Kit marveled at how the early evening sky burned with all it's amazing colors. The sun's last rays blazed like fire reflecting off the river and the glass and steel buildings. She knew that the spectacular display owed some of their unique hues to the haze of smog that hung like a brownish curtain over the city, but even that, didn't spoil its beauty to her.
"Have you ever tried to paint it?" Kit asked.
"Sure, several times," Julia replied, "The trouble is, it never stays the same. It's constantly changing, minute by minute. I always end up giving up, in favor of something a little more static. I thought about capturing the moment with my camera and painting from that, but it's just not the same. Some things, only God can paint, and the inability of some artists to accept that, has led many to the brink of insanity. You know; we're not exactly known for our mental stability; we artists, I mean. While I haven't had the urge to cut off an ear lately, it does make you a little crazy sometimes.
Did you know that art historians are sure that Van Gogh had the habit of wetting his brush on his tongue; not a smart thing to do, in a time when there was a lot of lead in their pigments? Then, he had no way of knowing that. God's canvas is infinite; ours are tiny in comparison. We just do the best we can, with what we have to work with. But when it works..." she paused long, “When it works Kit, there's no greater feeling on earth."
Kit listened with an aching fascination as Julia spoke. It was like listening to someone put into words, all the things that she had felt, but didn't know how to say. At that moment, she felt that Julia knew her better than anyone, perhaps even better than her own mother. She wasn't surprised that Julia had gotten along so well with Mrs. Shay. They were a lot alike, cut from the same cloth, except Julia just felt it deeper and from a different place. Mrs. Shay was a teacher, who lived to teach and inspire others to create art. But Julia was an artist, and she knew the burning in her soul that drove her to lay a brush to canvas, or mold a piece of clay to create something truly beautiful. Now Kit felt it too. It would never be a matter of choice again.
The two sat silent and ate their sandwiches, watching the sunlight fade and the lights of the city coming on. In a short time, the view transformed to a kaleidoscope of fabricated neon and incandescent light, flashing in time with the combined pulse of the flesh and blood occupants of the city.
"Come with me Kit. I've saved the best for last," Julia said, taking Kit by the hand.
Julia took Kit back to the leaded double doors of her studio, opened the doors and turned on the lights. Kit was in awe as she entered the room. It was as big as her whole apartment by itself. She walked slowly around the studio and paused studying each painting and sculpture. She stood at Julia's easel, a blank canvas before her, and picked up the different brushes in her hand, feeling the soft bristles with her fingertips.
"Someday, I'll own brushes like these," Kit said, a faraway look in her eyes.
"Hmm," Julia mused, "that just might be sooner than you think."
Julia walked across the studio to a row of large built-in drawers. She opened, then looked inside three or four before finding what she had been searching for. She pulled a large wooden box from the drawer and set it on a table before Kit. It was beautifully fashioned from dark, rich walnut wood and had large brass hinges, and a brass latch.
"Open it," Julia said, unable to keep from smiling.
Kit touched the box and traced her fingers around its edges. In the bottom, right corner were the initials, J.S. in raised gold letters. Kit reverently lifted the latch and opened the lid. Before her lay the most beautiful set of brushes, she had ever seen. Compartments separated each brush and even more compartments held tubes of oil paints of every color she could imagine. The lid held a small wood palette held in place by securing brass brackets. Turning the brackets, she removed the palette and held it in her hand, amazed by its lack of weight.
"My grandfather was a woodworker. He made that for me when I was just a little older than you are now. He found all the right brushes, the pigments, and even made the palette himself. It took him months to get it just the way he thought it should be. He even made an easel to go with it. It was what I learned to paint with."
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Kit said, tracing her hand over each compartment, and feeling the padded red velvet lining within it.
"I want you to have it Kit," Julia said, her voice cracked a bit with emotion.
"Julia, I couldn't! Your grandfather gave it to you; made it for you. What if you had a son or daughter some day, you would want to pass it on to your family. No, Julia, I can't accept it. It wouldn't be right."
