Chipped Paint

The straw floated out of my hand and hit the floor. I watched another glide down. It lowered gently with no urgency to land. I have no urgency to move myself. I have been in the barn for over an hour now. I sat on the top of a stack of straw that was starting to mold in spots from lack of use. There wasn’t much left in the barn besides that. I tried to find the life that used to fill the place. All I found was a few spider webs hanging on the walls that used to have equipment on them.

I could not hide forever. I picked my body up and opened the doors to the outside. I closed them and ran my hands along the chipping red paint. The parts I touched fell away. It came off as easy as when I put it on.

“I’m bored! Could I just go inside?” I looked up with big brown eyes at my father.

“What could be more fun inside? Out here you have the fresh air and a beautiful view. Not to mention plenty of pretty red paint to cover these walls with,” he said back with plenty of spirit. He never stopped moving his paintbrush during the conversation.

“You are right. I don’t wanna go inside. I would rather ride my horse,” I stood with my head high in the air. At least I thought I did, but it is hard to when your head isn’t that far off the ground in the first place.

He shook his head and laughed. He dipped his brush in the paint and started to walk towards me, “You want to spend time with a horse over your own father?”

His pretend shocked face didn’t stop me. I quickly said, “yes!”

He took his brush and wiped it all over my nose

I stood there for a moment like I had no clue what to do.

“The horses are not as fun as me,” he laughed and put another swipe across my forehead.

He had declared war. I took out my own paint brush and started to fling paint in his direction. It mostly fell on his shirt while a few speckles landed on his face. He ran after me. We continued to chase and cover each other in paint until my mom came out. She tried to be stern with us but couldn’t hold in the giggles herself.

She found me this time as well. My mom took my hand away from the door and glided me back towards the house. The quiet should have been creepy. It didn’t bother me though. What was weird about two women in black walking in silence across a field towards an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

Personally, I had no concept of creepy or weird anymore. My life had shifted ever since I left, and I was left reaching for normalcy that I could never quite find again.

“I cannot change who I am just to make you happy,” my voice started at a normal tone only to crack and raise the farther I got into the sentence.

“I am trying to protect you!”

That is when I ran the rest of the way across the field and towards the house. My father was not trying to protect me. He was trying to hide me. He had already taken everything that I loved away from me.

Him telling me he wanted to protect me was the last straw. I packed up all of my clothes into a bag and slipped out the back door before he ever made it inside.

I sat in the kitchen drinking tea while my mom put the casserole from Patty into the oven. I was tired of casserole but decided that it was better than starving.

My mom opened her mouth to say something and decided to close it again. She instead picked up her own cup of tea and began to drink. She tapped her fingers on the counter.

The tension was relieved by the ringing of the phone.

I was exhausted from a poor day at work. Serving burgers turned out to be more work than I thought. That day I had a customer throw his food directly at me because apparently, he wanted no mustard. I’m not sure if he expected me to read his mind or what since he never said anything.

I kicked off my shoes and sat on the couch. I instinctively ran my finger in the hole on the side before flopping diagonally across it.

My cellphone began to ring. I hurried to get it out of my tight jean pockets almost falling off the couch in the process. When I saw the name Mom written across the front, I threw it down on the table in front of me.

I figured it was her weekly call. After five years of being on my own she still called at least once a week. I never answer. A part of me thought about changing my number, but honestly, I couldn’t afford to pay a phone bill on top of everything else, so I left that last link to my parents alive.

The ringing died down after a minute and I was able to relax into the couch once again. I was just getting comfortable again when it started ringing again. Mom was displayed on the screen along with a message for a new voicemail. I found that odd since she hadn’t left one in ages. I ignored it still figuring it could wait and fell asleep on the couch.

It was my mom who ignored the call this time. She opted to drink more of her tea. She opened her mouth again. Every time I thought she was going to speak she didn’t. It had been like this since my return yesterday. Luckily most of the time had been spent on last minute touches for the funeral that was held earlier today. There was not much room for words.

She tilted her head and this time words did come, “He loved you. I hope you know that.”

I had to hold down the anger threatening to explode inside of me. There was no point anymore, “I should have said goodbye.”

“You didn’t know. You would have come if you did.”

“Not before he died. When I left.”

She took another sip of her tea, “He thought you would come back. Even on his last day he was determined that you would be there to say goodbye.”

“I guess he was wrong,” I looked down at the table. I ran my fingers along the cracks in the wood.

She got up and walked into her room. I figured our conversation was done. She came back holding a flag in her hand, “He wasn’t wrong. You came back. He just didn’t get to see it. He bought this for you. He planned to tell you he would hang it from that flagpole if that is what you wanted because all he wanted was you. No matter who you are.”

I ran my fingers along the red stripe of the rainbow. I couldn’t get words out. Instead all I did was cry as my mother held me close.

“He always loved you. He thought Claire was a bad pick, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love you or who you are. He wanted you to have a girl that deserved you."

I only cried more and held on tighter to my mom.

Nothing else mattered now that I knew that he loved me.