by Audra Red
Without a thought, he hunched low in his old flannel pajama bottoms and pushed the center coffee table to the far wall. He dragged the loveseat over next, arranging every item in the living room to the walls and into the open kitchen.
His living room floor was mostly bare, and he nodded and left the room. A few moments later the floor was covered in a large white tarp, and then atop that, a dusty canvas and a few half empty tubes of paint with their ends rolled up, squeezed of every last drop.
Daniel knelt down and set three brushes beside the canvas, smoothing his hand over the blank surface and brushing the dust off.
With a long look at his mess of paintings on the wall he set about making a larger mess on the canvas in front of him.
His progress started slow at first as he reacquainted himself with his acrylics and found the fit of the brushes in his hand. But as an hour ended, he was laying paint down easily, smoothing it out across accidental strokes and making purposeful mistakes just for the joy of finding ways to fix them.
It had been a long time since he last got lost in painting, and though the results were confusing at best, at the end of four straight hours, he felt satisfied. He stood up and looked down at his drying work; colors swirling and meshing with others, reds suffocating browns and blacks, blacks breaking through yellows.
The work in itself didn’t say much, it was just a study in patience and care. He had completed something, as hideous and useless to the eye as it was, but he had done it.
Feeling overly proud of himself, he sat back and let the late morning sun ease up along his body, just feeling the subtle changes everywhere.
And then his half lidded eyes veered to the paintings he had already hung up on the wall. They were considered well done by those with a grasp for the artistic, but Daniel couldn’t remember what they were about or who he had been when he had painted them.
His eyes shifted to the side and he noticed a slight scratch in the white wall paint. He settled up on his elbows and examined the walls.
It would be easy to just fix up the scratch.
He nodded and stood.
He found himself in the small storage unit he rented, which was just below his apartment. Somewhere in the mess of boxes were large cans of house paint. It didn’t take long for him to find the boxes, but he got caught up in digging through others as his curiosity piqued. He had so many things. They seemed like worthless items, but Daniel had saved them all with care.
When he'd moved out of his older apartment, a small cramped affair, he'd promised himself that his new flat would be kept tidy. So he boxed up all of the clutter and hid it in a cement walled tomb.
It was almost like opening up a time capsule.
He pulled himself away from an old stack of photos, and dug out the paint cans. Much to his amusement, he didn’t have a single can of white paint amongst the collection.
But there was yellow.
It was... abhorrent.
He smiled and picked up two of the cans.
He’d have to find a roller.
****
“You need a can opener, that’s why.”
“Mum, Eli takes me every week,” Alexander protested. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
“There’s no sense in it,” Natalie replied, folding her arms. “You’re nearly out of cat food, too. Let your mother pick you up some nice things.”
“I can manage on my own, really,” Alexander said, smiling weakly. “You don’t need to...”
“Oh, hush,” Natalie interrupted. She pulled the door open and gathered up her purse. “Don’t be so silly. I’m taking you shopping, and you’re getting some new shoes.”
Alexander scoffed. “Mum, you don’t like my shoes?”
Natalie snorted at them and placed a guiding hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “And those mittens are ratty. Who would ever ask you to tea when you’re--”
Alexander just groaned and allowed his mother to herd him out the door.
***
Daniel rolled on the last stripe of paint and nodded approvingly.
“It’s...” he trailed off. “Horrible.”
He smiled.
“But it’s bright,” he added. “Yeah, bright.”
With a feeling of misplaced pride, Daniel gathered up the brushes and tossed them carelessly into his spotless sink. Little drops of paint splattered all along the clean, chrome basin. Walking back into the living room, he stood in front of the end wall, which he hadn’t painted.
He had ideas for that wall.
Seizing the daylight, he grabbed his keys and decided a trip to the paint store was in order.
He had things to do.
***
Alexander shifted in his seat, looking down at the can opener his mother had purchased him. The thing looked more complicated than the computer filing system at the library.
“You’re setting this thing up,” he told her and she hummed lightly in response. “Where does the can even go? And what are all the buttons for?”
Natalie didn’t reply and Alexander looked up, finding a strange, nervous expression on her face.
“Mum?”
