Love, Life, and the List
Page 34
My hand began to cramp and I stopped and stretched it. “What other stories do you have involving this tree?” I asked, filling the silence.
“My brother fell from that branch there and broke his arm.” He pointed to one above my head.
“Bones should be stronger than they are, considering they’re what holds us up.”
“I agree. Sometimes it seems we’re very fragile creatures.”
On the trunk of the tree by my ear I had noticed some carved initials. “What about this? One starts with an L. Is this you?”
He didn’t look up from his knitting. “My first kiss.”
“Right here? I’m sitting where momentous events happened in your life.”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Well, when I go home tonight, I will write a strongly worded letter to . . .” I paused. “The television station? The mayor?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not my cause, so I can’t sit out here with you for the next month or whatever, but I am good at strongly worded letters.”
“How many strongly worded letters have you written?”
“Okay, fine, it will be my first, but I wanted you to have confidence in me.”
He smiled. “I have confidence in you.”
I leaned my head back and looked at the tree towering above me again. “I can see what made you do this,” I said. “Do you mind if I take a picture of us?”
“Sure.”
I held up my camera and took a pic of the two of us—me on the branch, him right below me. I thought I’d include it in an email to my dad, but there was also someone else I wanted to send it to. Elliot.
Chaining myself to a tree for my art.
You’re chained to that tree? He responded back almost immediately.
Not really, but I just learned the story of what made him want to and remembered your chain-worthy sculpture. I still want to see it.
You’re welcome to see my art anytime.
When I got home, I flipped through the notebook of sketches I’d done. Then I combined some of each and painted a tree with its memories—a broken branch to represent the broken bone, two branches twisted into a heart shape to represent the kiss, words carved into the side for the books, and at the bottom I painted a chain. The chain represented Lance. I used one of my bigger canvases, and the tree’s branches filled every corner. Now I knew why Elliot often made trees his subject. They were gorgeous.
But still, my painting was missing something, because no matter how gorgeous it was, I knew this wasn’t a tree I’d chain myself to.
TWENTY-THREE
The next day I sat on my bed with my notebook trying to add something more personal to the sketches I’d done of the tree. I’d told Lance’s story in my painting, but what about mine?
My computer, which was sitting next to me, dinged with an instant message.
Hey, kid.
I smiled, set the book down, and typed back. Dad! Can you video chat?
Calling now.
My computer rang and I moved the arrow to the video icon. His face came up on the screen.
“Your hair is so short,” I said.
He ran his hand over the buzz cut. “It’s hot here. Had my buddy clip it yesterday.”
“Should I go get Mom too?” I stretched up in my bed to look at the door, like she might be lurking there, waiting for the invite.
“I just got off with her. She’s in her room.”
I laughed. “I like how you know that and I don’t.”
“It’s nice knowing more than you about home life every once in a while.”
I smiled, and his smile slid off his face. “How is she?” he asked. “She was putting on a brave face, but I’m sure you know much more about that than I do.”
“She’s okay. She’s been on a few walks lately. That’s good. She promised me she’s going to my art show.”
“So you’re in the art show now? Your heart list worked!”
“Well, no, not yet. I mean, I haven’t shown him my new paintings yet. I will.”
“I’m still not happy that Mr. Wallace said you have no heart. You have the biggest heart I know.”
I blew air between my lips. “You have to say that because you’re my dad. And because you hardly know me.”
He narrowed his eyes, and I laughed.
“Just kidding. You sort of know me.”
“I know you’re more sarcastic than . . .”
“You went down that comparison road knowing you were going to crash and burn.”
“Your grandpa!” he said, finally producing an end to his sentence.
“Yeah, nice try, but I think Grandpa might still have me beat. He is older and much more experienced.”
“Speaking of your grandpa, how is he?”
“Still alive.”
A door opened and closed behind Dad, and he looked over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said back to me. “I have to go. Email me some pictures of your latest paintings. And Abby, don’t let anyone tell you that you have no heart.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I wish I could be there for your art show.”
I shrugged. “There might not be an art show. I mean, I might not be in it anyway, so it’s fine. . . .”
“I love you,” he said.
“Love you too.”
He clicked the End button and a grainy image of him froze on my screen for a moment. I reached out and touched the smooth surface.
I was busy trying to change the bark sketch when a head appeared around my door.
“Hey,” Cooper said.
“Who let you in?”
He smiled and came all the way into my room. “You’re not happy to see me? Is that why you hung up on me?”
“I hung up on you because I was busy.” I smiled.
“Are you still mad at me for wanting to duel Lacey?”
“No. I’ve learned long ago that you’re a dork.”
His eyes went to my hands. “What are you doing?”
“Drawing.”
“Drawing? When’s the last time you drew?” He sat down next to me and looked at the open book. “What is it?”
“Bark. Up close.”
“Okay,” he said skeptically.
He was right. It didn’t look like bark anymore. It had at one point, but I’d drawn over it so many times, trying to make it cooler or better or more dynamic, that it now looked like a bunch of scribbling. “I know you’re impressed.”
“Why aren’t you painting?”
“I was . . . sort of. I’m letting my mind brainstorm.” I pushed his shoulder. “Now stop mocking me.” I went over a line again on the page.
He took the book and pencil from me and placed them on my nightstand.
“Hey! Give them back.”
“I’m saving you from yourself.”
I sighed. “Fine. Let’s do something on the list then.” Maybe that would help.
Cooper let himself fall onto my bed, then glanced across the room at the list and gave a noncommittal shrug. His enthusiasm over the list had been declining steadily, much to my disappointment. But I still had a show to earn my way into. I couldn’t quit while there was still time. Plus, the things I was experiencing had been fun. Yesterday, after talking to Lance, I’d marked “learn a stranger’s story” off the list. I hadn’t even set out to do that and I had.
