Underage

[32] Trevor Green: Make a Wish

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Underage

[32] Trevor Green: Make a Wish

"Your first lesson," Raelyn says. She's been watching me paint. Standing behind me silently observing. I was nervous at first, but the nerves slipped away with each stroke of color. "Is that you never have to tell anyone why you've made an artistic choice. Tell them the inspiration, the story behind the piece, but never why you've painted what you've painted."

"Like why I covered his face,"

"Exactly. I have my theories as a spectator, as an artist myself, and as a mom. But, if you don't want anyone to know, you never have to say a word."

Raelyn rests her hands on my shoulders as the door opens and Trevor makes his way inside. Raelyn gives me a slight squeeze. "I'm going to take a shower. Thea, you can take one after me. You can wear one of my dresses, dear,"

As his mom leaves, Trevor steps up beside me. I can hear Magnus barking in the yard outside and I smile. I'm glad he was the one to find my dog.

"How have you gone your entire life not knowing you have this talent?" he asks.

"I used to doodle but I never let anyone see what I drew. I never thought I was any good. Even Grace doesn't know." I say. Growing up I always kept blank printer paper in a drawer of my dresser beneath my clothes. Whenever I was alone, I would draw. But the thought of my friends seeing them was enough to keep them hidden. "My entire life my parents have told me that I'm going to be a lawyer and that anything else isn't really acceptable. My dad didn't have much money growing up. It was him, my grandmother, and my uncle. My dad used to tell stories about how they had to eat bread and sugar for days until his mom got her paycheck. He had it rough when he was young. It wasn't until he was almost an adult, when my grandmother married for money, that they could afford to send my dad to college. It's why I've been working since I was a freshman and why they got me my own apartment when I graduated."

"They wanted you to be independent and successful. I can see where they're coming from. I would want the same thing for my kids. I would have just gone about it a different way." Trevor pauses for a moment while his eyes take in my painting. "Why would you hide them from your friends?"

"Because I drew them," I say. "There's only one person who knew and that's only because I could never draw him."

"Why not?"

"I could never get his face right," His eyes would never be the right shade of green. His lips were always too thin. There never seemed to be enough freckles on his upper cheeks and nose. He wore a mask at all times; this face between a smirk and a scowl. That was the Evan he showed everyone. But, I knew the Evan Michaels that would give me a goofy smile when he thought of a dirty joke. I knew the Evan Michaels that wrinkled his nose when he didn't understand something—usually a pop-culture reference. That was the Evan Michaels I wanted to draw but could never achieve. "No matter how hard I tried, I could never get him right."

"That's why you covered his face," Trevor says. "He would have liked this picture, I think."

"Yeah?"

"He loved you, he would have loved anything you drew."

"He didn't know what love was." I say.

I dip the purple paint brush into a can of water. I circle the brush, pressing the hairs against the bottom and sides of the can. Then, I look back at my picture.

His body is made of various colors—purples, oranges, greens, and blues. Behind him his room is entirely black. It's organized in his own way. Stacks of books are on his desk, all of them he's read. A cigarette is between his two fingers. A puff of smoke comes from his mouth and circles his face. Only strands of his brown hair peek through. In his other hand, his fingers loosely hold onto the neck of a beer bottle—Michelob Ultra.