“We’ve had a nice morning, haven’t we?” she asked, her jaw clenching a bit. Alexander nodded, setting the can opener down. “Just don’t be angry with me, darling. You can get so irrationally aggravated sometimes and...”
She turned on her blinker and Alexander snapped his head to look out the window. He clutched his hands together and set his jaw.
“I can’t believe this,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I told you not to be angry, sweetie.”
But Alexander couldn’t help the deep itch of anger coursing through his body as they pulled carefully into the hospital parking lot.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me first?” Alexander sat back and closed his eyes tightly.
“I knew you wouldn’t agree if I had asked you, and I’m terribly worried about you,” Natalie replied, placing a warm hand on Alexander’s shoulder. He flinched at the touch and took a deep breath.
“You know I don’t like hospitals,” Alexander said quietly. “Did you make an appointment?”
“Darling,” Natalie said sweetly. “Please understand, I called Dr. Holmes a few weeks ago and he said you hadn’t been in for ages to see him. You know he recommends bimonthly visits, especially with the infection you had a bit ago.”
“He told me that was optional,” Alexander murmured.
“I haven’t seen your hands so abused in over a year,” Natalie said sternly. “I swear, you don’t see things the way we all do.”
“But you made this appointment before you came to see me, before you saw my hands. I’m feeling great, Mum, I am. I’m working and--”
“You’re working far too much,” Natalie interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. The car hummed to a stop, and Natalie popped the door open. “You’re a grown up now, I shouldn’t have to do these things for you.”
Alexander sighed and pulled his mittens on. ‘I don’t want you to,’ he thought, leaving the car. “I’m sorry, Mum,” was his actual reply.
Natalie wrapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him across the parking lot and through the large, glass doors of the hospital.
Alexander’s hands were sweating horribly by time their stay in the waiting room was through, and the nurse walked them to Dr. Holmes’s office. They rarely met in the examining rooms, a fact that made Alexander a tad more comfortable with his present surroundings.
Hospitals made him uneasy; the sterile environment, the drab colors and that strong smell of antibiotics. Especially now, unprepared for the visit, Alexander's entire body filled with anxiety.
“Don’t be so nervous,” Natalie whispered as they sat in the cold, leather chairs seated before Dr. Holmes’s desk. The doctor wasn’t to be found, and Natalie took Alexander’s hands gently in her own. “Don’t look so peeved, this is for your own good.”
Alexander frowned, looking u
p at his mother and attempting a smile. He knew she worried and he didn’t wish to be ungrateful.
“That’s my Alex,” she said, carefully removing Alexander’s knitted mittens.
Then the door cracked open and Dr. Holmes appeared, nodding pleasantly at the both of them. The man was short and balding in odd spots, something that always caught Alexander’s eye. The remains of his hair were a salt and pepper grey, and he had a professional, soft demeanor about him.
Alexander liked the man, mostly because of his honest nature.
But those balding spots...
Alexander smiled goofily as he found himself staring.
“Alexander, Mrs. Price,” he greeted softly. “Wonderful to see you both again.” He shook Natalie’s hand and squeezed Alexander’s shoulder. “Now, what can we do about Alexander, here?” He sat stiffly behind his desk and then after pulling out Alexander’s file, relaxed a bit. “Your mother tells me you’ve been having some recurring blisters?”
“He has,” Natalie said, sitting up in her chair. “I’m particularly concerned about his hands.”
Dr. Holmes nodded and turned to Alexander. “I saw you back in July, your hands looked in excellent shape, especially after the infection. How long have you been experiencing the more severe blisters?”
“Far too long,” Natalie said sharply.
“A month or less,” Alexander answered meekly, shifting away from his mother. “Probably three weeks or so.”
“You know that’s too long to go without seeing me,” Dr. Holmes said disapprovingly.
“And he wouldn’t have made an appointment had I not come to see him,” Natalie added. “He’s working ridiculous hours and I’m worried about him not wrapping before bed.”
Alexander felt attacked from all angles and slouched down a bit. “I’m sorry,” he said lowly.
“Don’t be sorry, just take care of yourself,” Dr. Holmes said. “I’m not here to chastise you, but I am worried about how seriously you’re taking this condition. We’ve been down such a good road this past summer. I don’t want you relapsing back to the condition you were in this spring.”
