Water Colors

"Are you going to just stay in your room forever?”

            I refused to answer.            

            “Do you like being alone?”

            I would have given anything to be alone at that moment.  Eventually I would reconsider that thought.

            “Fine, stay up there, alone!"

            She left me alone for the rest of the night, like any frustrated mother would.  She was mad at me for not wanting to help unpack.  I could not understand how she was seemingly happy as she busied herself downstairs organizing and cleaning in the kitchen; a foreign kitchen.  Not the place I licked spoons dripping with batter; not where my father taught me how to flip pancakes; not the kitchen I grew up in.  This was a foreign kitchen; a foreign home.

            Staring up at a new ceiling I tried to stop thinking about the lives we had left behind.  Trying to get comfortable in a new bed did not seem to be working.  I decided to distract myself by going out to see the town.  I pulled myself out of the strange bed, and left the room.  I walked down the new hallway and stairs quickly, trying to pretend I was in my old house.  My mom was placing my baby pictures on a large mantle in the middle of an open living room.  She was beaming over a picture of me with icing smeared across my face; I was reaching to return the favor to my father with a fist full of cake.  He was shrinking back, but laughing and smiling in a way that no one else could.  It was a perfect picture, taken at just the right moment.  She didn’t notice me there, so I cleared my throat.

            She looked up at me with steamy eyes and quickly wiped her tears.   “Oh, Kat. What is it, sweetie?”  I knew she was trying to hide the anguish in her voice.

            “Can I take a drive into town, see what it’s like?”

            “Do you want me to go with you?”

            “No, that’s okay. I’ll be back soon, I just want to take a look.” She looked hurt, but I wanted to be alone.  So I hugged her.  Wrapped in her arms, I knew this move was just as hard on her as it was on me.  She missed Daddy too.  Although I was too stubborn to admit it, I knew that moving out of our home was the best way to move on; for the both of us.  I let go of my mom, although I knew she wasn’t ready, turned away and left.

••••••

            I woke up the next morning with rays of sunlight, peeking through the open blinds, caressing my face.  It was early, but I got out of bed. It was a sleepless night anyway.  Yesterday’s trip to town was not very exciting.  There was not much to see.  The only thing that came out of it was some new paints from the local art supply store.

            After showering and getting dressed I went downstairs and into the kitchen.  My mother left a note on the counter.  “Went to store to stock the house, be back tonight.  Finish unpacking.”  I looked around the house; there were still mounds of boxes filling the living room and hallway.  Deciding to get it over with, I slowly unpacked each box of my belongings.  Putting my things into their new home made it all too real.    

After spending the entire morning and most of the afternoon putting together my room, I wanted to go outside for some fresh air.  Grabbing a backpack filled with my new painting supplies, I ventured out into the backyard.  I had yet to see this part of the house.  Directly on the other side of the back door was a wooden deck that stretched about thirty feet from the house.  Just beyond the deck were a few yards of grass which extended straight into the woods, there was no fence bordering our land.  I decided to explore the woods to find inspiration for my next painting.

There was a path leading from the edge of the wood that headed west.  It was not paved, but had been walked so many times that a rut led to its destination.  I followed the path but kept pausing to admire my surroundings. Encircling me were brightly colored flowers glittering like brilliant, iridescent gems in the sunlight.  Brightly colored birds crooning merry tunes floated above me in the foliage.  I followed the worn path through trees and weeds until I reached an open clearing.

A glorious sight stopped me in my tracks.  Leaves and lilies floated upon a still green pond, across a field of luscious grass in front of me.  An aged wooden bridge stretched across the water, looking as if it had grown from the very ground.  It had been painted white a long time ago, but only traces of the paint remained.  Surrounding the far end of the pond were tall willow trees whose graceful branches swayed in the warm summer wind.  Vibrant lavender plants framed a small stone path which wrapped around the pond all the way to the bridge.  Farther out past the bridge, where the trees parted, the sky faded to a soft pink crowded with pale blue clouds, gliding in the same direction as the tree limbs.  I could hardly believe such beauty existed in this world.

