~~~~~~Roslyn Royel~~~~~~
~~~~~~~I Pick Up a Brush~~~~~~~
When I started third grade, I had no idea this was the year of my budding career. I enjoyed finger painting, water colored occasionally at Ginger's house, but never owned a set of art supplies. That year, my grandmother sent me an art set. It was blue, plastic, with a handle that snapped shut. Inside were two black plastic trays. One held crayons and watercolors with a two-sided brush, the other colored pencils and pastels. The pastels were instantly covered with a sheet of red saran wrap- Mom said they would get my hands too messy.
This was the beginning of my life. I painted every second possible. My parents were so proud of me. I actually did something productive now! But whenever I opened my art set, there were the pastels, shining at me from behind the sheet of red. It was hard enough not to lift the red sheet. I probably did that every day. The plan hatched on the way home from school. It was Skyler's idea, but I followed through.
"What 'bout those pastels, Roslyn?" She asked out of the blue on a Thursday afternoon in a singsong tone that she only used in front of close friends.
I remember she said pastels like pass-tells. I ignore it and reply, "I can't wait to use them," buy Skyler's face doesn't react. Instead, we walk a couple of feet in silence.
"Why don't you?"
"Rules," I sigh.
Sklyer and Linnette laugh, but Ginger continues her usual bouncy walk, red pigtails flying like she hasn't heard a word of the conversation.
"Just break the rules!" Linnette states.
"You can't get caught!"
Ginger halts and spins on spot to face us. "You will get caught. Like when I tried cutting my tooth out in kindergarten? I got in trouble, but not by mamma and dad."
"How can you get caught using pastels. They're just like crayons!"
"Sure," Ginger shrugs. "See you in a month." She turns and crosses the street, a car skidding to a stop to let her by.
"See you tomorrow." I sigh and mount the stairs to my house.
"Roslyn!" Sklyer calls from the sidewalk. I turn, mid stride. "Pastels tomorrow?"
"Maybe!" I call, and disappear into the home.
This was the beginning of my life. I painted every second possible. My parents were so proud of me. I actually did something productive now! But whenever I opened my art set, there were the pastels, shining at me from behind the sheet of red. It was hard enough not to lift the red sheet. I probably did that every day. The plan hatched on the way home from school. It was Skyler's idea, but I followed through.
"What 'bout those pastels, Roslyn?" She asked out of the blue on a Thursday afternoon in a singsong tone that she only used in front of close friends.
I remember she said pastels like pass-tells. I ignore it and reply, "I can't wait to use them," buy Skyler's face doesn't react. Instead, we walk a couple of feet in silence.
"Why don't you?"
"Rules," I sigh.
Sklyer and Linnette laugh, but Ginger continues her usual bouncy walk, red pigtails flying like she hasn't heard a word of the conversation.
"Just break the rules!" Linnette states.
"You can't get caught!"
Ginger halts and spins on spot to face us. "You will get caught. Like when I tried cutting my tooth out in kindergarten? I got in trouble, but not by mamma and dad."
"How can you get caught using pastels. They're just like crayons!"
"Sure," Ginger shrugs. "See you in a month." She turns and crosses the street, a car skidding to a stop to let her by.
"See you tomorrow." I sigh and mount the stairs to my house.
"Roslyn!" Sklyer calls from the sidewalk. I turn, mid stride. "Pastels tomorrow?"
"Maybe!" I call, and disappear into the home.
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