"Kit, I guess that leads me to that thing that I wanted to talk to you about, that I mentioned earlier. You see; I did have a daughter... and a husband. I lost them both a while back to a car accident. I kept the artist set for my daughter, Emily, but she, being more like her Dad, didn't have much of an interest in art. I think now, that it I was destined to give them to you. I hope that you will take them and use them. That's what they're for. They benefit no one sitting in a drawer." Julia explained.
Kit was suddenly sad for Julia. Her feeling that Julia was going through a painful time, all made sense now. If it made Julia happy to take the artists set, she wanted to, now, more than ever.
"But maybe you'll get married again someday, have more kids, won't you be sad if you don't have them to give to your child, then." Kit said.
"I can't think that far ahead Kit. All I know is that I want you to have them."
"Of course, I love them! Anybody would be proud to have them." Kit said, still gliding her hand over the box's smooth surface.
"I'll take them, but on one condition. We call it a loan. Anytime you want them back, they're yours. Deal?" Kit said, extending her hand to shake.
"I can't see that ever happening, but if that's what I have to agree to for you to accept them..., then we have a deal!" Julia grasped Kit's extended hand, and they shook hands laughing, and then hugged.
"There's another reason I wanted you to have the artists set," Julia said, "Mrs. Shay thinks we might be a good match in her Art Mentoring program. And if you agree, you'll even be able to get school credit for the time I spend teaching you."
"Really, how soon do you think we could get started?" Kit replied, excitedly.
"Whoa girl, not so fast. I still have to meet with her next week to work out a schedule, but I think we should be able to get started pretty soon." Julia said.
Kit couldn't remember a better day; so much happened. She could not pull herself away from the artists set. She held each brush in her hand and imagined herself creating great works of art. Julia looked on, remembering her own excitement just starting out. It made her very happy, the happiest she had been... well, since, the accident.
"You go ahead and look around some more. I'm going to get dinner started. Come give me a hand when you're ready."
"I'll be there in just a few," Kit replied.
Kit continued surveying Julia's work when at last; she came to Emily's bust. Her mouth fell open in shocked surprise, and the hair on her arms stood straight up. A chill went through her, and she backed away from the bust. The eyes now seemed to be looking right at her.
"Julia, Julia, come quick," Kit screamed.
Hearing Kit’s cries, Julia ran to the studio. She saw Kit standing and staring at the bust of Emily.
"Who is that girl?" Kit said, pointing at the bust of Emily, now visibly shaken.
"Why, what's wrong Kit? You look as if you'd seen a ghost," Julia said.
"Julia, who is she?" Kit asked again.
"That's my daughter, Emily," Julia replied, now very concerned at Kit's apparent distress, "I made that bust of her right before the accident."
"I've seen her before," Kit said, "she was in my dream.
Kit proceeded to tell Julia about her dream, she told her about the smiling man who was driving the car, she told her about the crash, and of the girl who had taken her hand in the street, and who
told her the locket was hers now.
"The locket, Kit. what locket?" Julia asked.
"This locket," Kit replied, reaching into her shirt and pulling out the locket. "I found it on the street, near where the accident happened."
Julia knelt beside Kit and held the locket, still around Kit's neck; in her hands, she opened it and saw the French inscription. Now the hair on the back of Julia's neck rose up. She remembered her grandmother always saying that it meant that a ghost had walked through your body. Julia walked into the other room and returned with two pictures in frames. Julia took one of the pictures and showed it to Kit.
"Is this the man who was driving the car in your dream?" Julia asked, clearly emotional and agitated.
Kit looked at the picture. "Yes, it is," she said slowly. "but how is that possible?" she asked Julia.
Julia then took the other picture and held it in front of Kit.
"Is this the girl in your dream?" Julia asked, already knowing what Kit's answer would be.
Kit looked at the picture. It was the girl in her dream all right. In the picture, she was even wearing the locket that Kit had around her neck.
