CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXXV: Present

The next of Brendon’s customers they visited was an older lady by the name of Emma Holde. Clutter lined her hallways and stacked itself in piles on the coffee table, the bookshelves, the wide windowsills. But it was the careful sort of clutter. The memories one didn’t wish to toss when memories happened to be all that was left.

Orion stared at the picture—rolling river waves, a boat race in the springtime, a man standing at the helm of one Dandelion Roar while three children crawled about the prow and the sun counted another day in lives worth living.

“That’s me standing beside him,” said Emma, voice aged and fine. She gave a sigh and a secret smile for Brendon, wisps of variegated gray tickling her cheeks. “He got the likeness of us all down, even to the way Gina used to twist her knees in when she was little.”

“How long have you had it?” asked Orion. The picture hung over a well-loved sofa. A focal point in the room. A memory welcoming all the others piled up along the walls.

“Three years,” murmured Brendon.

“That’s right,” agreed Emma. “Three years ago. Tommy commissioned it for me and Gina sifted through all the photos to give Brendon what he needed. Tommy even took him for a tour of a boat the like we used to have. Not the Roar, of course. It’s been long since it sailed its last voyage.”

Orion turned from examining the painting, his gaze cutting across the bookshelves, over the trio of cats lounging in the early sunshafts, and settling on Brendon.

“When was the last time you sailed, Ms. Holde?” Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXXIII: Yesteryears

The Bayscape sat between a coffee shop and an herbal remedy shop, which meant it smelled about a dozen ways delicious. Peppermint accosted Brendon on two sides as he stared into the wide gallery windows, the edges frosted and the OPEN sign nothing but a wind chime made of letters that tingled and clanked against one another. Inside, no one moved, but canvas and pottery perched on wall space and squat white tables.

He pressed a hand against the window that first afternoon, fingers chilling through his gloves. A want had stirred deep in his gut that day Donna Pierceman had stood in front of the art tables in her flowing, flowery dress. A want that twisted his imagination into dreams that many from his neighborhood harbored in the recesses of their minds. Not of football though or of full-ride scholarships or California beaches or talent discoveries outside Manhattan.

The grip of shyness held him near that window for long minutes. Two streets over, the mechanical church bell sang and then donged four times to announce the hour, like Grandma Angel’s old grandfather clock times ten on the decibel scale.

Like magic, the bell woke Brendon from his ruminating and had him acting before his mind could catch up and second-guess for him. Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXXII: Present

Jennifer Craugh walked them out and stood on her doorstep to watch them leave. Her head remained cocked as if she attempted to solve the question of what Orion Livesey had truly wanted. Brendon stared at her in the side mirror as Orion pulled away, out into the summer morning and through the young neighborhood with its just-planted trees and too many roses.

“She’s been in those woods,” said Orion.

“You can’t be sure. Not when you frame your questions about dreams.”

“You can’t be sure. I can.”

Brendon shot him an annoyed glare, but Orion didn’t react.

“Aren’t you worried those wolves might tear her apart?” Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXXI: Yesteryears

Brendon met Donna Pierceman through Mr. Wexler, his art teacher bringing her in one afternoon to speak to all his students. Donna wore a flowery dress that flowed and flowed about her curves as she nervously shifted during her presentation. Her hair—brown and bunned—wisped around her face in escaping curls. Her eyes held the same critical estimation as Mr. Wexlar’s and Aunt Laurel’s.

“The Bayscape focuses on local artists. We feature collections occasionally, but more often than not we do themed displays. We also have a section for students, from elementary to college, to give young men and women, such as yourselves, a chance to showcase your own work.”

Brendon didn’t raise his hands during the question and answer section at the end. Instead, he sat through fifteen minutes of Dylan asking things like, “What if you break a piece of art?” and “What if you hate what someone’s designed?” and “So anyone can put pieces on display in your gallery?”

“Not anyone. We expect quality, but we want to help motivate young artists who are stepping into the field.” Donna cocked her head in a such a manner that made Brendon think Dylan would never have anything on display inside The Bayscape.

After, Brendon lingered, fingers working over the straps of his book bag. Donna didn’t notice, a lot of her nervous bravado sluicing off her back as she checked her phone in a spare moment of relaxation. But Mr. Wexlar did. Continue reading →

CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XXX: Yesteryears

Tori Kel didn’t happen all at once, these things never do. Robbie looked first, furtive glances, shy smiles, quiet conversations after classes that Brendon shared with him but Casey didn’t. So Brendon got to see Tori Kel bend down and hand a dropped pencil back to Robbie and say, “Like your Batman folder, man.”

And Brendon got to see Robbie huff and fumble over his words even though those words were only, “Thank you.”

Because Brendon shared that English class, he also got to see Robbie linger at his desk every day, puttering when he should have been packing up. Got to see Robbie smile and bravely say “Hi,” one morning and, “Did you do the homework?” another.

Got to see Robbie swallow, broken voice uneven as puberty had snuck up on them all, and lean forward like he wanted to go ask Tori Kel whether she wanted to go to the dance together on Friday. That was Monday. Tuesday, Robbie breached that ocean of distance and asked, but Brendon wasn’t there to see.

Casey’s response didn’t happen all at once either.

Denial made him cranky and at first, Brendon thought, there went that rubber band again, springing Casey away from Robbie through whatever argument they’d had.

He’d say things like, “She won’t last,” and “She’s not even pretty,” and “You don’t think she’s pretty, right, Bren?”

And Brendon would nod along, because he agreed, Tori Kel wasn’t the sort of person he thought about at night. Plus Casey liked that answer and would give an approving nod and sidle closer with conspiratorial murmurs, the smell of him overwhelming Brendon’s world for those few precious moments.

~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter: XXXI