Blues

7. Blue Days.

"I don't remember clearly, it's blank behind the eye.
I caught up with the memory, I never said goodbye."
Blue days by Racoon.

"Wow honey, your art is improving a lot." Dad says appreciatively, admiring the solar system I'm painting on my bedroom door. My mom shrieked in horror when she saw me doing this, but he calmed her down, assuring her that I'll only make it look prettier. And it does. Colors make everything look pretty.

"Mind if I interrupt your work for a while?" My dad asks, smiling warmly at me. "I have guests that I'd like for you to meet."

"I don't mind, Dad." I smile, shrugging my shoulders.

He takes my hand and leads me out toward his office. Inside the room sits a middle-aged man who looks as old as my dad, with a teenage boy sitting beside him. Both look up when they notice us enter the room. The man smiles the moment he sees me, "Finally I get to see the little princess. She looks more like her mother, though." He winks at me.

"Yes but she has my determination." My dad says proudly, smiling down at me, before he beckons to them. "That is Paul, my best friend. He has just arrived from Italy." I extend my right hand and the man envelopes it in both of his, shaking it. "And that young man is his son, Ethan."

The boy beams at me, extending his hand first. His boyish chestnut hair is a wavy mess, styled in a comb-over. His skin is much whiter than mine, making his brown eyes stand out. I also note that looks older than me, also nearly as tall as his father.

I take his hand, smiling back. "Candice."

"Nice to meet you." He gives my hand a few more shakes before he lets go.

"Candice, why don't you show Ethan your paintings while I discuss work matters with my friend here?" Dad suggests.

"Sure, Dad." I nod enthusiastically, turning to face Ethan. "Let's go." I don't wait for him, I leave the room and head toward mine, and he follows behind. I always like showing off my paintings. It makes me happy.

I show him my paintings of Daffy Duck, Beavis and Butthead, Mickey mouse, and Winnie the Pooh. He only nods as he inspects each one of them. It annoys me. "Don't you like them?" I narrow my eyes.

"No man, they're cool." He grins. "I just no longer watch those things."

"How old are you?" I cross my arms.

"Fourteen." He never stops grinning. Is he enjoying my annoyance?

"You're not that old."

"Ya think? What are you? Eight?" He raises his eyebrows.

My lips press together in anger. "Ten."

He sits on my bed, crossing his legs. "That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Your paintings. They're suitable for your age."

"My age? I'm not a kid." I stomp my foot.

"Prove it." He challenges, shrugging his shoulders.

"I have paintings of Superman and Harry Potter." I put my hands on my hips, challenging him back.

"Really?" He perks up at that.