Finally, my trembling hand took a scissors to the canvas once my
mom fell asleep, penetrating it again and again and again as salt water
slid down my cheeks. I remembered placing each stroke of paint on the
stretched material, remembered every memory that lived in the blues
and greens. My thin frame curled inward with every blow, and I didn’t
stop until I couldn’t feel anymore. When we got back that night I said
goodbye to my passion, goodbye to the girl I had been; I destroyed her
like he had destroyed me.
I never told anyone why.
When I took the turn onto Birch Street after work, I noticed a
small crowd of people huddled around a spot of sidewalk that I knew
was taken up by a particularly large and wide crack that had been there
for at least a year, taped off. They must have finally fixed the damn thing.
This I’ve got to see. Making my way through the growing throng of people
proved difficult, as everyone seemed to be fidgeting to get a better look.
Eventually, I made my way behind a young boy that I could see over. The
sight before my eyes caused a sharp intake of breath; in that moment it
felt as if I was being assaulted all over again.
On the broken concrete before me, a young man had transformed
the gaping hole into the vision of an apocalyptic city. Large towers fell
away to the crumpling city below and a blazing fire worked on the few
buildings that were still standing. Vivid scarlet, golden yellows, and a
deep emerald decorated the place that was once the site of frustration
and disdain. The artist squatted by his work, smiling and eating up the
compliments that the forty-something moms threw his way. All around
me the people pulled out their phones, focusing the cameras at the image
near our feet. Mesmerized whispers filled the silence. A small, unexpected
chuckle escaped my lips and I drew my hand across my mouth.
It was all wrong.
The boy had no sense of lighting in the image, and his highlights
reflected that. Strange white lines decorated the sidewalk in locations
that had no rhyme or reason. The colors were flat and cartoon-like—and
not in a good way. Bold black lines cut off the natural endings of the
buildings like imposing bars and there was no sense of contrast, not to
mention the fact that the scale was off. Still, the boy with the blonde hair
and slouchy beanie smiled away, answering questions while he twirled a
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