particularly pinpoint.

To my surprise, he does not grab the brush out of my grasp but instead covers my left hand with his own.

I freeze frigidly to my spot, unknowing and quite possibly dreading what is to occur next.

Winston suddenly undertakes the task of moving our hands across the blank canvas before us. I can do nothing but watch intently as I feel his fingers tighten around mine and I am now too aware of how close we are, a panic shoots up my spine. The snake that I usually locate slithering around Winston’s eyes; begins navigating it’s way around my body and causing me to shiver uncontrollably, but I attempt to hide my discomfort as well as I can possibly muster.

Calm down Kailee, he’s merely teaching you how to paint you idiot! I scold myself into relaxation and once more my focal point is on the strokes of the brush being fluently lead by our conjoined hands.

After a few seconds more, he halts, drops the thin, coated brush and steps away from me.

Staring down at the painting, I gasp. This is truly what I would proudly label: a piece of art. Vibrant blues that indicate the sky and yellows so sharp, the flowers appear almost real-almost like I can pluck one from the lush grass he painted. It was a breathtaking sight and made me see an entirely different version of Winston Green.

I centre my entire attention on him and breathe out, “Please, teach me how you did that.”

A laugh stumbles from his lips and he pushes back his straight blond hair from his dark eyes. “Fine.” He shrugs arrogantly and I almost retract my favour right at that very moment.

Grabbing my shoulders he pushes me towards a new fresh canvas and sits me on a stool.

“Firstly, I’ve seen how you hold your brush, and might I just say: it is simply...horrifying.” I didn’t want to agree but honestly, I had to. My technique was so off but I was so used to wanting to do things on my own and not accepting any type of help whether it be from a friend or foe, there was no room for improvement as I did not let guidance in.

I nudge him anyway and he grunts from the impact, causing a laugh to filter from my mouth this time round.

“Sorry.” I grin and gesture for him to continue.

I spend the rest of that evening either cursing Winston or being thoroughly impressed by his talent. And even though he made sure to mention that I had made no progress whatsoever today, in my heart I knew this was a step in the correct direction.

A step towards my own masterpiece that people would take their time to pause and admire, allowing them to conjure a memory relating to the image I have bestowed upon them, or even just merely giving it a subtle glance and thinking it were something somewhat beautiful.