I walked up to the edge of the pond but kept my distance.  Embracing the fragrant breeze, I beamed at the pond, wondering what it would be like to submerge myself in the cool water.  But I knew I never would. I stared at my own reflection, locking my own gaze.  The glass surface acted as a mirror between me and me.  The late afternoon light and green hue of the pond gave my pale face a slightly eerie glow; the depth of the water making my dark hair and dark eyes look black as night.  

My concentration was broken when I heard a rustling sound from behind.  I turned to find myself alone in the empty haven.  I carefully inspected the trees and late sun shadows, but decided nothing was there.  Turning back around to glance at the sky, I realized that the sun was but a sliver on the horizon.  Not wanting to get stuck in the woods at night I decided to return home, but planned on returning the next day to begin my painting; I now had the perfect inspiration.  

I followed the trail back to my house and dropped my backpack by the back door.  My mother was standing in the kitchen taking cleaning supplies out of plastic shopping bags and putting them in the cabinets underneath the sink.  I helped her put things away while we discussed the day.  I decided not to tell her about the clearing, wanting to keep it my own.  We continued chatting about things we needed to buy and ways we needed to fix up the house over dinner; just mindless chatter.  Not long after dinner, I went to bed.  I was excited to return to the woods and find my little sanctuary again.  I had never seen anywhere so beautiful, not even in the movies.  Visualizing the glossy face of the pond, I fell asleep drifting in the gentle ripples of the surface.

I rose early the next morning.  After finding that my mother was again gone to get supplies for the house, I headed straight outside.  I strapped up my backpack and walked the beaten path through the trees, stopping to admire every flower as I would a prized jewel.  I finally reached the edge of the woods to find the water sitting perfectly still, just as it had the day before.  Nothing had changed, as if it were a painting.  It made time seem like a lie.  I still could not fathom the reality of the celestial haven that I had discovered.  Taking a moment to absorb the fantastic scenery, I wished I could stay there forever.

Picking a spot near the edge of the pond, I sat down in the luscious grass.  I pulled out my sketchbook, pastels, and paints.  For hours I sat gazing at each magnificent flower that floated upon the placid water, mixing together blues and greens to create the perfect shade of the water.  My fingers danced across the paper creating the scene in front of me, until the sun began to set and the sky began to blend into that soft pink color once again.  I united pinks and yellows to capture the moment and added faint strokes of the palest blue to achieve the delicate clouds that drifted in the sky.  It was the perfect touch to my master piece. 

As I was admiring my work, a contrasting breeze ruffled my hair.  I turned my cheek to find a small boy standing behind me, looking at my painting.  I had never seen such a child. He looked like a porcelain doll; ivory skin with a warm pink flush in his cheeks, topped with fine blonde hair.  His most striking feature was his eyes, they were the lightest blue I had ever seen; so clear and deep.  His eyes were penetrating; as if with one look, he stole all of my secrets.

I was so astonished to see him standing there, I almost forgot to speak.  

“Hi there,” I spoke softly, still bewildered. “What’s your name?”  He remained motionless.  He did not blink and he did not speak.  He only locked his gaze, which burned through me.

I spoke again.  “My name is Kathryn, but you can call me Kat. What is your name, sweetie?”  The boy maintained his scrutiny.  “Are you lost?”  After a moment, he shook his head.  He wasn’t lost, but he was communicating with me.  This was good, but what was he doing here alone in the woods?  He didn’t look scared or sad, but there was a wayward look in his eyes that I could not identify.  I reached to take his hand, but he pulled it back.  Looking away from me and back to my painting, he finally spoke.

“Sam.  My name is Sam.”  He said in a young voice.

I tried to make him smile, “Sam, that’s a nice name.”  It didn’t work.  He kept a straight face and a direct gaze at my painting.  “Do you like my picture?”  He hesitated, but nodded.

