Paint Phillip

“Take another drag Phillip,” he said with a hack. His fist was clutched to his chest, cigarette burning in his other hand. He weakly lifted the burning tobacco to his lips and sucked at the filter. He exhaled the smoke slowly, letting it crawl up the sides of his face and cling to his blonde hair which was tied back in a pony tail.1

He lifted his hand from his chest and grasped his brush again. His fingers were long and slender, elegant and smooth. He softly brushed the back of his hand against his cheek to get the hair out of his eyes. He looked up towards the ceiling.2

“Now where was I again?” he asked. He tapped the back of the brush against the palate. He dipped the bristles in a deep lavender. He swirled the brush around, collecting the paint while he looked at the blank easel listlessly. Once satisfied, he lifted the brush to the canvas and started dabbing at it.3

“Have I ever told you about Christa?” he asked as he worked on his painting.4

“I don't think so,” Kimberly said. “Was she a friend of yours?”5

“Yea,” he said quietly as his dabbing became lighter. “My first love actually.” He dipped the bristles into the purple paint again and swirled it around. As he touched the brush to the easel again he spoke, “Whenever I think about her, I remember the last time I really saw her.” He dipped the brush in a light green.6

“See Christa was a tweaker. Do you know what that is?” He ran the brush against the canvas smoothly. He stopped a moment to look at her expectantly.7

“No,” she answered finally. Her face was cringed up in an expression that seemed expectant of something terrible. “It sounds terrible though.”8

“Oh it is,” Phillip said in a matter-of-fact tone. His stokes became violent. “A tweaker is somebody who does a lot of meth. Christa was a tweaker.” He stopped mid-stroke as a violent cough took over his body. He raised his hand to his mouth as a deep rasp worked its way out of his throat. Kimberly could hear the phlegm release as he took his last violent hack. “Oh god,” he said as he clutched his chest and rested his head on the pillow. He looked sad as he laid scrunched up and waiting to catch his normal breathing pattern again.9

“The last time I really saw Christa,” he began in a voice that wasn't his own. He hacked again and Kimberly heard more phlegm break free. “She was smoking meth the last time I saw her.” His voice was back to normal again, but he still seemed fearful of another fit of coughing. He laid as still as he could. “I usually knew where she got it from, but this time the usual dealers were out. The meth business was a healthy business in that area. It was a shitty neighborhood and everyone had something in their lives that they would rather shoot up their arms or put in their lungs than think about.” He pulled out another cigarette.10

“See I had quit by that time,” he continued. He lit his cigarette and exhaled the smoke. The smoke swirled around as it floated upwards. Kimberly coughed.11

“I wish you would stop smoking those when you work. It would go a lot faster that way,” she said.12

He ignored her. “We got the meth from some guy I had never met before. He was short and sketchy looking. There was just something not right about the guy.” He took a long drag and blew the smoke out slowly, letting it become a thick cloud. “Anyways, she tried to get me to smoke it with her, but I had been clean four months and no longer had the itch of addiction.”13

“Did you try to get her to stop?” Kimberly interjected. She looked at Phillip thoughtfully.14

Phillip sighed as the cigarette in his hand burned down to the filter. He smashed it out in the ashtray on his nightstand. “Yea, I tried to get her to stop. She never would though. She enjoyed the bright and shiny feeling too much.” He dipped the brush in green and started where he had left off, running the bristles softly across the canvas. “So, she smoked this stuff that we got and I noticed something in it that I had never seen before. I saw these little blue crystals.” Just then, rain started to fall on the roof.15

“What was it?” Kimberly asked. “When did you notice?” She bit her lip nervously.16

“It was while she was smoking it. It was Drano.” He was looking at his painting with one eye. The other eye was shut tight. He turned the canvas toward her. “Do you like it?” he asked.17

Kimberly looked at what he had painted. The picture was scrunched up on the left side of the canvas. It was small, but breathtaking.18

“It's like it's really there in front of me,” Kimberly said breathlessly. She looked intently at the purple lilacs crawling up the hillside and the way that those purple flowers got entangled in the thorns as they climbed higher. “It's beautiful Phillip,” she gasped just then. The rain outside beat down harder on the roof.19

“Well, I'm not done yet,” he said as he swung the canvas back around to face him. Kimberly sighed. “Well, smoking Drano is really not good for you, as you probably could guess.” He dipped the bristles in red paint this time. Kimberly swallowed.20

“So, what happened to her?” The question was inevitable. The answer was too.21

“She went crazy. Whatever that shit did to her, it pushed her over the edge. My friend Jason and I were talking while she was smoking that meth. I looked in the bag and noticed the crystals, but I didn't even think to tell Jason. I didn't think it was a big deal.” He dabbed the canvas hard with the red paint. “Next thing I know, Jason and I turn around and she's not there. When we finally found her, she was standing on a chair in the middle of her bedroom.” He flicked his brush and sent specks of red paint flying towards the canvas. It splattered across the whiteness and stuck. “She had a rope around her neck. She said she wanted to kill herself.” He flicked the brush one last time.22