Julia slumped down on the floor next to Kit and started to laugh. At first, soft, and then louder, until she was laughing so hard that tears flowed down her cheeks.
Kit, clearly worried about her friend, placed her arm around her shoulder.
"What's wrong Julia? What does it mean?" Kit asked, worried.
"Nothing Kit, nothing's wrong!" Julia said, still laughing, "I thought I was going crazy because I heard Emily talking to me a few weeks ago in the studio. But you heard her too, and you saw her in your dream and Paul too!"
"But what does it mean?" Kit asked again.
Julia smiled, pulled Kit to her and hugged her hard.
"It means that there are things in this world that we mere humans will never understand. It means that there is some place that we go when we die, and that Paul and Emily are okay, just like she told me they were."
"Emily talked to you during the day, not in a dream?" Kit asked.
"Yes Kit, she did!" Julia replied. "You see; she was a very special girl too!"
Julia sat holding Kit for a while longer, and then they got up, walked to the kitchen and started to make dinner. Julia hummed happily, as they worked. In fact, she had not been this happy in such a long time. Kit was busily grating some cheese and thinking.
"So I guess the locket belongs to you, doesn't it?" Kit asked.
"No," Julia replied, without hesitation, "the owner of that locket gave it to you. I wouldn't dream of upsetting her wishes."
"In your dream, did she tell you what the inscription means, inside the locket?" Julia added, curious.
"Yes," Kit replied.
"I thought she had," Julia said, a broad smile beamed across her face. Julia did not ask her to prove it. Enough had already happened that she had no doubts.
Kit picked up the framed photo of Paul that Julia had set on the kitchen counter.
"He's very handsome," Kit said. "You loved him a lot, didn't you?"
"Yes Kit, I did. Very much."
"What was he like?"
"Oh," Julia said, as her voice turned melancholy, "He was kind, and gentle. He cared about people. He was a good father and husband, and he could make me laugh, oh, but that man could make me laugh."
"He sounds nice," Kit said.
"What about you," Julia said, trying to shake the sadness and feelings of loss that Kit's question had invoked. "Are there any boys that you like?"
"Nah," Kit replied. "Seems like all the boys I know either act like children, or they act like hoods. None of them treats girls nice. Some of them are even really mean and actually seem to enjoy hurting people."
"Well, keep the faith Kit. There are some nice one's out there. You just have to keep your eyes open and not settle for less than what you really want. What do you think the perfect guy would be like?"
"I'm not sure he even exists. I read a book once about a boy who wanted to become a knight. He lived around the time of King Arthur and was a squire to a famous knight named Sir Lancelot. He was all about the knight's code of honor to protect the weak and fight the bad people. In the story, he eventually grew up, became a knight and helped save the kingdom." Kit said. "I don't suppose there are any knights anymore, and probably no guys who have a knight's code either."
"Well, that's a pretty specific shopping list you've got there, but I'd say that if you hold out for a guy like that, one will come along. He may not be wearing shining armor, but you never know. Stranger things have happened. I think it's sweet that you want the fairy tale of the brave knight riding up on his white horse to save the fair maiden. You wouldn't be the first girl with that ideal, and I don't believe you'll be the last."
After dinner, and true to her word, Julia popped some popcorn and produced the promised movies. The first movie was, "Lust for Life," the 1956 Vincent Van Gogh story, starring, Kirk Douglas. They talked as they watched, nibbling on their popcorn. Kit did not make it to the second movie. It had been a long day. Curling up against Julia, she fell fast asleep. Julia finished the movie, then careful not to wake her, carried Kit into the guest bedroom. She laid her gently into the bed, pulled the covers over her, and kissed her gently on the forehead.
"Goodnight sweet girl," Julia whispered, and smiled warmly.
The next day, Julia and Kit woke and prepared for their day. Julia brushed Kit's hair and pinned it in an elegant up-do. Preferring her jeans, Kit had, none-the-less, brought a nice pair of navy blue slacks and a quite feminine white blouse. Kit proudly pulled the locket from under it and displayed it on the outside of her blouse. Julia eyed her ensemble approvingly.
