A work of Art

Define the word struggle? No really, define it for me, because everyday I live in it, hoping and praying that I will wake up and it will all just be a dream. The sound of my alarm clock going off wakes me from my internal thoughts, since I don’t sleep anymore. I get out of bed feeling groggy from a sleep that never came and the start of one of those darling headaches that just loves to grace me with its presence ever morning. Three jobs in yet I’m stilling struggling someone tell me how that’s fair, I think to myself as I throw my worn down sheets off my body, and immediately trip over my dog in the dark when I go to take a step. I lay there wondering if I should just stay here on my dirty carpet for the rest of the day, but decide against it when it means I’ll l be missing out on money, and that would lead to my butt getting evicted real quick from this disgusting roach infested apartment I call home.

I hear a door behind me open when I step out of my apartment after getting ready, and moments later a nasally voice saying “Hello, Tip darling how are you? And where you going so late in the night?” My nosey neighbor Ms Fran ask me when she sees me step away from my front door. Curse this women and her insistent need to ask me questions about my life. Ms Fran has made it her mission in the last three years we’ve been neighbors to get all into my business and give her very unwanted opinion about everything to do with me. In her mind because we share similar back stories that makes her entitled to everything about me. She has no living relatives anymore, nor does she have any children (a decision she tells me in her 80 year old life she does not regret) and because I come from the foster system having aged out three years ago she has decided to take me under her wing for some odd reason, but you’d think the short conversations and hurried steps away from her door would tell her I’m not interested, but nope she proceeds to talk to me everyday and night.

“I’m doing well Ms Fran.” Keeping my responses short and quick.

“And where are you going at this time of the night Tip? One of your many jobs I presume.” She says, while leaning against her door frame with her arms crossed.

“Oh, you know me, all work and no play for this girl. Got bills to pay.” I reply as I start to walk down the sidewalk away from our houses in hopes she will leave me be.

“Oh you work too hard Tip. Three jobs back to back. No young girl your age should have to struggle this much.” She states “you should be out having fun like other girls your age.”

“Mmhm, sure Ms Fran.” I continue my walk around the corner to my very old, very beat up, and dangerous 94 Ford Tempo.

“Well have a good shift Tip and I’m sure ill see you later .” She hollers at me and I just roll my eyes.

When I’m not working there’s only activity I like to do in my limited free time. Two years ago I signed up for an art class at the community center from an ad at one of my jobs stating the first two lessons were free. Ive always had a natural passion for art and being creative. If it wasn’t for my teacher taking a liking to my pieces I would have never been able to afford this class for the last two years I’ve been going.

“Welcome class to another night of art, I hope you all had a good week and if you didn’t, well paint about it. Nothing like releasing your feelings on a blank canvas to clear the soul, in the meantime I do have some great news for y’all.

She looks around the class and her eyes land on me momentarily before moving on “we’ve been given a grand opportunity to have our artwork showcased at the art museum in New York and put on display for the chance for fellow art followers to purchase!”

“Okay, okay calm down everyone we don’t want to lose our heads yet. There are some requirements first” Ms Ferry says bringing us all down from our high.

“First you must be 18 years or older to go, next you need to have at least five pieces per person. while there are no requirements on the type of art it is recommend the more creative and inspiring it is the better your chances. Lastly, probably the most important is that there is a $5,000 upfront fee that is non refundable. That will cover room and board for the three days, airplane tickets, and the all you can eat three meal buffet.”

“Now I know this is bad news for some of you and I do sincerely apologize for that, but for the rest of you, you do have two months to decide and save something.” Like the dark clouds in the sky my happy mood has suddenly become gloomy and deprived of any light.

After class lets out I head to my car and try to start it, only it won’t start. I get out and pop the hood to see what the problem is this time on the long list of car troubles. Lord knows this car is being held together by duct tape and pure determination at this point.

“Car troubles Tip?” I hear Ms. Ferry asks as she makes her way towards me.

“Just checking my car, sometimes it likes to act up, but no big deal.” I lie to her, then slam my hood shut.

“Hmm, well I just wanted to come and say that you did well tonight and to ask why I didn’t see your name on the sign up sheet?.”