An eerie silence filled the room as the artist dipped his brush in white. He was enthralled in his work now. The listless look in his eyes was gone. He seemed invigorated, less sad. Once he was done with what he was working on, he sat back and sighed. The listless look returned. It seemed as if all his energy had been sapped by this brief moment of excitement. He weakly turned the canvas toward Kimberly again.23

“We saved her, but she never was the same,” he said as Kimberly took in this artwork. The red and white he had gathered were near the middle of the canvas, a little bit off to the right. She marveled in the way the grass looked like it was painted red. She was nearly moved to tears by the sparse groupings of white stargazer lilies amid the red grass.24

“Can we talk about happier things?” she asked.25

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?” He turned the canvas back around.26

“I don't know. You said Christa was your first love right?”27

“Yea, that's right.” He suddenly had the impulse to dip the brush in gray.28

“Well, who came after that? And did you ever have any kids? Kids are usually happy.” Kimberly smiled down at Phillip.29

“Well, Kimberly, people come and people go. I never had another love,” he said contemplatively stroking the canvas. “Christa was my one and only.” He sucked his lower lip as he brought his face closer to the canvas. Kimberly let out a heavy sigh and slouched more than she should.30

“Posture,” Phillip warned as Kimberly sat up as straight as she could. “There was one girl though,” he continued. “Her name was Joanna.”31

“Well, did you love her?” Kimberly asked.32

“No,” he answered with a laugh. “She was just someone who loved me. It's what I needed.” He looked forlornly at what he had created. “Ah, to hell with it,” he said as he placed his brush and palate on his nightstand. He coughed hard as he laid down and closed his eyes. “You can go now if you want Kimberly.”33

Kimberly shifted uneasily in her chair. “You can't do this,” she said as he laid perfectly still. “I won't allow it. Not today.”34

He opened one eye. “Why don't you just leave me alone?” His face was stern.35

“We do this every time Phillip. I've come here every day for the last two months and you always do this.”36

“My art is shit,” he said closing his eye again. “Just get out of here.” He stretched his slender fingers out a few times to shoo Kimberly out.37

“No, Phillip. It isn't. Now, I've come here every day for the last two months. Haven't even mentioned the fact that you're paying me for nothing because you're not even painting me.”38

“Well now you have,” Phillip said coldly. “Get out. I don't want to see you anymore.”39

“Pick up that brush Phillip. Your art is beautiful.”40

“No.”41

Kimberly got up off her stool and marched over to Phillip's bedside. She picked up the brush and Phillip's hand and shoved the brush into his grasp. “Paint Phillip. All the masterpieces you've given the world and you still have no confidence in your ability? You have got to be shitting me.”42

Phillip's eyes shot open. “Okay,” he said calmly. “I'll paint this one and this one only. I'm done after this.”43

“Fine,” she said coolly. “Just pick up that damn brush.” She marched back to her stool and perched upon it. Phillip sat up. It was the first time he had sat up all the way the whole two months.44

“All right, but if I do this you owe me a favor,” he said looking straight at her. Kimberly shifted uncomfortably.45

“Fine,” she said finally. “Whatever you want Phillip. Just paint. Please.”46

He slowly dipped the brush in gray again and pushed the bristles to the canvas. “You've moved,” he said not looking at her.47

“You made me,” Kimberly retorted as she shifted her weight trying to assume the same position as before. Phillip painted in silence. He smeared the dreary gray paint on the canvas and never looked at Kimberly once.48

“Tell me about Joanna,” Kimberly broke the silence. “What did you mean by it was what you needed?”49

“Everyone needs to be loved Kimberly,” Phillip said not taking his eyes off the canvas. He was stroking the canvas with green bristles now. Touching it lightly to the canvas he continued, “I had no family after they disowned me for my drug addiction. There was no love from my friends. Half of them were in jail. The other half only had love for their meth.” He turned the canvas toward her again. This time there was no expectant look in his eyes, only a look of calm acceptance.50

Kimberly looked at the painting. A little above the red grass and white flowers, a little further away, just above the center of the canvas were a set of gravestones. Around the gravestones were evergreen trees. The grass around the gravestones was a brilliant green. The gravestones themselves were detailed beyond belief showing the little cracks and uneven edges of the stone even though they were far away.51

“She was a beautiful woman,” Phillip started as he turned the canvas around. He covered his brush with some brown paint. “She loved to travel.”52

“Did you travel with her?” Kimberly asked quietly.53

“Sometimes,” he replied. “Sometimes she liked to go alone.” He moved the brush up and down over the canvas. He took great care with his strokes. “She was beautiful. Perfect dimensions. Long blonde hair. Green, piercing eyes.”54

“How did you meet her?” Kimberly itched her left foot with her right one.55

“I met her at my first legitimate art show. She was there wearing this flowing blue dress. There was just something about the way she was looking at my paintings. It was like she was lost every time she looked at one.” He pulled out another cigarette. Kimberly flinched. Phillip watched her do this and decided to put the cigarette back.56

“Was she a painter too?” Kimberly asked with a tone of relief.57

“No. She was just a patron. She appreciated good art. That was one thing I liked about her.” Phillip dipped his paintbrush into gray again. “There was a lot I liked about her. She was a very caring woman. She took care of me while we were together for twenty whole years. She cooked for me, cleaned for me, and was always there whenever I needed her.”58

“So, why didn't you love her?” Kimberly asked looking concernedly at Phillip.59

“I had no capacity for love after Christa had hurt me so much. That was the reason she left me after twenty years. I couldn't tell her I loved her anymore. I couldn't lie.” He pulled out another cigarette. “Sorry,” he said as he lit it. He put his paintbrush down and laid back smoking his cigarette contemplatively. “She loved my crappy art anyways. I couldn't respect anybody like that.”60

“Your art is not crappy Phillip,” Kimberly said sweetly. “Crappy art doesn't become famous.”61

“I beg to differ,” Phillip said as he blew smoke rings. “My art is imperfect.” He jabbed his cigarette at the rings and broke them apart.62

“You have to see beauty in life's imperfections,” Kimberly said. “My father told me that long ago.” Phillip looked at her. “Cindy Crawford is famous for her mole right?” Phillip looked towards the ceiling. The smoke dispersed there and disappeared.63

“I'm feeling kind of tired now,” he said quietly. “Come back tomorrow and we'll finish the painting then.”64

“No Phillip. It's early yet. You can't put that brush down just yet. We've come so far today. I really like what you have so far. I think it's going to be magnificent.”65

“It won't be if I don't feel that way while I'm painting it,” he countered closing his eyes. “Just let me be. I'm finished.”66

“Paint Phillip. Please. From what I've seen you have a lot to contribute to the world. Don't cheat us. We deserve to see your creations.” Kimberly looked up at the ceiling. “You know, I think that I admire your painting just as much as Joanna did. If you can't respect that, then you don't respect yourself.” She looked straight at Phillip. “Pick up that brush.”67

Phillip put out his cigarette and picked up his brush. He sat up straight again. “I don't know if I have the energy,” he said pleadingly.68

“I think you do,” Kimberly insisted.69

“What do you know?” Phillip sneered as he dipped his brush in gray.70

“So why did she leave you?”71

“Like I said, everyone needs to be loved.” He sighed loudly. “I don't blame her really. I never really gave her what she wanted.”72

“Any children?” Phillip shifted uncomfortably under Kimberly's gaze.73

“I hate children,” he responded. “There's no way I'd raise one.” They heard thunder outside. Rain came down in torrents now hitting the roof violently in waves.74

“Why did you stay with her so long Phillip?” Kimberly intruded.75

“She was a lovely woman,” was all he said as he leaned in closer to the canvas. His hand was moving rapidly as he seemed to be possessed by some driving force. He worked intently on whatever he was painting. He stopped abruptly and looked at Kimberly.76

“I want to thank you,” he said sincerely.77

“For what?” Kimberly asked.78

“For modeling for me these last two months.”79

“You've never drawn me.”80

Phillip returned to his painting. His strokes were heavier now, he pushed his brush into the canvas harder than usual digging the bristles into his creation. “You've been very cooperative. I'm not sure I could have gotten as much accomplished with someone else.”81

“You haven't gotten any paintings finished since I've been your model Phillip,” she pointed out.82

“It's probably for the best,” he sighed as he tiredly toiled away at his painting. Kimberly studied the designs on his bedspread. A big purple flower was in the middle and it had a purple and blue border. Other than that, the pattern was fairly plain.83

“We had a dog,” Phillip said. This broke Kimberly's concentration on the bedspread.84

“What was his name?” the model asked. She looked now at Phillip's clothing. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans. His black combat boots sat by the bedside covered in mud. It wasn't surprising seeing how Phillip's yard had no grass. It was one large mud field surrounding his two-story house. The train tracks that ran through the town lay only a couple hundred yards away from the window in Phillip's bedroom.85

“Casanova. It was a German Sheperd with a black nose and big pointy ears. It liked to lick people's faces.”86

“That's cute,” Kimberly said off-handedly. Phillip turned the canvas toward Kimberly again. The entire bottom half was painted now. Kimberly saw that he had added some train tracks running through a valley between the hill with purple lilacs and a hill that led up to the red grass. The train tracks went past the gravestones. Otherwise, they were completely isolated, only visible from those that rode the train past.87

“It's beautiful Phillip,” Kimberly said softly. After he had turned the canvas back around she spoke again, “Why do you always wear black Phillip?”88

Phillip faltered here. He looked at Kimberly long and hard. “I wear black because that's what the world is. Humans do terrible things Kimberly. Even if our intentions are good, we have made a mess out of this existence.”89

“Do you really think so?” Kimberly asked concernedly. “I mean, look at all the beautiful colors you've put into the world. I don't know why you cover yourself in black. It's such a dreary color.”90

“I've put my fair share of ugly colors into the world too,” Phillip muttered as he dipped his brush into a light orange. His hand moved back and forth as he rapidly painted the sky.91

“I've never seen any ugly colors in your paintings,” Kimberly protested.92

The rain continued to beat down on the roof. “It's not about the paintings,” Phillip said quietly.93

“Excuse me? Sorry, I can't hear you because of the rain...”94

“It's not about the paintings,” Phillip repeated louder. “I've done some very black things in my life,” he added wearily.95

“Nothing worse than the next person I'd suppose,” she consoled. “What could you have done that has been so bad?”96

Phillip shifted uncomfortably as his strokes across the sky became harder. “Being with Joanna for twenty years and never loving her is one.” He paused and looked at her, “That's a terrible thing to do to a person.”97

“It's not your fault Phillip. If you don't have feelings for someone, you can't change that.”98

“Well then how about letting Christa keep doing meth?” he asked angrily. “I let her slip from me Kimberly. I let her die.”99

“It was an accident Phillip. You didn't do anything.”100

“I saved myself and let her die. I did everything.”101

“No Phillip.”102

“Yes,” he said as he tossed his paintbrush on the ground. “Get out of here. I'm through.” With that he turned away from Kimberly. Kimberly stood up. She walked over to Phillip and put a hand on his thigh. His body was shaking.103

She bent over and picked up the paintbrush. She studied the sturdy, brown handle for a moment before walking back over to Phillip's bed. A loud boom of thunder sounded and the easel that the canvas was on shook. Kimberly sat on the bed next to Phillip's frail body.104

She stuck the paintbrush back into the artist's hand. “Paint Phillip,” she said. “If you put enough pretty colors in the world, the bland ones won't matter.” Phillip turned around.105

“It doesn't change what happened,” he said as they listened to the rain fall on the roof.106

“It doesn't matter,” she answered softly. “You can do some wonderful things Phillip. Don't take that for granted.”107

He clutched the paintbrush harder and sat up. Kimberly returned to her stool. The next couple of hours were filled silence as Phillip slowly worked on his painting. He turned it toward Kimberly when he had finished. The sky was a beautiful sunset, oranges and reds mixed to perfection as the sun made its descent through the sky. He had also created an illusion of mist near the bottom of the painting by smudging the paint. The picture was breathtaking, the art was alluring. Kimberly smiled at Phillip.108

“I think it's really beautiful Phillip,” she said excitedly. “It makes me happy,” she added.109

Phillip smiled back. “I guess it's not bad,” he said turning it back around to look at it.110

“I just wish I was in it,” she sighed. “After all this modeling, I feel like I haven't done anything.”111

“But you are in it,” Phillip said despairingly. He pointed to an area in the sky that was particularly bright. “See?”112

“I do see it!” she exclaimed recognizing the golden hue of her hair.113

“And here,” he said pointing to the ground around the train tracks. It had a smooth texture, like young and fresh soil, and even a wonderful little black spot that resembled the mole above Kimberly's lip.114

“I'm here too,” he said as he pointed to a barren tree trunk that sat at the edge of the red grass. It stood crooked and its branches were gnarled. Its bareness stuck out in contrast to the lushness of the landscape.115

“I'm worn out,” he said tiredly. “Thank you again.”116

“No problem Phillip,” she said quietly, looking into his face intently. The rain stopped then.117

“Well, you're done here,” Phillip said rolling over. “I'll see you tomorrow for another day.”118

“Goodbye Phillip,” she said quietly. “You're an amazing person,” she added though he did not hear.119

The next day Kimberly got up to model, but was greeted by one of Phillip's secretaries at the door. She handed Kimberly a piece of paper and left.120

Kimberly looked at the paper and realized it was a memo written by one of Phillip's secretaries. It read:121

Dearest Kimberly,122

Phillip will no longer be needing your services anymore. He thanks you for the time you have spent together. We hope to work with you in the future.123

At the bottom of the letter there was a post-script:124

P.S. His new work of art has been titled “The Road Home.” Phillip has also included a dedication to you. Have a great day!125

A week later Phillip died after a long struggle with emphysema.