The Painting

#7 The Portraits - Na Portraidi

The rain let up by the time I got off but there was still a slight drizzle and I power walked to my cabin. I never locked it so I let myself in easily switching on the lights to illuminate my quaint living quarters.

All the guests checked in with no surprise visitors, and still no Lyle.

I closed the door behind me and let the weight of my body rest against the solid wood for a moment. Being no stranger to exhaustion due to work I picked myself up and staggered to the kitchen. I never resented Grace or White Pine for taking so much of my time and energy. It was a living that I enjoyed and it damned near beat working as a full time waitress. I mean, I literally made pancakes and facilitated small talk for a living.

My cabin was less than three hundred square feet with a ladder that led to a loft in the back half. My living room was sparsely furnished. An old dark green sofa with a few mismatched pillows and a coffee table sat on the right side. On the left wall my desk and a few piled boxes of odd art supplies and empty bottles. All of my furniture were rejects from White Pine that Grace gifted to me. They added character to my home just as they did at the B&B, more importantly their second hand nature made them look actually lived in. A trait that was dismal as I was hardly at my actual home for more than sleeping purposes.

In the back left corner was my closet and to the right was a compact bathroom just big enough for a full size tub - which came in handy after eighteen hour days -. I walked through the clear pathway of my living room marked by a thick knitted rug that insulated the floor during Maine's harsh winters.

I set the Tupperware of pancake batter and pulled out my own portable griddle placing it on top of the stove due to the limited counter space. My kitchen was no more than seven feet wide, and the cabinets lining both walls took up a half of that space so that you couldn't have two opposite doors open at the same time or they would clash.

I turned on the matchbox radio that sat on my window sill and made my usual dinner of pancakes and jam sandwiches accompanied by whatever fruits hadn't been eaten by mold. The food pyramid would look more like an old wooden fence if it was based on my diet. Lots of gaps but somehow managing to stand upright.

I loved my home away from my Tudor home. There were windows in every room and the light bounced off the light wood walls and floors leaving me little need for bulbs during the day time. I always struggled to remember to close the windows in case of rainstorms as the breeze flowed evenly through them leaving me no reason for an AC. However, I'd gotten lucky this time and because the temperature dropped below sixty the night before I'd sealed all the windows and had no time to open them in my rush the next morning.

I took my plate into the living room and sat on the couch which conveniently doubled as my dinner table. The radio was still playing as I ate and decompressed allowing my back to mold into the plush cushions. As I ate I contemplated life as a couch potato, I was sure I had the credentials for it. I would probably have to buy a bigger T.V and three more pairs of sweatpants though.

It was almost ten by the time I'd cleaned up dinner and was ready for bed. I hauled myself up the ladder to my room. The ceiling tapered into a triangle ten feet above the floor creating a cozy environment that was just big enough to fit my queen sized bed and a small organizer on the right side.

A single naked light bulb hung a few inches above my head. I rarely used it because of the large rectangle window that took up most of the wall at the head of my bed. The window faced the Tudor home and I took comfort in the fact that it felt like White Pine was watching over me. The lights from the house brought a soft glow into my room and I did without the light bulb snuggling myself underneath the covers.