#186 Starving

by D.M. King

Jordan almost caught my tear in his hand, but it landed on top of the coffin. My father’s final masterpiece displayed next to all the gaudy funeral arrangements. His other pieces hung on the walls as if they too were whispering their goodbyes.

“He never got to finish it.” I mumbled.

“I know.” He pulled a loose strand of hair from my eyes and painted my forehead with a kiss. “You can finish it. Maybe it’s fate.”

I didn’t want to hear it. I hadn’t picked up a brush in years because of him. He hated the fact that his only daughter ignored his pleas to not follow in his footsteps. Starving artists never pay their bills. You’ll be poor all your life, Jessie. I listened eventually. Didn’t that count for something? Why did you chase me away?

“Honey? It’s time to go.” Jordan tugged at my arm like I was a kid wanting to stay and play with my favorite toy. “Jess? You’ll see him one more time at the cemetery. Do you want the painting or not?”

I nodded. Even if it never got finished, it was a part of him. I’ll forever imagine his hand layering the canvas with his soul and not just his brush.

I cradled the artwork on my ride home—my fingertips sensing something strange. Tucked into a secret compartment in the back was a large sum of money and a note. Paint, my little girl. It’s who you are.


Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Flutterby said...

Sweet sentiment!