“Very much.”  He said softly.  He slowly reached for the book and I put it in his hands.  For the first time he almost smiled; the corners of his lips slightly began to rise.  “It is beautiful.”  His voice was naïve but his words wore wisdom far beyond his years.  He looked away from the book and met my eyes.  I smiled at him, wanting him to feel more comfortable.  I gestured for him to sit down, and he planted himself across from me in the grass.            

“I just moved into the house on the other side of the woods.”  I said, pointing behind myself in the direction of my house.  “Where do you live?”  He remained silent.  His focus shifted to the sunset peeking out between the trees.  His eyes followed the drift of the clouds.  I tried again, “Do you live around here?”  He paused for a moment, and then nodded.  He pointed behind him, the opposite way of my house.  I did not know there were homes in that direction.  I followed his gesture but could not see through the thick woods surrounding the clearing.  “Do your parents know you are out?”  Again, silent.  I was unsure of his age, but I knew he was too young to be in the woods alone.  It was getting late too. I began to pack up my supplies, “Well Sam, it is going to be dark soon. I think we should both go home. Don’t want to be stuck out here at night, right?”  His face hardened.  Without a word he stood and watched me pack my things.  When I stood in front of him, he had to completely throw his head back to meet my gaze.  He was far smaller than I realized.

For the first time, he spoke without my push.  “Will you come back tomorrow?”  He tried to hide the interest in his voice.

“That depends,” I had every intention of returning the next day, but I wanted to hear what he had to say.  “Do you want me to?”  I bent down to meet his focus.  The poor boy had such loneliness in his stare; not the usual whimsy found on the face of such a young child.  His eyes dropped, but he nodded.  He then immediately turned and began walking in the direction of where he lived.  I stood there motionless until I could no longer see him through the brush.

••••••

That night while trying to sleep, I could not get the small boy out of my mind.  I did not have much experience with children, but I knew it was strange for a young boy to be out on his own.  What was his story?  I was determined to befriend him and find out.  Tired from the day’s pursuits, I tunneled into my warm sheets, closed my eyes and waited for sleep to wash over me.

The next afternoon I ventured to meet Sam.  I did not know when to expect him, or if he would even show, but he had managed to pique my curiosity.  I pushed through the brush and finally found my beautiful retreat.  As I made my way closer to the pond, I saw a small form sitting on the bridge.  I made out Sam’s silhouette.  He was sitting in the middle of the structure swinging his feet, staring directly into the water.  He wore the same clothes as he had the day before.  I considered the possibility of him being a runaway, but quickly deduced that he was too young to survive alone.           

I walked to the edge of the pond where the bridge met the land and planted my feet firmly on the ground.  The bridge did not seem sturdy, and I wouldn’t take my chances over the dark water.

“Is something wrong?” Shocked to hear his voice, I quickly looked up at him.  I was not expecting him to speak to me so willingly.

I regained my composure, “Oh, no. No, nothing’s wrong.  I just don’t like water.”  I let out a meek little laugh. His gaze slightly intensified.  He pulled his legs onto the bridge and turned to face me.

“Really, why not?”  He stepped slightly closer.

“Well, I know it seems kind of silly, but I have always been afraid of drowning.  I never liked water.  I don’t even know how to swim.”  I knew he was intrigued and wanted me to continue.  “My dad tried to teach me when I was little, but I was too afraid.  I would always make a scene, so after a while he gave up.  I always had some desire to learn to swim, but the water seemed too unforgiving.”  I stopped my babbling, remembering I was talking to a young child. He smiled at me; a full smile. It was the first sign of happiness I had seen from him.  I smiled back, “What?”

“I can’t swim either.”  A small chuckle escaped my lips. This news did not surprise me because he was so young.  “But I am not afraid of the water anymore.”  He said; the smile vanished from his face.  He looked away from me and stared into the deep murk.  “I know it cannot hurt me.”  Such solemn words from such an innocent voice were disheartening, but I was glad that he was opening up to me.  It was nice to hear his honesty.

He came down off of the bridge and walked through the grass with me.  We sat down on a blanket I brought and just started to chat; it lasted for hours.  Talking with him was not like that of a normal young child; he knew things and seemed to understand life.  He knew how to speak, and he knew how to listen.  I was never bored or uninterested in his conversation, because he was surprisingly intellectual.  I told him a lot about myself and my life, but he remained secretive about his own.  We chattered until it was almost dark and time to leave.  I said goodbye to the boy, and we both turned and left.  From that day forward we had an unspoken understanding; we would come to this spot and meet each other almost every afternoon that summer.

We spent our days lying in the soft grass looking up at those beautiful blue clouds, talking about life.  I would show him my art, and he would sometimes watch me paint.  I grew a special love for Sam.  I thought of him like a little brother, but at times he seemed far wiser than me.  When we talked I tried to learn more about him, but he did not reveal much about his own life.  I did manage to learn small things about him.  He was seven years old, loved baseball, didn’t enjoy large groups of people, and once had a dog named Grey.  When I asked him personal questions he would fall silent, but Sam seemed healthy and happy when he was with me, so I tried not to pry.

Things at home were good too.  My mom and I were putting the house together very nicely.  It was no longer a foreign structure, but rather a place I felt comfortable calling my home.  I could tell that she was starting to be happy again.  I think she was glad that I was going out, and making friends.  I never actually told her that my only friend was a seven year old boy I met in the woods; she was happy, so I left it alone.

One lazy afternoon in August, Sam was pacing the stones bordering the pond and I was sketching some of the flowers that surrounded us.  He stopped pacing and turned to watch me sketch.

“Kat,” he had no problem speaking to me now.  His voice was something I was used to, and enjoyed hearing.

“Hmm?”  I put down my book and turned to face him.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”  He gestured to my book.  “Can you teach me to be an artist like you?”  He gave me a half smile.

I smiled up at him.  “Of course, I’d be happy to.”  I looked up at the sun.  It was rapidly shrinking between the trees and night was quickly approaching.  “I’ll tell you what, it’s getting late.  Why don’t we start tomorrow?  This way, we’ll have plenty of time.”  His smile grew and he nodded.

••••••

The next afternoon I went to the clearing with my art supplies, as promised.  When I finally stepped passed the brush I did not see Sam.  This was unusual; he was always there before me.  I walked towards the pond and stopped in the middle of the field, dropping my things on the ground.  I lay down and stretched out in the soft grass to wait. Watching the delicate clouds float by, I thought of Sam’s eyes.  They were the same distinct pale blue; so gentle, but so strong.  I wondered what he would do in the fall when I started school and I could not see him every day.  I supposed he got along without me in the past and would be able to in the future, but he had become such a big part of my life.  I closed my eyes and breathed in the warm afternoon glow, allowing the music of the birds to lull me into complete peace.  Immersed in tranquility, I let go and let the peace take over me.

••••••

An icy breeze woke me.  I opened my eyes, but it was still dark.  I was completely surrounded by blackness.  I turned my head to see the bright light of the moon, fragmented by the limbs of tall trees, like disfigured, sickly hands.  A silver mist smothered the pond.  The usually vibrant lilies now looked like bones; stark white, jagged, and jutting out of the dark water.  The pond looked black and unforgiving; the water, foreboding and motionless.  Its depth seemed infinite.  Branches on the willow trees swung like lifeless limbs in the vicious breeze.  A menacing wind picked up, blowing right through me and I began to shiver.  My breathing was getting heavy.  I slowly rose off my back and wrapped my arms around my knees.  I was too cold and scared to run home.  The sound of shuffling papers startled me.  There by the edge of the pond, sat Sam with his back facing me.  He was looking through my sketchbook.

