Paint

The next part was to pick up the paintbrush.

But she was nervous. What was new? She always seemed to be nervous. She would shake when she had to do something important. Her lip would quiver when speaking in front of groups of people. She would feel a bitter cold when having to do anything that required even just the tiniest amount of courage.

When she saw that paintbrush on the table and she was told to pick it up, she started to shake and she felt that same bitter cold that came whenever she had to be courageous. It made her rethink if she should do this. She looked up at the woman, who regarded her with a look almost as cold as the chill she felt.

“You may start, Miss Penny,” the woman said.

She looked back at the paintbrush and her hands went to reach for it. She felt so cold as her fingers touched the paintbrush and picked it up. She shook as she dipped the paintbrush in the water and then in the purple paint. Even though she was not speaking in front of a group of people, her lip started to quiver as she began to paint.

She glanced at the woman, who did not seem concerned about the girl standing in front of her, about to cry. She tried to ignore the judging look of the woman, but she knew that woman was writing things about her work. With her anxiety, judgment hurt her even more. She wanted to cry so bad and it was so hard to hold the tears back as she painted the photo of the mountains. The mountains she had seen so many years ago. The mountains that reminded her that the world was still beautiful.

The photo of the mountains helped her as she tried to calm down and paint the picture. She remembered the day she saw those mountains and how beautiful they were. She remembered standing there, looking at the mountains with the sun shining brightly. She remembered the sound of wildlife and the breeze in the air that was just a little cold. Nothing like the bitter cold she felt when she was nervous. She wanted to go back there, but for now she was standing in this room with the judging lady, alone with her memories and shaking hands. That bitter cold tried to freeze her, but somehow, she kept painting.

She brushed the paintbrush across the canvas. She tried to get her hands to stop shaking but she could not do anything to stop it. She could not do anything except continue to paint and hope that this would all be done soon.

It seemed like years to her when she finally stopped painting, when it was really only thirty minutes. When she put down the paintbrush, she felt so relieved. She took a deep breath and regarded her artwork. It was beautiful. She could not believe she had done that when she was so nervous.

The woman looked impressed and the worry invading her mind lessened. The woman told her they would call her with the news and then she gathered her things and left.

It was done. It took so long. It took up so much of her energy. It made her shake, it made her nervous, it made her anxious, it felt it would go on forever and now it was done. She was just leaving now. It shocked her how she could be so nervous and then thirty minutes later, it felt like it was just a distant memory.