Seventy Two

I watched him as he continued painting. He was skilled as his hand moved on the canvas and the palette, and his handsome face was serious, concentrating on what he was doing.

Then I stared back at the mini canvas in my hand, remembering how he had urged me a while ago to try painting because it was relaxing. But all I did was glance at it, not knowing what to draw.

I was sitting on the gray beanbag chair a few steps away from him.

"Did you create something?" Zach asked out of the blue, glancing at his side.

I pouted, grabbing the paint brush. "No, I am still thinking. It's not relaxing, Zach, it's pressuring me.”

He laughed softly. "Why don't you draw a butterfly? Try that way."

"You know I am terrible at this, but I try," I said. A butterfly, hmmm...

I formed the butterfly I wanted and imagined myself as if I were just creating a design for my clothes. When I was satisfied with my sketch using the black paint, I let it dry.

Later, I asked Zach if Aldridge ever found where my p