She finished the painting and stood in the middle of the room gazing at her hard work. It had not been an easy job, lots of attention to detail and she was such a stickler for detail. It had to be right this time around; the perfect room to reflect her innermost self. Colors had always played an important part in her life and she was, at least in her own mind, one of the few people alive that could properly express their true inner feelings via Sherman Williams Latex,Satin or Gloss.
When they had bought the house so many years ago, the first thing she had done was begin the restoration, a transformation really. Paint cans, drop cloths, brushes, containers of turpentine had been scattered about the house. Being a slight bit A.D.D, finishing one room at time was just not within her scope of reality. Her husband had realized that fact from early on, so he just tried to stay out of her way as she moved from room to room, wall to wall, painting the pastel colors of pink, teal, and cream to reflect her contentment with her life. Things were calm back then, smooth was her life; smooth as the satin coating on the chair rail.
Years passed quickly, as they are often apt to do. Her life became a whirlwind of activity. Kids, social butterflying, working toward being a supermom like all of her friends, “frantic is the way” became her mantra. She stretched herself thin so to create a decorum of perfection. She had to show the world just how vibrant her life had become, again mostly in her own mind. Out came the paint paraphernalia and the interior of her house now assumed the colors of her life. Bold reds, shocking blues, vibrant greens and small splashes of delusional orange, just enough to catch your eye and make you start to wonder, “Was her life really all it was cracked up to be?” Perception is reality for some, but especially for her, reality was defined in the colors of her life.
Little by little as time marched on it did to her as it does to everyone; create a vacuum. Kids grow up and away, friends slide to the peripheral and her whorl-wind of the moment in primary colors began to fade. The tints began to separate as loved ones near and dear began to fall by the wayside. Life now had become more than she could bear and once again it was time to repaint the house and change the final hue of her humanity.
She stood old and gray, alone with her sadness, paint brush in hand, it hung at her side. The windows were shut so not a breeze kissed her face as she allowed her eyes to gaze at the walls. Black was the paint, flat and cold, perhaps a true reflection of all that there was left in her life. From the ceiling to the floor the color wrapped her in the starkness of being alone. It had been a good life but for her she knew it was soon to be over, The proof was on the walls, the colors were all gone.
Thinking Ten: Plot Thickens, Thursday: