Detour From a Dream

Even though she was gone, the room was still the same. Delicate sun rays shone through the floor-to-ceiling windows that took the place of walls on two sides of the room. In a pattern no one could figure out, stained glass window panes randomly broke the crystal clear glass of the windows, tainting the sunlight with color as it shone in from outside. My favorite stained glass pane was in the far right corner of the room, which depicted a baby lamb and its mother.

Her easel was never stationary. She constantly moved it around over the old newspapers that covered the wooden floor. She said it was because a different location gave her a new perspective. New inspiration. Observing the room, I could identify various places where she had recently set up as smears and streaks of bright blue stained the newspapers from 1968. The blue must have been magnetic, as it was always trailing around and behind her like little ducklings following their mama.

Her collection of works was all piled up against the wall in the far left corner. There had to be at least 30 full canvases just collecting dust. This was the one thing I never understood about Nana. She never hung her paintings. In fact, the only things hanging up in the room were her medical school accomplishments and awards from the old hospital she used to work at as a nurse.

Next to the paintings collecting dust laid a metal trash bin, its contents recently scattered all over the floor by the cat. Tens of posters and advertisements for local and regional art competitions, partially crumpled, were spilt all over the floor, pouring from the bin’s opening.

Leah Bahamonde