CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXX: Yesteryears

That summer between sophomore and junior year, Donna Pierceman called three times seeking something new for her gallery for that September. The theme—Family History—gave Brendon no inspiration despite repeated suggestions first from his mom, then from Aunt Laurel. They certainly thought this new theme was important.

“Family—our family—is different from others. You should be proud of it, to have something representing us on display.”

That repeatedly came from his mom all summer long because she’d gotten a bird in her ear and now believed Brendon somehow suffered from teenage embarrassment, which he wasn’t, at least not completely, that was lending him to cringe at the gallery theme. But the truth would have shocked and frustrated his mom worse because Casey-fever had taken hold and the only painting he sketched out time and time again was a birthday present for Casey’s seventeenth.

This one had to be the best of Brendon’s paintings. Something to make Casey sigh and smile dreamily. Something to make their next kiss elevated to heaven, to entwine them more powerfully than any other two people in the world, living or dead. Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXVII: Yesteryears

Brendon had no real words for that first kiss. The slush coming down, spattering across Casey’s Mustang. The vibrations of the wipers as they struggled to clear the water. The chill that seeped in through the floorboards. The contrasting warmth blowing on his arm. Those were the things that would forever drag him back.

He knew he’d been second-choice, second best. And yet, in that moment, he thought he’d won. Casey’s mouth warmer than the heat purring from the engine, his hands gentler than the rain, and when he sighed and settled his forehead on Brendon’s shoulder Brendon simply held him there.

A moment etched in time. Casey’s stress sliding away. The anger fizzling, struggling to gain purchase, but like the slush coursing down the windows, Brendon stroked down Casey’s back until there was nothing but warmth where there’d been fire, nothing but contentment where there’d been bitterness.

Their lips, soft, open, became a conduit. Years of desire, years of confusion, all coming to a head as tongues darted carefully, reaching for the empty feeling in order to fill it up, twist it about, make it tumble away. Brendon shivered, numb and hot and kissing in a state of shocked happiness. Finally having a taste of what-could-be, what-might-be. That kiss drew, like lines in his sketchbook, shading and coloring until the entire world blended together— Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXVI: Yesteryears

They drove down Grant’s Lorry Road, fast enough they took that bump at speeds that sent their stomach’s dropping. Casey huffed and ground the pedal down further when they turned down Old Sycamore Road, the canopy above their heads barren, clawing, like dying dryads, and the road slick and overrun with icy water in the worst of places.

Chilly wind whipped in through the millimeter gaps where the rubber pulled off the windows and Casey’s iPod sang glory rock through crackly speakers.

“She’s nothing but a cow. Been handed through every guy on the varsity lacrosse team and some of the JV as well. Can’t believe he’d let a slut like that catch his eye. Idiot never could keep his liquor.”

“You’re not really mad at Evelyn,” murmured Brendon, but he stopped short of defending her. He should have, he realized later, but fear kept his filters up and his throat closed down.

“She’s not worthy of me being mad at her,” Casey agreed. “Fucking Robbie though.”

“Why’s it matter?”

“Because he looks down his nose at us, like we’re nothing but dirt.”

“Have you talked to him?” Continue reading →