Timeless Snow ✓

Ch. 29 - Paint

You had spent the next day back at Chocia's Psychiatric Hospital, trying to appear normal and sane. It was a mask, a desire that if you forced your feelings - that everything would eventually fall into place. It was a nice fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. The nagging mystery of the past few days was weighing heavier with every passing hour. New questions formulating in your mind, riddles of your own sanity that you couldn't figure out and it was aggravating.

One silver lining to the day? There was an animal experience planned for the patients that day, but due to dropping temperatures outside and the promise of snow looming in the evening the event was canceled. Catching the head nurse at just the right time, you asked if you could take that time spot to paint in the crafts room. You still had another week before your artist's time had come, with limited availability. Miss Clarisa was felting generous and rewarding to your overly good behavior since your return from furlough, she agreed.

Gripping your lunch tray with a skip in your step, you headed for the trash can. Shaking your items into the trash you placed the plastic tray you used to carry your items atop the trashcan on a stack of others like it. Turning, you readied to head back out of the cafeteria and off to set up your space in the craft room.

Taking a step out, you heard a click as something knocked against your foot. You paused and glanced down to notice an old beat-up flip phone. Your eyes darted around to see where the device came from and noticed the Janitor grabbing the bag of trash from the can you had threw your food scraps into. His phone had popped out of his back pocket and landed at your feet. Instantly your mind thought 'Steal it.'

Did that make you a bad person? You thought next about the negative effects. Would this man get in trouble for losing his phone? What would happen to you if you got caught with it? Would they fire him for 'giving it' to you? It sucked to be a good person sometimes. Secondly, you thought 'Would he even tell anyone he lost it?'. Men didn't like to admit when they were wrong, a broad assumption, but it applied to plenty.

Quickly you dropped to one knee and reached your chilled fingers out for your gripped socks. As you pretended to toy with the ankle of socks your other hand slipped the cellphone into your sock and made sure it was secure against your ankle and hidden by the bottom of your sweat pants. It looked like you were adjusting your clothes when the janitor took a quick glance down at whatever just kneeled beside him. Glancing up you got back up to your feet calmly and stared at the man blankly. You could see a shift of fear glaze over his dull blue hues. The fact that a 'crazy person' was making heavy eye contact, oH nO~. His gaze averted and you took that as your signal to leave.

You might not have had the best life, but a little luck was on your side from time to time. Exiting the cafeteria you disappeared in the maze of bland beige walls. You walked toward the south hall, you could feel the phone sliding down your sock with its weight. It took only a couple of minutes before you found the door of the crafts classroom. You flagged down a nearby nurse and informed them of what the head nurse had said. They excused themselves to call her and check for confirmation and someone came to unlock the door soon after.

You should be grateful you had never had an episode while you were painting. That little miracle was the only reason you were allowed to be in there unaccompanied. Maybe they thought the painting was therapeutic for you, then again they only let you in here once a month at best. As the door began to shut behind you, you shot down to the ground and yanked the phone from your gripped socks. As you came up, you turned the lights on as if nothing had happened at all. There was a window in the room that lead to the hall, someone always had to be able to look in. 'Safety reasons', right.

Hiding the small device in the palm of your hand you headed for the corner of the room where the easels were leaned up against the boring grey wall. You took the one that has the least amount of paint caked on the wood. You faced its backing toward the door and kicked close one of the stools nearby. You went and gathered your canvas that was wrapped in a white cloth from the top shelves of the storage space. Placing it on the easel and pulling its protective sheet off you tossed it on the floor by your working space and reached for your neatly packed paints in the second to last shelf from you.

Gathering each piece you needed for your craft, it felt as though you were gathering items for an altar. The painting is an offering to the world, the opportunity to see the world through the eyes of another all the while being fresh to the audience with vibrant pigments of paints that not even the artist has quite seen before. A painting was both a window into another world as well as the creating of a new world entirely.

Taking a seat before your easel you tried to get comfortable, positioning yourself in such a way that your right arm could be hidden from the observant window in the room. Moving about your left hand, and a crook of your neck here and there you appeared to be setting up your workspace, readying your paints, and getting your brushes. In reality, you were clicking through the settling on a phone that was dated decades ago. Who the hell still had a flip phone? Thank god they were the earliest accessors to the internet on phones, that was what you really needed after all.

The signal in hospitals was dog-shit at best, leaving you time to actually set up your space while you waited on the internet to even connect to the prehistoric device. You set the phone on the easel as you waiting for it to load. Eyeing the last piece that you still hadn't completed.

All you had thus far, was the figure of a man. His back turned to the viewer, he stood with a slump. His head hanging a bit low with his large palms shuffled into his pantsuit. You couldn't see much but something just seemed older about the man painted in mute greys. An aged gentleman standing perfectly still as he stared down, but there was nothing there for him to gaze at. You weren't sure what he was staring at before, and part of you still didn't know. But you planned to paint that part today.

Starting to pick out a paint brush, you noticed the flip phone finally connect to the internet. Opening the old explorer web browser, you paused as you wondered what question weighed heaviest on your mind. There were a few, but only one that seemed fitting for a google search. Typing swiftly with your thumb you glided over the number pad, remembering the old days when this was all texting was.

'Kasey Bowers'

As you hit sent the screen went white, it was going to take quite a while for it to load on such an old device. You set it back down against the easel and returned to your search for a brush. Reaching out you picked a fine medium bristled brush and pulled it back. Rolling up your sleeves you reached for a pallet and began to squeeze a few colors onto the board. Black, White, blues, and browns. You set the brush beside the pallet as you checked the area before your canvas, looking through the window to see if you were being watched. You were pleased to see such a boring beige wall outside. Turning your attention back to the flip phone you noticed it had finally loaded. The downfall of modern technology? Everyone was on it, and no one had a unique name. You were loaded with social media pages from women who all shared the exact same name.

With a heavy sigh, you clicked over to general images and hoped maybe looking through a large variety of photos would help jog your memory. The phone inching down to each picture at the speed of a fucking snail. You wished you had Taehyung's smartphone, but he got transferred to another wing for a night shift, someone called in. Going back to the search bar you wanted to erase your search and try looking for 'Sam' instead. The only problem with that is, you had no last name for him.

'Kasey Bowers Sam'

Perhaps a mashup of names would bring some kind of linked article up. It was a long shot, extremely long. Setting the phone down to load you reached for your paint pallet and brush and abandoned the dreadfully slow device. Dipping the bristles of your brush into the black and white you began to mix together a deep grey color for your base.

What was it that you were hoping for? Looking for proof that you weren't losing your mind? Or perhaps you were just looking for confirmation that you were? The latter being more likely, the odds of you finding answers this way was slim to none. Even if you walked away from this little petty theft with no more answers than you had, at least you tried? That had to be enough for now.