Where It Leads Us

Chapter Thirty-two

I've been staring at the unfinished painting on the canvas that's been sitting at the edge of my room, near my closet. I debated with myself and the voices in my head whether I should put the canvas back in my closet, hide it from the rest of the world, and not allow a single ray of sunlight to touch it... but I left it sitting at the edge of my room, too knackered to overthink and complicate things.

It wasn't even close to being a painting. I did a complete sketch and started with the most basic paint color, white. I mean, I should feel proud because I haven't touched any art supplies in years because the thought of doing so brings back memories of my mother and how much it still hurts me.

I knew myself too well to delve deeper into my thoughts and feelings. I believe my thoughts have grown weary of me as a result of how much time I've spent renting a large section of my mind to think about worthless things. I really need to make room for some new ones.

"You've been standing there since we got home. Are you okay?" I hear Zania's voice coming from behind me. I turn my heel around, seeing her hand over her hip.

I blink my eyes, "Y-Yes," I say, though I sound unsure of my response. "Maybe. I don't know. Who knows?"

I try to shrug it off, "You do. I'm not a mind reader, you tell me."

How do you even describe the weight and gravity of such feelings you can't even word out? I look at Zania, and I almost want to mock the way she's staring at me right now. "It's just the canvas, that's all."

"What's with the canvas?" She asks, her face puzzled up. Her eyes widen all of a sudden as if an imaginary light bulb has flickered, on top of her head, like the ones in cartoons. "Did you throw a fit and decide to not try ever again?"

I roll my eyes, "No, I'm just not too sure how I even got myself to start again. I forgot what happened that made me do that. Was I sleepwalking— "

"—No one paints when they're sleepwalking. "

"Was I dreaming?"

"Definitely not dreaming."

"Was I being controlled by my thoughts or the voice inside my head?"

"I think we're all controlled by our thoughts one way or the other."

"What was I thinking at that time that made me think, 'Oh, maybe I should try painting, again' just out of the blue?"

"I think you're stressing yourself too much over this," I was at a loss for words. They're more questions for me to answer than questions for others to answer since I know I'm the only one who gets to answer them anyhow.

And certainly, I've been putting too much pressure on myself about it. The thought of having to have one thing and then not knowing if you'll be able to have it again terrifies me. It scares me how quickly things may fall apart or slip away if you make a mistake or are unclear about what to do next to keep things rolling. Or perhaps I'm the one who's slipping away—from reality and who I used to be.

My phone vibrates inside the back pocket of my jeans. I know, who puts their phone in the right butt cheek pocket of their jeans? Me.

When I check my phone, I see a notification under Aaren's name. He's saying something about a painting and the note we got last week. It's been a long time since I've had a trip like that. It reminds me of how my father would act silly when we went camping or on road trips, and Elise would simply bounce up and down with him.

They have a strong desire to travel. Elise is a sucker for scenic beauty. Along with writing things related to my mother's artwork, I would sometimes observe her writing anything under the sun, especially the places we've traveled by. She always brought a pocket-sized notebook and a pen with her whenever we went somewhere. It was always on her travel itinerary as one of her essentials for travel.

Aaren and I had been chattering about the following note all day at school earlier and the countless possibilities of where it could be. I didn't attempt to overthink it before, but what convinced me to consider it was: what if it's somewhere far away, outside of this country?

All I remember from my childhood visits to my mother's open exhibitions are the people who came from some parts of the world only to see her artworks in person. It now makes me feel like I am the child of a celebrity. From what I recall, she used to talk about Italian businesspeople visiting her art exhibitions. What if one of those people purchased one of her paintings or a collection of her works? And what is the probability of finding such a note hidden behind those paintings?

It might be anywhere in the world: Italy, Paris, China, Australia, or even Antarctica. But what are the odds that my mother's painting will make it there? Most likely, it's a slim chance of 1 and very close to none. If it ends up being somewhere outside America, I wouldn't even have the money to fly to those locations merely to recover my sister's notes.

Even if I appear to be persuaded, I could never ask Clarissa for such a sum of money. What would I say to her? "I need to borrow money to travel to (say, Australia) Canberra in Australia to see my mother's painting in person," and just leave Elise's note out of the equation. That would simply give the impression that I am not making any progress or attempts to get back on my feet and go on with my life.

"You've been standing there for almost 20 minutes," I hear Zania's voice again behind my back. "Looking at you standing like that makes me feel tired of you."

My phone, on my hand, vibrates again, and another notification pops up under Aaren's name.

I dialed Aaren's number on my phone, and he quickly answered the call on the second ring.

"I'm placing my bets on 'sea on heaven's sky.' The person who wins gets three bucks!" He says on the other line as my eyebrows start to knit together in confusion.

"Three bucks?"

"How about ten, then?"

"I wouldn't even bet on it because for sure it's SEA SKY a hundred percent. Elise would've capitalized other letters on the note, but she didn't," I told him.

"But what if she didn't capitalize it on purpose? I think the point of the clues is to give clues, not to give you the whole picture in itself," He says, making me think and think and overthink. "Think about it. What do you even have to lose?"

"Ten bucks."

Aaren snorts on the other end. Think about it. Think about it...

***