"It just needs one more thing," she said.
Julia went to her room and came back with her navy blue scarf. She tied it smartly around Kit's neck, turning it slightly to one side.
"That's the ticket," Julia said, as she turned Kit so she could see herself in the large mirror on the wall.
"Who was that girl in the mirror," Kit thought? "The kids in the neighborhood wouldn't even recognize me. Heck, I don't even recognize me."
They then headed off to brunch, where Kit had her first taste of eggs Benedict and strawberry crepes. It was something that she would rave about to her mother when she got home. "Who knew you could do so much with an egg?" she would later say.
Chapter 12 - The Challenge
Kit, Alicia, Lizzie and Stephanie walked to the park after school. It was a nice sunny afternoon, and they talked as they lazily sat on the swings in the playground area. It was vacant of small children and their parents and nannies now. They felt too old for the slides and climbing structures, but that was okay. They were just killing time, just hanging out.
Next to the play area was a basketball court. Three older boys were shooting hoops. As the oldest of the three started to sweat profusely, he paused, pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the side.
The game paused for a moment, and the boys glanced over to where Kit and her friends talked.
"Hey, ain't that the girls that fucked-up Matt and Hector?" Caesar asked the other two.
"Sure is," Javier answered.
"You gotta be shitting me," Caesar replied. "They're nothing but a bunch of punk girls. If I got my ass beat every time I copped a feel from a girl who didn't want me to, I'd have been dead in the sixth grade."
"Don't let looks fool you. She has a lot of friends, and they look out for each other," James said.
"What's the matter? You two afraid of a few snot-nosed, punk girls?" Caesar asked. You wanna be the next guy, that she and her army of brat's corners in an alley and beats like a drum? You know; we're not that different from Hector and Matt. If she and the rest of those tit-less wonders can do that now, what's it going to be like in a year, or two, when they're older, and there's maybe more of them? No, that little bitch needs to be taken down, made an example of. Then the rest of them will think twice before t
hey try that crap again."
Caesar Vargas slipped his t-shirt over his head and started walking toward the playground area.
Caesar was eighteen years old and had quit school two years earlier to work sporadically in his father's scrap metal recycling business. He hated it. He only worked there to placate his mother and father. So far, they were modestly successful at keeping him from following in the path of his older brother, Manuel, already a career drug dealer and all-around thug.
Sorting and carrying heavy pieces of metal honed his dark tanned, five foot-nine inch frame to a well-muscled physique. The vacant look in his dark-brown eyes didn't reveal any tremendous intellect behind them, but he still had acquired some status through well-practiced intimidation. He wore a blue bandana wrapped tightly over his head and tied at the back. It was well-known in the neighborhood, that he had a penchant for fighting and cruelty. The two boys with him, Javier and James, were one and two years younger than Caesar, respectively. They were your typical delinquent types, born followers-both, and somewhat lacking in original thought. They could be easily recruited to act as a posse, if it served their immediate needs.
Kit and her friends picked up their backpacks and prepared to leave the playground area. As they walked, they chatted among themselves. They came to a common opening in the high cyclone fencing that surrounded the basketball court and the play area. As they moved toward the exit, Caesar, Javier and James stepped in front of them, blocking their way.
Together, Kit and the girls moved to the right to pass the boys. Taking their cue from Caesar, the trio sidestepped again blocking their path. Caesar stood, feet apart; arms folded across his chest, his head tilted slightly to one side—trying to look imposing.
"Can we get by?" Kit finally asked, a look of irritation flashed in her eyes.
"Well I don't know," Caesar replied, casually smiling, "Can you?"
Kit and her friends stood still for a moment while Caesar slowly circled them, talking as he walked around them.
"So this is the girl who beat down Matt and Hector, eh? You know those guys were friends of mine," he lied.
The Ghost Locket Page 7