“Sam?” It came out as barely a whisper. He closed the book and slowly turned towards me.  The ominous moon shined light on his small face, hiding his eyes in deep shadows.  He smiled and came closer.

“Kat, I’m glad you’re awake.”

“What’s going on? Why didn’t you wake me up?”  I wrapped my arms tighter around myself; my shivering was becoming more intense.

“I’m sorry Kat.  You looked so peaceful; I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you.”  He came closer to me. I took a deep breath to relax and stood up.  Sam looked up at me, still smiling.  “Thank you for waiting for me this afternoon.”

“Don’t mention it.” I was slightly irritated, but still a little fearful.

“Please don’t be mad at me Kat.  I’m sorry,” He paused for a moment.  “Let me show you something.”

“Sam, I need to go-”

“Kat please, just let me show you first.”  I let out a sigh, but followed him to my sketchbook which was on the ground near the edge of the pond.  He picked up the book, flipped to the last page, and turned it towards me.  He had painted a picture of the bridge and pond, like I had.  But his picture was of the night.  Even though I was frightened and upset, I couldn’t help but laugh.  The sloppy, unsure strokes across the page reflected Sam’s age for the first time since I had met him.  He examined my face and was pleased to see me smile. 

“Kat before you leave, I just want to ask you something.”  He looked away from me and stared into the water. “Am I your friend?”

“Of course you are Sam, don’t be ridiculous.  You know that.”  I stepped closer to the pond so I could see Sam’s face, but he turned away.  “You are very special to me.”

“You are my best friend, Kat.”  He dropped to his knees and ripped the petals off a lily, tossing them onto the water, barely rippling the surface.  “I get very lonely sometimes.  But when you come here to see me, I feel so happy.” I dropped to my knees beside him, at the very edge of the water.  The sinister mist wrapped its grasp around my bare legs.   

             “Don’t be lonely, Sam.  I’m here for you.”

“For now.  But I want you to stay with me forever.”  He turned his face to me; his eyes were glowing in the milky light.

“Sam, I…”  I didn’t know what to say.  He looked so hurt.  “I will always be your friend.”

Something flickered in his eyes.  “Forever?”

“Forever.”

Before I could realize what was happening, Sam stood and used all his weight to push me.  I fell straight into the water, smacking my head against the sharp rocks.  Within seconds, my Utopia quickly changed into my most hopeless nightmare.  I sank rapidly, thrashing and kicking and gasping for air, only to be penetrated by a rush of freezing water.  The cold was relentless and the darkness was never ending.  My body was failing me; my vision began to fade.  Everything was black.  An overwhelming pressure attacked my chest.  The darkness was pressing in on me from all sides until it shattered me completely.  As my body sank closer to the bottom, I saw a glimmer of white reflecting the moon’s light; the bones of a small child protruding from the inescapable murk.  My last breath finally gave out and the water began to settle.

Sam stood at the skirt of the water, watching the last ripples begin to smooth; the surface returned to glass. Shimmering tears streamed down his face and into the black, lifeless water.  His eyes followed, as it sealed my body into its eternal grave.  Sam’s sorrow was only pardoned with relief.  He smiled knowing that he had me forever. 

Reviews

[Atram Dace]

I enjoyed the story, and enjoyed the ending very well. I liked how the atnosphere had an atmosphere of good tranquility where it will be a story about two new friends. Though, I knew that the boy was not entirely human, his intention and the act of drowning the character was a big surprise. I liked how you manage to hide this shadow from the reader, enough to fool the reader that this story would have ended in a positive note.

If thereś anything to improve, maybe you mgiht try to add a few doubts and suspiscions from the protagonist because in the story she seemed willing. Also for the ending paragraph, you mgiht add a few doubts and fears from her like on how her mother would react or so on.

[Melissa Morello]

Thanks, I'm glad you liked it. I appreciate the suggestions, I have written and rewritten this story many times and am always looking for ways to improve it.