Burlap

7 - Love Is Blindness

“We’re going to be painting a nice, peaceful beach scene today, guys,” the man at the front of the makeshift classroom said. His voice was monotonous and sleepy, like the painting he wanted to to create. I guess in a room full of insane murderers and psychopaths, you don’t want to have them paint anything to get their emotions all riled up. Smart man.

Three wards had combined for craft class on Saturdays in the large gymnasium, and the space was crowded, to be put lightly. Dozens of easels, paintbrushes, stools, canvases, cups, and paints were spread out all over the wood floor, all facing the frazzled looking red headed man up front. His clothes were splattered with blue and white paint from the earlier class he’d instructed already that day.

“Everyone go to a seat, and an orderly will bring by your canvas and brushes,” he called out to all fifty or so of us, gesturing to the easels and stools all spread in rows and columns, much too close together for comfort.

“Come on,” John murmured in my ear, tugging my hand to follow him as all the residents began to shuffle toward the stations. I followed without question and allowed him to lead me to an easel in the third to last row. I perched on the cold metal stool and placed my hands in my lap, picking at my nails as people I didn’t know and didn’t trust took up seats around us.

John sat at the easel to my right and grinned at me. I returned it and watched as the rest of Ward F scattered about in the crowd. Besides John and I, only Lottie and George stayed together.

“Have you been to the beach?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. My lips quirked up at the odd sight. John’s long legs and bulky body didn’t look comfortable or even able to fit correctly on the small stool. He reminded me of the part of our show where the elephants would stand on the small platform, precariously perched and balanced, threatening to fall over at any minute.

“I’ve been to beach towns, but never to the beach,” I replied, stifling my chuckles. “Have you?”

He shifted on the tiny stool, grimacing as it teetered about on uneven legs. “These things are shoddy and kid sized,” he mumbled under his breath, making me laugh quietly. He stood up and flipped the stool over, bending down and tinkering with the legs of it as he continued to talk. “I went once when I was a kid. Before my dad died, he took my ma, Elsie, and I to Galveston one weekend. The sea wall was still being built up then.”

“Is Elsie your little sister?”

“Yeah. She was a toddler back then. She’s what? Eighteen, now? Nineteen? I forget sometimes. I was six when she was born. How old am I? Twenty-eight, right, so that makes her…” He paused his breathless chatter, a shocked expression flitting across his face for the slightest moment. “Shoot. That makes her twenty-two now. Where did the time go?” An awkward pause filled the air around us before I broke it, desperate to keep up the light, happy atmosphere.

“You get along, then?” I asked as he twisted one of the legs of the stool tighter, muttering something about shoddy prefabricated furniture being crap quality.

He tipped it right side up again and sat down on it, testing the stability. “Yeah, we do. She’s married with a couple kids now. Susan and Johnny. You can guess who she named the boy after,” he said, puffing out his chest and winking at me. I felt the blush rise up to my cheeks as I laughed again, shaking my head at his mock arrogance.

John’s face lit up as I chuckled, and I only quieted down when an orderly walked over with a canvas and paintbrushes, squirting several colors of paint onto a small plate, then doing the same for John. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and grinned when I caught him doing the same. Butterflies didn’t even begin to describe the wild, Amazonian sizes creatures zinging around my insides, pinging off every wall of my stomach and making me feel flushed and… and squirmy.