Alexander frowned at the memory of how severe his blisters had become.
“I understand.”
“Now, why don’t we take a look at your hands? Should see the feet as well,” Dr. Holmes said, standing. “We’ll just pop on over to examining room next door.”
“We can’t just do it in here?” Alexander asked, his nerves picking up.
“It wouldn’t be a wise idea,” Dr. Holmes admitted. “It’ll just be a few minutes.”
“He’ll be fine,” Natalie said with a stiff smile. “This is important.”
Alexander could only nod and stand. “All right.”
***
Daniel set down the tubes of special paint and shucked off his jacket, allowing it to fall to the floor.
“What a mess,” he murmured. "I hope this works." The sun had risen higher in the sky then, and the room felt warm. The light from the window bathed the wall in a light yellow and Daniel nodded in satisfaction.
"Yeah, should be perfect." Daniel hurried to the kitchen, digging through his cupboards and finding a large mixing bowl. He brought it back to the living room, dragging a small coffee table to the far wall and placing the bowl atop it.
With a look of determination on his face, he opened the first tube of paint and squeezed it into the bowl. One by one he squeezed each tube, the paint filling up the bowl. Then he mixed the paint, its consistency thick and the color the same as that on the wall.
Bone white.
With a clever little look on his face, he covered a large brush in the paint and began painting the wall. The process was slow and he made certain to cover every bit of the surface. Once he was finished with the laborious work, he sat back in the messy room and smiled.
The wall looked no different than it had before, but he nodded approvingly.
"There's a trick to it of course," he thought aloud. “The bedroom next. Maybe green... or red.”
The smile endured and he didn’t bother wondering over what had gotten into him, why he was so motivated and, well, sunny.
He already knew.
***
“I don’t know what else to say,” Dr. Holmes said, winding the last length of gauze around Alexander’s hands. “I’m surprised at these blisters, especially the one on your lower leg. You know what you need to do in order to take care of these, you just need to actually do the work.”
“I know,” Alexander replied. “I just... forget sometimes.”
“Or maybe foregoing the wrapping at night seems easier,” Natalie said quietly. “But you must.” Alexander took a deep breath and nodded.
“I promise I will from now on,” he said, offering her a barely there smile.
“I assure you, the results will be positive,” Dr. Holmes added. “Now, about your workload...”
“The work is fine,” Alexander said quickly. “The walk to the subway is fine, I love the fresh air, and we’ve gotten a whole new filing system so I’m not digging through great tomes each time someone wants to check something out.”
“But it isn’t just the physical aspect,” Natalie said. She was standing beside Alexander, a constant hand on his shoulder. “You know that. You’re fidgety lately, and the anxiety and stress alone does just as much harm as physical activity.”
“I’m fine,” Alexander insisted. “I am. I had a little fall,” he told the doctor. “But I’m being extra cautious.”
“Alexander,” Dr. Holmes began. “I tend to agree with your mother on this. You’re working five days a week, fulltime.”
“And I know you’re proud of that, dear, but really now,” Natalie said. “You need to know your limitations.”
Sweat broke down Alexander’s back and he felt a small lump in his throat. He wasn’t going to lose control and snap at his mother or Dr. Holmes. Work was all he had, all that kept him going and there was no way he was allowing himself more time to sit about his apartment.
“I know my limitations,” Alexander whispered. “And I can do this.”
Natalie sighed and shared a look with the doctor.
“I thought if you didn’t listen to your own mother, you would at least pay some mind to Dr. Holmes,” she said, pulling out her handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes a bit. “You worry me constantly. I tell you, night and day.” She sniffled and Alexander bit at his lip.
“Don’t cry, Mum,” Alexander said, his voice cracking as he stood to meet her. “I’ll take another day off. I’ll not work Mondays, or maybe Thursdays. All right?”
She sighed again and pressed a hand to his cheek. “Thank you,” Natalie said, immediately brightening. “Dr. Holmes, do you think four days a week is advisable?”
The doctor nodded, leaning back against the counter. “As long as he keeps up his appointments and takes care of those hands, yes. If the blisters don’t improve at all in a week or so, we want to see you back in here.”