“I work way too much to even consider it.” I tell her, too ashamed to admit that I can’t afford it.

“Tip, I didn’t want to say this in front of the other students, but I may have shown some of your old artwork to my friends up in New York and they loved it so much they might actually buy all your pieces. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them offered you a job right on the spot.”

I’m speechless for a good minute processing what she just told me. A multitude of emotions come flooding in at that moment, but be still my beating heart for we do not have the luxury to dream. “I appreciate your offer Ms. Ferry, but it’s just not in the cards for me right now, but tell your New York friends it warms my heart to hear that.” She sighs clearly wanting to say more, but instead says “well you have two months to figure things out and I hope to see your name on the list.” She says walking towards her car, leaving me alone to my thoughts.

A month and half goes by and there isn’t an art session where Ms. Ferry doesn’t ask me about signing up. I also hadn’t seen or heard from Ms. Fran for a week. I chalked it up to her finally taking the hint, however, I became concerned when I noticed her daily newspapers weren’t being brought in. I decided to knock on her door and after not getting a response something in me said go and alert the property manager who was also worried. He said it was unlike Ms. Fran to be three days behind on rent, since she usually pays on time. The police were called out to perform a welfare check. I stood by my door terrified of what they would find. I couldn’t tell you how I knew other than a few precious minutes before the police came out I got this feeling like she wouldn’t be walking out with them. I already had tears in my eyes when they whispered to the property manager that she was no longer with us.

Numbness. That’s all I felt as I walked back to my house. I remember turning the music all the way up and pulling out a blank canvas board and just started painting, with no real thought. Letting all my emotions and heart lead the brush on my canvas. After that I cried heavy tears for the woman next door. Ms. Fran. She was nothing but kind to me for these past three years, and who went out of her way to talk to me and call me friend.

A week later I’m looking through my mail when something catches my eye. A letter addressed to me from an attorneys office. I pause upon opening it when I see a hand written letter that said “Tip, darling.” Right on front of it and I almost drop it, thinking this must be a sick prank. I read the letter from the attorney’s office first, because that at least didn’t make my hands shake. The letter mentions many things I don’t understand, but I do see Ms. Fran name brought up. It states how she died in her sleep from a brain aneurysm a few days before, and with no living relatives or friends she was leaving some items to me, and then to come in to further discuss more about what that means. Something falls to the ground, and when I pick it up I see it’s a check for $20,000 addressed to me. I stare dumbfounded at it wondering what is actually happening, remembering the 2nd letter I open it nervously to her handwriting. Unfortunately it doesn’t say much, but at the end she wrote “A young girl should never have to work as hard as I’ve seen you work over the last few years. Go out and have fun, do something new and exciting, and make the same mistakes I did when I was your age. I promise you won’t regret it, here’s a gift to get you started, use it wisely or don’t, but its your’s now Tip.”

The next day I drove to the community center, since the deadline for the art show was only days away. I park my car, then grab my canvas bag and head into the building. “Ms. Ferry, is it too late to put my name on the list for the trip?” I ask once I step into her room “Tip, good lord you scared me.” Declared Ms. Ferry,” no it’s not to late, but I thought you weren’t going to enter?” She stares at me “yeah, well certain things have changed and I have the opportunity to participant.” She walks to her desk and pulls the sign up sheet out “I’ll need the art fee upfront though.” She states. I pull out the check for the amount needed to go, she stares at me for a moment, before taking it and putting it in her little black book for safe keeping.

“What’s that?” She asks, pointing to the canvas bag. “This is my final art piece, I made it without really meaning to when I was in a bad place and well it just… it’s hard to explain would you like to see it?” I ask her pulling my canvas bag towards me, “sure.” She answers. Resting my bag on her desk, I pull my painting out of the bag and step back to show her. “Tip” she starts, but stops as I watch her eyes feel the sadness I’ve been experiencing these last few weeks “this piece of art is absolutely brilliant. My word I’ve never seen such emotion in one painting. This” She looks over at me with eyes still moist “This, is your masterpiece, this will get you noticed.” She says with a smile on her face.