Bates & Landon [Wattys2015]

BATES

Bates

By the time Emmy kept complaining that she was hungry, my hands were covered in paint. To make her food I had to wash my hands, cook, go right back to painting again which resulted in my hands covered in paint once again.

I had finally finished my sketch of Landon. I was satisfied with how it looked. But I felt like I needed something bigger, better. That's why I bought a larger canvas -- I had gotten the money from (mostly) ridiculous bets Jonas and I always made -- I chose the logical side while he went more towards the absurd side.

I was inside -- I had moved back the couches a bit so I could fit the eseal in the living room along with the canvas. I always loved how it was blank at first. I'd always run my hand lightly over the canvas before grabbing oils or paint. I lost myself in painting, all the noises around me fading into the back of my head like a hum barely audible. Not even Emmy could break me out of the trance I had fallen into.

Once I was successful and satisfied with what laid before my eyes on the canvas, I heaved a tired sigh before plopping down on the couch. I looked over at Emmy who was a few inches away, curled in a ball. She liked to watch me and never bothered me while I painted unless she was hungry, needed to tell me something highly important, or it was an emergency.

I first discovered my artist ability at age thirteen. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Fell, was one of the greatest teachers you'd ever meet. He could make the whole class erupt into laughter easily, and he always made learning new subjects fun. By fun, I mean, usually cool activities and games. Which was a lot better then sitting on your butt the whole class time while he goes on and on about a lesson. Then give you pounds of homework.

Usually towards the end of the day or during study hall, we could have free-time in which we could talk, read, play board games he had provided us, or draw. At the age of thirteen almost fourteen, I was a awkward and shy boy. That being said, I didn't have many friends in middle school. So I chose to draw. Mr. Fell brought me over to the shelf full of art supplies. Crayons, markers, colored pencils, sharpies, paint. You name it: he had it.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a canvas I could paint on, but that didn't stop me from grabbing printing paper and some paint. My first painting was abstract. Blue, black, green, red all scattered on the page. It was what most people decided to paint, since it was easier to flick a paintbrush with paint on a paper then to paint a landscape or a person.

Nonetheless, as I stared at the printing paper scattered with colors of paint I felt somewhat pride in it. It looked good. Even Mr. Fell agreed with it looking good, and even encouraged me to start painting more often, and I did.

That whole year when we had free time, I painted on a canvas (Mr. Fell was kind enough to buy some -- for me).

Ever since then, I kept painting. I usually did abstract or landscapes. Sometimes even people.

I blinked away the memories of middle school. My eyelids began to shut longer than usual. After all, I was tired. I stood up and stretched my back before carefully moving my work so we could walk more easily.

The front door slung open and my mom and some guy came walking in. "Bates," slurred my mom, grinning widely, "what's up? Oh, say hi to Andrew." Andrew flashed me a nasty grin, showing off his yellow teeth, "He is so nice."

"Hi there," Andrew nodded towards my direction as he walked with my mom to her room, her stumbling. "I'll take good care of your mother, don't worry." Gross.

My mom waved at me, smirking, and closed the door. I shuddered and walked back over to Emmy. I swooped her up in my arms and carried her to her bed.