CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XLIII: Yesteryears

Taylor L. became a mainstay at a lot of parties that year. At the time he seemed a superhero in and of himself. A god, a devil tearing up the roads. He could do no wrong in Casey’s eyes. Could do no right in Robbie’s. Brendon tagged along but rarely, to places close enough he could run home at two in the morning and sneak into bed with his clothes smelling of smoke and his sketchbook filled of beer pong and flip cup.

Through January and February, Becks took a break from driving them around. Medical procedure that left her wrung out and sore and with her staying at their mom’s house most of the time. Left Casey alone with their dad more often than not and gave Brendon an excuse to not go to parties he didn’t rightfully enjoy except for Casey’s presence.

He wondered later if, had he gone, had put in the effort to be out there, would things have ended up different in Casey’s life? But that thought got set right years later when he ran into Becks—grocery store of all places, him heading out with a couple of bags, her about to head in.

“Nothing you did could have changed things, Bren. He was already gone, head over heels with an idea that never should have been okay. If anyone’s to blame…” And here she paused, pursed her lips and blinked, looking away for a moment. “I should never have brought him to the races as young as I did. Thing is, though, you do what makes sense at the time.” Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XLI: Present

Diana Tagalori—six years old and a perfect cross of princess and tomboy with her summer dress frilly and lavender yet with dirt riding the hem and a frog in a mesh bag about her wrist—sat at a tea table with chipped porcelin cups and hot chocolate leaving brown smears across every available surface. Red hair hung straight across her shoulders, the fronts brushed and carefully stroked now and then, while the back could have hid a nest or three and a couple of eggs.

“Mr. Brendon, will you play with me? I have cookies.” And she held out an empty hand, the mesh bag swinging wildly and the frog fumbling about within, webbed feet strugging to find purchase among all the holes.

Orion swept his fingers across Diana’s, adeptly picking up an imaginary cookie and gobbling it before Brendon could step forward. “Delicious! Ms. Tagalori, you are an amazing cook.”

Diana glared at him. “That was for Mr. Brendon. He’s the one who paints.”

Orion actually moued, stammering apologies in a way Brendon would have never imagined the suave lawyer could do. Calling Diana, Miss and Ma’am and Lady without the added moniker of “young” that often hid a twist of condescension.

With a twirl of a red lock between dirty fingers and an indulgent nod, Diana said, “I forgive you. Dad says I have to forgive anyone who apologizes and means it.”

At the doorway, Paul Tagalori chuffed a laugh and shrugged self-consciously.

“Wise words from your father.”

“Mr. Brendon, here’s a cookie for you.” And she narrowed her gaze at Orion in warning. Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XL: Yesteryears

They talked comics still, mostly because Robbie’s mom took him every two weeks to the shop where he dropped fifteen or twenty on the most recent chapters of some favorites or soon-to-be-favorites. Then he’d pass them along, book bag to classroom, locker to book bag again where they’d get crinkled and bent and loved and even read sometimes.

Compartmentalization happens without realizing. Talk to this person about this subject; that person about that. Criss-crossing social circles shouldn’t—couldn’t—happen. Brendon didn’t really think of it like that, of course. He thought: I can’t talk to Robbie about Casey and I can’t talk to Casey about Robbie and I certainly can’t talk about Tori Kel to anyone.

The beginnings of social compartmentalization regardless.

Superheroes became that safe topic. Villain transgression, hero motivations, ability realities, scientific impossibilities (or improbabilities), what makes fantasy different than sci-fi and, occasionally, which artist do you like the best. Though, admittedly, that last conversation was more Brendon’s wheel-house than Robbie’s.

To Brendon it meant he could keep his friendships intact, regardless of broken feelings over Tori Kel. He had so few of them—friends, that was—he didn’t want to lose them. Either of them. Unlike Casey, he’d never had the freedom to work his way into private circles. Unlike Robbie, he didn’t have the confidence to believe he belonged in all of them. Continue reading →