Walls

Hank makes waves across his canvas in cobalt blue. He dapples them in white, blending them in sections to mimic the clash of sea and sky. He adds more colors. Red for sacrifice. Green for hope. And black for the terrible ache that threatens self destruction.

He paces back and forth to change his perspective, pausing to put a dab here and a swipe there. To an untrained eye, it may seem random, but every brush stroke is carefully considered. Sweat soaks the back of his coveralls.

All the tortured passion of a man at a crossroads is spread across a twelve foot section of wall from floor to ceiling. The artist spends all night so absorbed he gets startled by the dawn coming through the windows and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

He quickly stuffs his paint stained hands in his pockets. The approaching footsteps belong to a middle aged woman in a blue suit. It’s the school administrator, Ms. Kraus. A classic case of burnout, Kraus dreams of an early retirement where she can ‘do nothing’ in front of the TV.

She pauses to examine the art on the wall. Hank can see her facial muscles contact, forming a tight angry frown across her thin lips. She lets out a long irritated breath before speaking.

“What is this mess?”

The question is rhetorical, but Hank responds. “It was those kids again. I didn’t catch them. I just found it here like this.” He keeps his eyes on the wall, mentally marking areas where he’d like to make adjustments. More red over here, sharper angles over there.

Kraus sips her coffee. “We’ve got thirty minutes before the opening bell. You know what to do.”

Hank goes numb, deftly removing every trace of his work from the beige concrete wall.