Lavender Brushes

    As she enters the room, she can hear the voice again.
“Sarah, Sarah take the box back. You don’t need it anymore. She’s gone. Take the box back.”
    She stops mid-step and rubs her ears, hoping the sound will disappear. It does after a few more seconds and she moves toward the bookcase. Shiny cobalt blue metal shimmers in the morning sunlight and she looks up at the tall ceiling, admiring the vastness above her. A few more steps and she is standing directly in front of the box, hands at her sides. They share a moment, Sarah and this inanimate object. A few more seconds and she picks up the box and carries it to the table in the corner of the room, sitting down in the old rocking chair. Sarah looks at the lid with its rubbed off paint and glitter, and then she opens it. Her eyes scan over the items and she picks them up individually, placing each on the table. An old Native American pocket knife, a well used paint brush, one safety pin, a small black picture frame, and an empty spool. Tears begin to well up in her eyes, and Sarah takes the items in her hand and throws them back in the box. She stands up and shoves the box back onto its shelf and walks away to her easel.
Hours later she is standing in front of a fabric canvas. Acrylic covers her hands and her shirt is damp with water and paint. A breeze comes through the open windows and blows her hair to the side. One paint brush in each hand, her limbs work together, sloshing paint across the canvas. Her jeans begin to slide down her narrow hips and she lets them slip, grabbing one side at the last second. The smell of lavender is overwhelming, so she sets down the brushes to go and open another window.
    As she opens one of the whining white windows, the voice returns.
“Sarah, Sarah take the box back. You don’t need it anymore. She’s gone. Take the box back.”
    This time the tears come freely and she sits down on the floor, the breeze brushing over her.
“I can’t take the box back, I need it. I need to remember. I need to feel!” she says aloud to no one.
    Her shoulders shake with every sob and her nose begins to run. Sarah picks up the edge of shirt and wipes her nose, letting the tears rain down her face.
“I know she’s not here. I know she’s gone, but the box…it’s just too important to forget. I don’t want to forget. I want to remember and continue to love. I loved her. And now it’s all over. She’s gone. GONE! And there’s nothing I can do about it…nothing.”
    Sarah slowly eases herself onto the window ledge and stands up, walking towards the bookcase. She stares at the box and slides her hand across the top, careful not to rub off anymore paint. After a few minutes, she walks back towards her easel and picks up the paint brushes again. Starting slowly the strokes are short and uneven, but after a couple of minutes she’s back in her stride and the paint is flowing. Later, the sun begins to set and shadows from neighboring buildings are cast into the room. Sarah is illuminated by a piece of the setting sun, her brush strokes seeming even longer and smoother.
Sarah steps away from the easel, still grasping each brush. Before her is a canvas consumed by shades of every color and vibrant in their own way. She takes a few more steps back and looks at her first creation in weeks. A girl’s face, happy and content, stares back at her. Reddish brown hair flows behind her and the girl sits on a swing, surrounded by wildflowers and spring lavender.
    “I can’t take the box back. I need a part of her here with me. I’m ok with loving her though she’s gone. And now I have this painting that I created. Now I have a permanent part of her to be with when I need to.”
Months have passed and the painting remains on the easel. The box still sits on the bookshelf, a smooth lid with rubbed off paint and hints of glitter. Sarah has not been back since she painted the picture that would change her life. The voice returned only once after the painting was complete.
    “Keep the box, Sarah. You have both moved on but you are still together in heart. Cherish the items. Love the painting. You will never forget.”
And Sarah has not forgotten. Not at all.