Letters to Kelsey

I grabbed the old sketchbook and flipped it open, admiring the old drawings that Noah had done in the past, even remembering those mornings I’d wake up to him painting a portrait of me. Although honestly, he knew how awfully bad I hated it, but I could never resist how beautiful it turned out. It was like staring through my own self, my reflection; through Noah’s lens and all of the above. Sometimes, well, often actually when I’d think of all those times, I feel motionless and maybe teary eyed too. But it made me feel beautiful; his finest art pieces that has yet been shown to the world and even better. When I think of all those times, those cherished memories that lingers through the house from time to time, I begin to feel like Noah is still there with me. I would feel, in that moment, okay. Then it would wear off, the happiness and the wholehearted memories wore perfume. It felt like nothing could fill the void.

Flipping through the pages, still recalling most of them until I found a blank page and took the pencil from off the floor. Scarlett gazed at me, patiently awating for the bird to be drawn out. I began lightly sketching it, gathering my surroundings, which wasn’t much at all and did my best on the dove. It wasn’t perfect, of course because I wasn’t a good enough artist like her father and I don’t think I’ll ever be just as good as the perfectionist. After a few minutes of drawing the bird, I showed Scarlett with confidence and hoped she approved. She was absolutely in love with it and pulled the book right from my hands.

“What color should we use, Scarlett?” I asked her, opening the paint tubes and then poured paint in each glass with the equal amount. She was still marveled by my odd, non-artsy looking bird, tracing her fingers along the lightly drawn lines and then, laid it out for the paint.

“Black and white.” Scarlett said as she pushed her hair back and rubbed her hands together, just as Noah would before creating a masterpiece. “The feathers can be white and the bird can be black.”

“Are you going to show Grandma and Grandpa?”

“No,” She snapped, irritated by my questioning. Another similarity to her father, easily annoyed by me asking a ship load of questions about what they’re going to do. “It will be a surprise, Mama. Trust me.”

You should never question art, I could remember Noah always reminding me and then, gently wack the tip of my nose with his paintbrush. Art should never be questioned, it should be in vain. That’s what I loved about him though, his art being revelent to his view on life. That’s what made him different and special. “Okay then.” I replied, vaguely, watching Scarlett lightly dip a paintbrush into the white paint.

“They’ll love it because we made it.” She assured me, stroking the brush in one motion. “We made daddy’s dove together.”

I could hear the happiness in her voice as she perfectly outlined the bird in white before completely painting it. Acceptionally happy, I grabbed another paintbrush and begun working on the eyes of the bird. We worked together silently, for a couple of hours until Scarlett started to dose off. It was finally complete,and I had done what Scarlett asked of me to write down, I love you. You are my hero and Mama’s too. After I had put Scarlett back to bed, I took the painting and laid it out to dry beside her bed, then I had went to bed myself.

The next morning I was awaken by chaos eurpting from downstairs. Pots, pans and antique glass plates gently bashing into each other as two mellifluous voices quietly hummed through the madness. Instantly, I knew it was Noah’s parents, George and Elena. I rolled out of bed, tiredly and slipped on my fuzzy pink slippers. Oh dear, time to tell them, I thought to myself as I strolled into the bathroom. I had to break the news again, repeating what I been told yesterday and constantly remembering it as much as I hated to. I took a long look at myself, my young face and inky dark hair. I looked sick and dead myself, but I didn’t care. Grabbing the brush from off the sink, I quickly fixed my messy hair and then, hustled downstairs, forgetting my uncleansed face.

“Good moring!” I answered, cheerfully as I entered the kitchen and the strong smell of fried eggs, bacon and toast filtered the air. “Mmm, something smells delicious.”

“Well goodmorning, honey.” Elena replied, cracking two eggs into the frying pan.

“Morning, Mama.” Said Scarlett, picking at her eggs with a fork.

“Hello, sweetheart.” I pressed my lips against her cheek and then, sat beside her at the table. On the opposite side, there was George, reading the morning paper. “Good day, George.” I added.

“Hello, darling.” He said softly, lowering his paper and pushed his reading glasses on his face.

“How did you sleep last night?” Elena asked, flipping the eggs over with a spatchula.

“I slept alright.” I nodded, grabbing a plate and a few pieces of bacon, then smiled. “Better than before.”

“That’s wonderful, darling.” Elena gazed gracefully and took my plate. “I hope you didn’t mind us coming over a little early, Kelsey. We were a bit concerned about your behavior.”

“My behavior?” I questioned, not quite sure what she meant by my behavior.

“Lately, Kelsey. Your behavior lately.” George added, folding his newspaper and then, poured himself a cup of coffee. I looked at him with pure innocence in my eyes, as if I was accused of any wrong doing and I had nothing to do with it. George stared back, concerned and serious with his glasses worn at the end of his pointy nose.

“Oh, um…yes. I’m sorry.” I answered, apologitically. “I’m alright. Thank you. I’ve been just thinking about another trip actually. You know? All of us, Megan, Lindsey and perhaps Sam. Maybe we could go down to Flordia again.” I suggested as my mouth became watery for the plate of eggs Elena sat in front of me.

“That sounds like a tremendous idea.” Elena agreed. “What do you think, George?”

“How about we just go fishing instead of leaving town, eh? I mean, Noah should be home in no time and that way we all could go together.” George insisteded. “It’ll be fun. Right Kelsey? Fishing?”

“Well I figured that—“ I was cut off by Elena’s slapping George across the back of his head.

“George Ryland McCracken, we are not going fishing.” Elena said sternly. “Besides, I don’t believe that Scarlett and Lindsey aren’t nearly old enough to actually go out there, and catch fish.”

“Start them young, Elena. How will they ever learn to catch fish and enjoy nature, to accept it at the least. Noah would agree.” George proclaimed. “He was an artist himself.”

Elena didn’t answer, but I could read the instant sadness in her face. She always knew this was true. Noah used to love to go fishing with George, not just to approve of his old man, but also because he truly loved nature. Those small elements that I’d remember always meld into one question and one question only: what was war for to begin with? Not any good for a man that never condone violence.

“I know that, okay?” She sighed with her eyes glued to her husband’s the entire time. “He would’ve been very pleased…”

I sat there silently as I watched them stare at each other, studying each other and then, both looked away. Elena and George, married for God only knows how long had went through so much together and it somehow always inspired me to be faithful as them with Noah. I always thought that we’d grow old like them one day, holding hands, taking walks to the beach. Rather my parents that divorced when I was thirteen and I would travel, back and fourth to New York City to see my father. I never understood why did they split up, not that they were going to tell me anyways, but I just never understood why. Still silent, I began to eat the warm and delightful eggs and bacon, then taking only a few sips of orange juice afterwards. Everything was equally delicious to the smell.

After another few more minutes, George had gave in and apologized for using Noah against her word. No fishing was the final decision, however, it did sound great for a beautiful Sunday morning. There’s never really anything to do on Sunday’s, unless you had Sunday school or going to the art gallary, which is only open for a few hours on a Sunday. Anywho, Scarlett would’ve loved to go fishing with her cousin, Lindsey.