Fifteen

I WAS TOO ANGRY to inflict myself on anyone else. I couldn’t go to my room because Melody and Lissa were having a special time. And here I was, standing in the hall naked. I knocked lightly on the Trips’ door. When it opened, I asked Willow if I could borrow a pair of pants and a shirt. Well, that was easy enough. None of the three of them were wearing anything. Our house is a nudist colony.

“Are you guys okay?” Sunday asked as Willow handed me socks, underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt. I dressed in the doorway as we talked.

“There’s a little problem,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

“We could hear you shouting,” Rainbow said. She walked over and gave me a hug, pressing her lithe naked body against me. That girl was getting dangerous. Or maybe it was all just innocence because we made an open and accepting environment in our home. That’s what I thought we were doing, anyway.

“I just need to go out and get some air so I don’t flip out again,” I said. “Say, could I borrow a cell phone, too? Just in case I need to call someone. Mine’s with my clothes.” Sunday handed me her phone and I headed up to the garage. My keys and shoes were by the door. I took off, not even thinking about the fact that I had no money and no ID.

I started driving aimlessly. I ended up over by the SCU campus. I was only over here a couple times a week lately to run with Coach Fredrickson or to use the sports therapy room. I did most of my training at the club. Not that I’d been doing much since Opens. There hadn’t been time. I wasn’t getting enough physical exercise and I was ready to explode. I parked and walked toward the athletic pavilion, not even thinking that SCU was already out on winter break.

That’s when I also realized exactly where I was. Straight ahead of me was the vast mural of Tent City on the wall of the AP. The school had installed lights so that the mural was always lit. It stood there, a silent testimony to what had happened—damn!—almost exactly a year ago. I could still hear the screaming. I could still see Paulie’s body sprawled out in front of me. I could still feel Wendy rush into my arms with her hair on fire. How hoarse I was for days after from the screaming I’d done. How I’d become Wendy’s hero—a poor title if you asked me. Even worse than being called her master. And now Kate...

The tears still wouldn’t come. I stood there in front of all that tragedy and all that hope, the Te Deum still ringing in my ears from the dedication last spring, and nothing came. I turned my back and headed to the studio.

I didn’t bother sketching anything on the new canvas before I started applying paint. Red. Black. Purple. White. Wet blends of earth tones as my anger and frustration began to dissipate into the silence that surrounded me. I didn’t use a brush, but a palette knife, scooping gobs of oil paint directly onto the canvas and using that as my mixing palette as I painted. Not until the teal eyes, did I realize the face taking shape out of the darkness and anger was my own.

It didn’t take long as paintings go and when it was finished, I was finished. I’d never again touch those thick coats of paint again. It came from something deep inside that I couldn’t control or even understand.

I also knew I could never show it to anyone.

Sunday’s phone chimed a cute ringtone and I hunted around for where I’d put it.

“Tony.”

“Sweetheart,” Lissa said, “it’s time to come home now. Your family needs you.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I answered.