June 17
Tomorrow is the big day, first day of treatment. I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. I wanted to stay there, hiding, hoping tomorrow wouldn’t come. Then I realized this is my last day of freedom at least for a while. I don’t know how radiation and chemo will affect me. Most people have some form of illness with it. I heard of a few friends of friends who weren’t sick at all and even start feeling better. I’m hoping I’m for the later, but fear the former.
I thought I’d paint the day away. I had pictures taped to the wall of landscapes that looked like they’d come from a French fairy tale. The more I worked, adding more color, the darker the painting became. It began to look like a storm was waiting just on the horizon to take over my painting and my life.
I heard Livia’s voice calling to Logan, she had decided to show off her “grandson” to Louise today.
“It was not funny and your etiquette classes start next week,” Livia called after Logan.
She didn’t sound happy.
“Do you know what your son did?” she asked, pacing in front of my easel.
“No, but I’m sure it was an accident,” I tried soothing.
“Accident? Burping the National Anthem isn’t an accident,” she fumed.
It seems Louise asked him if he played an instrument and right there at the table in the middle of the club, he burped the National Anthem. I wish I could have seen their faces. I told Livia I’d have a talk with him.
But she insisted I didn’t.
She laughed, “He’s a pistol, that one.”
She even commented on my painting, saying, “You’re not half bad. Your paintings I mean, they’re actually quite good and I know art. I have been the chairman of the Arts Committee for more than eight years now.”
I heard Livia talking to Allie in the hall.
“She’s painting. She’s really very good. I should have realized. She has that artist personality. Doesn’t care about her appearance, a kind of obsessed with something else look.”
“I don’t feel like fighting,” I called out after Livia left, “So if you’re here for round two, forget it.”
“I’m not here to fight.”
Allie paused behind the easel.
“She’s right, you know. Did you ever think you were meant to be an artist?”
I lied when I said, “I haven’t thought about it in years.”
I had thought about it, not every day, but periodically I would wonder if I could have been an artist or if I could still be one. After a while of day dreaming, I’d put away the fantasy in regards for reality. Knowing that someday when the time was right, when I had less responsibilities and more time, I’d come back to it again.
“You quit because of me,” Allie replied.
“I quit because of circumstances. You weren’t even out of high school.”
“I made you quit. I practically insisted.”
So Allie felt guilty.
“It was my choice. I made a decision.”
“I couldn’t do anything without you. I should have gone to college alone. I didn’t need you. I’m sorry I took your dream from you,” Allie insisted.
“I didn’t quit because of you. I quit because of me. I was scared and you were an excuse. After Grandma died, I had no one to go back to. I was alone too.”
That was the truth. It wasn’t Bryan’s fault. It wasn’t Allie’s fault. It wasn’t my parents’ fault. Ultimately it was my decision and my fault. I had no one to blame. If it didn’t work out now, it was only my fault. I had taken responsibility for everyone else except myself. I had been avoiding myself out of fear. As long as I never tried, I’d still have the dream. If I failed, then I would have the truth, it was just a silly dream. I might as well be dreaming of winning the lottery. At least with the lottery I’d have a chance. Once I tried and failed, my dream of being an artist would be over.
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