Evie's Day

One

Evie hasn't had a true day off since she was 14 years old.

Today is her only day off from the diner this week so instead of waking up at her usual 4:00AM, she lets herself sleep in. Her eyes don't open until 11:00AM. Evie reaches for her phone and yanks it from the charging cable. She opens up her email and sees she had two new orders to complete.

She rolls and stretches as she stands up from her pathetic nest on the floor. Evie hasn't slept on anything more than an old mattress since she spent a year in multiple foster homes as a child. At this point, she is familiar with an achy back from the concave, worn out pad.

Her room is a wreck, but she easily overlooks the mess. She thinks the large piles of dirty clothes are normal. She doesn't mind the cups of stagnate water or curdled milk balancing on stacked plates that collect on available surfaces and on the floor surrounding her bed. There is a layer of dust covering everything including the walls. The carpet is visibly dirty, but Evie doesn't know it is supposed to be beige and not dull gray. She's nose-blind to the strong odor from grime which fills the entire house from years of neglect.

But how could you expect a neglected child to know how to clean a neglected house?

Except she really isn't a child anymore. She turned twenty in September, but flowers don't grow in mud.

Evie pads past heaps of clothes, trash, and plates and goes down the stairs. The mess is consistent throughout the house. The carpet stairs should have been replaced 5 years ago and the railing is loose on the wall, but Evie nor her mom, Kathy, know how to fix something like that.

The kitchen is located at the bottom of the stairs, through an archway. It's Evie's least favorite room in the house. The oven covered in old mail and used napkins is a blatant fire hazard, but Evie nor Kathy ever use it; Evie out of raw fear and Kathy simply was never one to cook an actual meal, she just survives on take-out and alcohol.

Since the fire over a decade ago, Evie isn't even sure the stove still works. She can still smell the smoke in the air and feel the heat on her cheeks...

Evie is efficient in the kitchen, never spending more time in here than she needs to. She keeps a square foot of counter clear so she can prepare something and retreat to her bedroom as quickly as possible.

The kitchen is filled with more than just trash and rotting food; it is where the ghosts of her family members live. The thundering of her parents fighting echo against the walls and shattering plates ring in Evie's ears. She also feels the chilling presents of her dead brother immortalized at the age of three. His visits renew her with fresh guilt and grief.

Evie rushes to combine cereal and milk in the first Tupperware container she lays her hand on and she rips a plastic spoon from its package. She flees the tomb of her brother and climbs the stairs two at a time.

She makes a pit stop in the bathroom. There she rests her bowl on the side of the sink and she turns to the coffee pot. At least she is aware that a coffee pot in the bathroom is a little odd. Still, it is convenient and there is more counter space here than in the haunted kitchen. She cleans the filter and rinses the pot, then fills the water reservoir. She takes the ground coffee from under the sink and she carefully measures two scoops. Then she clicks the button.

On her short walk to her bedroom, she shovels cereal into her mouth. She places the bowl on the windowsill next to her chair and searches for a used mug among papers and pencils. She rinses it in the sink as the coffee pot spits out the last of the mud brown water.

When she returns to her room, she settles into her spot by the window and covers herself in a quilt blanket. The quilt was a gift from one of her foster moms who was concerned about Evie returning to Kathy; she was right to be worried. Evie uses the blanket more than the heat is turned on. Kathy never allows the heat to be on unless absolutely necessary to keep the pipes from freezing. Too expensive, she says each New England winter. Evie relishes when the radiator next to her chair kicks on to keep her warm as she watches snow fall outside, the world hushed.

However, red and yellow leaves still cling to the trees and the heater is not going to warm up anytime soon despite the steadily dropping temperatures.

While Evie devours the rest of her cereal, she checks her email again for the order details. A four by four inch canvas with a monochromatic bumblebee and an eleven by fourteen inch canvas portrait. The smaller canvas will obviously take less time, but Evie needs to start the base layer of the bigger painting and allow it to dry.

All of her paintings for sale online hung like a gallery on her walls. This particular painting is one of her favorites and it hung in the center of the wall in front of her. Evie calls her Nevaeh (Heaven spelt backwards) and she is beautiful. She is visible from her bust up, ink-black hair cascading around her slender shoulders. As if looking at her enemies off canvas with grace and dignity, her eyes bright with strength. A look Evie feels incapable of wearing herself.

Evie gathers her supplies on the table to her left — the canvas, bottles of paint, a paint pallet, a mason jar filled with clean brushes, a cup of fresh water, and a rag — and she begins mixing a blue as dark as the night sky for the background. She uses her largest brush to cover the entire canvas.

When she is done, she places it flat on the floor to dry. While acyclic paint dries quickly, Evie will need to put it to the side multiple times to build layers and depth with color.

Nevaeh has taught Evie a lot about the beauty in patience.

Evie gets a canvas the size of her hand from the collection of white canvases leaning against the wall in the corner of her room. Its the only area that is some what organized in the entire house. She has already primed all of the small canvases. She has a system. All of the small paintings available on her online store were simple black-and-white paintings. They sold easily and were quick to make. She buys a pack of canvases, primes them all at once, paints them to order, and they are shipped to the customers once the paint is dry.

Before picking up a fresh brush, Evie cups her coffee mug in her palms and she looks out her window. She watches the wind shake a flurry of leaves to the ground. She sips the coffee and lets the warmth caress her. She watches leaves fall for a few moments, noticing the rich reds and bright yellows. She takes a slow, deep breath, inhaling the nutty scent of the roasted beans.

When Evie paints, she is lifted out of her cage and she's tranquil. Painting chases the nightmares and shame away. A balm for her life of sorrow.

It helps that something she loves so dearly pays her rent.

She sets her mug back on the windowsill and picks up a thin brush. She uses leftover onyx paint from the first painting and begins to shape the bee's round body. She has done this painting so many times that she doesn't start with a pencil sketch. Evie adds legs, antennas, and papery wings.

Evie ponders how evolution managed to create an insect with proportions that make flying nearly impossible. The small wings look like they shouldn't get the bee's plumb body off the ground, and yet the humble bumblebee flies.

The painting is finished in a few hours. Evie's coffee is cold and her growling stomach reminds her it is time to eat again.

Evie checks her phone. It's 4:00PM.

She hears movement in the bedroom down the hall and Evie knows her mother is starting to wake up. Evie shoots up and sneaks down the stairs. She is able to grab a sleeve of crackers and a jar of peanut butter before Kathy shuffles down the hallway and begins clunking down the stairs.

Evie is too late. She will have to face the monster. Without grace or dignity...