“My brother fell from that branch there and broke his arm.” He pointed to one above my head.
“Bones should be stronger than they are, considering they’re what holds us up.”
“I agree. Sometimes it seems we’re very fragile creatures.”
On the trunk of the tree by my ear I had noticed some carved initials. “What about this? One starts with an L. Is this you?”
He didn’t look up from his knitting. “My first kiss.”
“Right here? I’m sitting where momentous events happened in your life.”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Well, when I go home tonight, I will write a strongly worded letter to . . .” I paused. “The television station? The mayor?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s not my cause, so I can’t sit out here with you for the next month or whatever, but I am good at strongly worded letters.”
“How many strongly worded letters have you written?”
“Okay, fine, it will be my first, but I wanted you to have confidence in me.”
He smiled. “I have confidence in you.”
I leaned my head back and looked at the tree towering above me again. “I can see what made you do this,” I said. “Do you mind if I take a picture of us?”
“Sure.”
I held up my camera and took a pic of the two of us—me on the branch, him right below me. I thought I’d include it in an email to my dad, but there was also someone else I wanted to send it to. Elliot.
Chaining myself to a tree for my art.
You’re chained to that tree? He responded back almost immediately.
Not really, but I just learned the story of what made him want to and remembered your chain-worthy sculpture. I still want to see it.
You’re welcome to see my art anytime.
When I got home, I flipped through the notebook of sketches I’d done. Then I combined some of each and painted a tree with its memories—a broken branch to represent the broken bone, two branches twisted into a heart shape to represent the kiss, words carved into the side for the books, and at the bottom I painted a chain. The chain represented Lance. I used one of my bigger canvases, and the tree’s branches filled every corner. Now I knew why Elliot often made trees his subject. They were gorgeous.
But still, my painting was missing something, because no matter how gorgeous it was, I knew this wasn’t a tree I’d chain myself to.
TWENTY-THREE
The next day I sat on my bed with my notebook trying to add something more personal to the sketches I’d done of the tree. I’d told Lance’s story in my painting, but what about mine?
My computer, which was sitting next to me, dinged with an instant message.
Hey, kid.
I smiled, set the book down, and typed back. Dad! Can you video chat?
Calling now.
My computer rang and I moved the arrow to the video icon. His face came up on the screen.
“Your hair is so short,” I said.
He ran his hand over the buzz cut. “It’s hot here. Had my buddy clip it yesterday.”
“Should I go get Mom too?” I stretched up in my bed to look at the door, like she might be lurking there, waiting for the invite.
“I just got off with her. She’s in her room.”
I laughed. “I like how you know that and I don’t.”
“It’s nice knowing more than you about home life every once in a while.”
I smiled, and his smile slid off his face. “How is she?” he asked. “She was putting on a brave face, but I’m sure you know much more about that than I do.”
“She’s okay. She’s been on a few walks lately. That’s good. She promised me she’s going to my art show.”
“So you’re in the art show now? Your heart list worked!”
“Well, no, not yet. I mean, I haven’t shown him my new paintings yet. I will.”
“I’m still not happy that Mr. Wallace said you have no heart. You have the biggest heart I know.”
I blew air between my lips. “You have to say that because you’re my dad. And because you hardly know me.”
He narrowed his eyes, and I laughed.
“Just kidding. You sort of know me.”
“I know you’re more sarcastic than . . .”
“You went down that comparison road knowing you were going to crash and burn.”
“Your grandpa!” he said, finally producing an end to his sentence.
“Yeah, nice try, but I think Grandpa might still have me beat. He is older and much more experienced.”
“Speaking of your grandpa, how is he?”
“Still alive.”
A door opened and closed behind Dad, and he looked over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said back to me. “I have to go. Email me some pictures of your latest paintings. And Abby, don’t let anyone tell you that you have no heart.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I wish I could be there for your art show.”
I shrugged. “There might not be an art show. I mean, I might not be in it anyway, so it’s fine. . . .”
“I love you,” he said.
“Love you too.”
He clicked the End button and a grainy image of him froze on my screen for a moment. I reached out and touched the smooth surface.
I was busy trying to change the bark sketch when a head appeared around my door.
“Hey,” Cooper said.
“Who let you in?”
He smiled and came all the way into my room. “You’re not happy to see me? Is that why you hung up on me?”
“I hung up on you because I was busy.” I smiled.
“Are you still mad at me for wanting to duel Lacey?”
“No. I’ve learned long ago that you’re a dork.”
His eyes went to my hands. “What are you doing?”
“Drawing.”
“Drawing? When’s the last time you drew?” He sat down next to me and looked at the open book. “What is it?”
“Bark. Up close.”
“Okay,” he said skeptically.
He was right. It didn’t look like bark anymore. It had at one point, but I’d drawn over it so many times, trying to make it cooler or better or more dynamic, that it now looked like a bunch of scribbling. “I know you’re impressed.”
“Why aren’t you painting?”
“I was . . . sort of. I’m letting my mind brainstorm.” I pushed his shoulder. “Now stop mocking me.” I went over a line again on the page.
He took the book and pencil from me and placed them on my nightstand.
“Hey! Give them back.”
“I’m saving you from yourself.”
I sighed. “Fine. Let’s do something on the list then.” Maybe that would help.
Cooper let himself fall onto my bed, then glanced across the room at the list and gave a noncommittal shrug. His enthusiasm over the list had been declining steadily, much to my disappointment. But I still had a show to earn my way into. I couldn’t quit while there was still time. Plus, the things I was experiencing had been fun. Yesterday, after talking to Lance, I’d marked “learn a stranger’s story” off the list. I hadn’t even set out to do that and I had.
