Laid Bare: Essays and Observations by Judson, Tom (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

she got closer she realized she was looking at the back of the easel. There was a canvas mounted on it, and a note was tacked to the frame of the canvas. She took the note and, holding it at an angle in a shaft of sunlight, read its contents:

“Dear Mrs. Giles, Our friend Mr. Clark has come through once again. He has secured me a position on a Federal arts project. I will be working with a crew of fellow artists painting murals in a new Library in Ohio. While I am afraid I cannot pay you the rent I owe you, I hope you will accept this picture in lieu of payment. Thank you for all your kindness. Sincerely, Clive Simmons. P.S Please forgive my taking the liberty of finishing the job.”

The only word that came to her mind was “miffed”. She was miffed at the audacity of this man. She wondered what Mr. Simmons expected her to pay her bills with. And, what could he possibly mean by “finishing the job”?

Circling around to the front of the easel, she saw a small, narrow canvas, on which was painted five white Cala Lillies. They were beautiful. Even more beautiful than the real ones her sister had brought her. But, it was the background of the painting that caused Marion to stare. The lilies were not positioned in a vase, nor were they arranged against any recognizable background. They were simply floating above color. Three colors, in fact. The background faded from blue to rose to black, but it was impossible to tell where one color ended and the next began.

So, this was what Clive had been trying to explain to her. It was so clear, once she saw the results.

Marion took the canvas from the easel and left the garage, closing the door behind her, for the first time not thinking about what had happened inside. She held the painting carefully in front of her and looked at it as she walked back towards the house. She raised her eyes as she neared the kitchen door and let out a small gasp. The arm holding the painting slowly fell to her side and she raised her other hand and cupped it over her open mouth. Looking straight ahead she saw that the patch of brown next to the kitchen door was gone, covered over by a fresh coat of green.

Forest green, she would have to say.

____________________

Clive Simmons was never heard from again. But, Marion’s younger sister was my grandmother and the painting of five Cala Lilies he left behind that cold Thanksgiving morning hangs on the wall in front of me—just to the left of the window—as I sit writing these words.

PANHANDLE MANHANDLE

Mrs. Dahlia Strunk, hostess, Brass Buckle Family Restaurant:

“Well, course I remember him comin’ in here. On account it was Mother’s Day, which, as you know, is our busiest day of the year. Folks’d be makin’ their reservations startin’ right after President’s Day sometimes. Honestly, I wisht one of these years the families would decide to cook for the mothers ‘stead of taking ‘em out. It just seems to me that…. What? Oh, all right. It was a Sunday—goes without saying—and, well, we was packed. Hot, too. This part of Oklahoma heats up pretty early, y’know? That reservation book was full-up weeks before. Which really ain’t surprising, because we are the best restaurant in the Panhandle. I had just seated the Preebo family (Lord, you should see that oldest gal—must tip the scales at 200 pounds if she’s an ounce) and Charlene here—Charlene, you spit that gum out pronto! ‘fore I stick it behind your ear. And answer that damn phone--comes up and says can I seat a single. A single, I tell her! I say, girl that peroxide musta gone to your brain, I can’t seat no single on Mother’s Day, just look at this place. Well, Charlene looks at me with those big cow eyes of hers and I can tell she feels sorry for this fella, being by hisself on Mother’s Day. So, I squeezed him in over there on 9A—that deuce over there by the beverage station. He didn’t stay long, but I heard he left a nice tip. No, I can’t really recall anything else in particular. What’s that Charlene? Oh, that’s right! No, I’ll tell it! Get this—he just ate a bunch of vegetables. Was one of them vegetarians, I suppose. Now, I ask you; what the hell is the point in that? I always say, “If God didn’t want us to eat no animals, he wouldn’t-a made ‘em out of meat!” He was real friendly-like on his way out. Gave me a compliment on my hairdo, can you imagine? Said he had a long drive in front of him. What’s that? No, sir, I never would-a guessed that boy would get hisself involved with the law. Oh, and mister, ‘Hostess’ up there at the top needs a capital H on it.”

Mr. Burt Hendricks and Mr. Morris “Stewy” Jankowski, retired:

“I don’t mind telling you me and Burt are kind of proud of ourselves for how that all turned out. Ain’t we, Burt?”

“You ain’t lyin’, mister.”

“Well, Burt and me come down to the Wal-Mart on account of it was Mother’s Day and I was picking up somethin’ special for the Missus.”

“How much did that leaf-blower set you back, Stewy?”

“That thing was on sale pretty nice. You shoulda seen Edna’s face when I came in after the V.F.W. and told her what I had just set in the garage for her.”

“She liked it, did she?”

“Who wouldn’t? So, there’s Burt and me in the parking lot out in front of the Wal-Mart and Burt says to me, ‘Would you look at that, Stewy? That there looks like an old Ford Falcon.’”