Word Count Day 5

15,089/50,000

Chapter 5 (continued)

He splashed color on the fence, but it wasn't just painting a fence, like Tom Sawyer on a Saturday. Charles wanted a swatch of color, an interesting mix of swirling shades and hues, not a flat stretch of solitary color. Charles wanted a diversity of blues and greens even hints of purple and yellow. Sedgewick concentrated, chewing his bottom lip most of the afternoon, spreading paint across his canvas.

The knots in the wood were hard to paint, and at first Sedgewick tried to drown them with copious amounts of paint. But the end result was a gross looking blob that probably wouldn't dry and was likely to smear in the next rain. Instead, Sedgewick applied darker and darker blues up until the edge of the knot, making it appear like part of the fence slowly receded until suddenly it went dark. He highlighted others were bright bursts of color, darkened by a blot in the middle.

He had finished four or five feet of the fence, an hour's work when Charles walked up behind him.

"Nice work, my boy," he said. "You painted a masterpiece after all." Sedgewick finished his stroke and turned with a sheepish smile. He didn't know if masterpiece was the right word, but he'd had more fun than he expected. He could handle painting splotches of color.

"I hate to send you on your way, but I imagine your grandmother is going to be wondering where you're at."

"I should get home," Sedgewick said. His grandmother never worried about him if he didn't come home immediately after school, and Charles knew that. But it was time to go home.

"The kids will be here soon, too," Charles said, referring to one of the church's neighborhood programs. "I like to clean things up a little before chaos begins." Sedgewick smiled, imagining a playground full of kids and how long it would be before each one found their own brush. It'd be fun for a while, but then one masterpiece would run into another and there'd be more running with brushes than actual painting.

Sedgewick put away his paints and cleaned his brush in the little shed. He came back into the yard to see Charles examining his work, nodding his head and rubbing his chin.

"Thanks, Charles. I'll—I'll see you tomorrow."

"Like kids and snacks, you'll be back." Charles turned and smiled and Sedgewick waved goodbye.

The walk home was about the same distance as usual, just a different route with different sights. Different fences and different houses, their intriguing architecture from the early 1900s, different lawns and yards and different colored leaves falling to the earth.

It seemed like days, months since Sedgewick had been studying his notes that morning and Allison came bounding up, full of life and energy. It had been a long day, a momentous day, and it wasn't even over yet. Though Sedgewick liked the idea of climbing into bed and saving some momentum for another day.

He walked in the front door and could hear his grandmother in the kitchen.

"I'm home, Gram!" he called.

"And how's my boy?" she answered.

Sedgewick left his bag in the front hall and headed back to the kitchen. He pulled out his char and sat down across from her.

"I started eating without you," she said apologetically. "I hope you don't mind." She motioned to the pot on the stove, Sedgewick's dinner and leftovers for the next few days.

"No, Gram, that's fine." Sedgewick said. "You don't have to plan around me." He sighed, breathing in the smell of his grandmother's cooking, pesto pasta with chicken, and—Sedgewick glanced at the counter—fresh baked bread. And some people didn't understand why he lived at home.

"I'm—I'm good," Sedgewick said in response to her initial question. "Today's been…, well, I don't even know how to describe it."

"One of those days?" his grandmother asked, her eyebrows raised. Sedgewick seemed in too high of spirits for that.

"No. Sort of, but mostly no." He thought for a minute. "More like a one-of-a-kind."

His grandmother stopped mid chew and put her napkin to her mouth to hide her smile. Her eyes gleamed and she looked at Sedgewick with a renewed wonder, but also love and happiness and sadness all at once.

"And how is that?" she asked when she swallowed.

"I met a girl today," Sedgewick said, his eyes on the floor.

"Oh…" his grandmother nodded and beamed, putting her fork down to hear the whole story.

"Her name is Allison."

"Oh…" her beaming smile faded slightly. "Oh, honey."

"I saw her at Cub on Friday… just exchanged glances, nothing more. But this morning, she—she must have spotted me by chance. She came up and talked to me, out of the blue."

"Must have been out of the blue for her, too," his grandmother said warmly, beginning to beam again.

"But then, later, I saw her a-again." Sedgewick's voice wavered. He kept going, trying to get it out all at once before he couldn't speak at all. "Her mom, she—she died today. A car wreck, up-state… some business trip, and…" He couldn't finish.

His grandmother set her napkin down and stood up, she crossed the few feet between her and her grandson and awkwardly wrapped her arms around him, her standing and him still seated. Sedgewick buried his face in her stomach and let the tears come, again. His grandmother stood there, arms around her grandson, feeling the pain of years gone by that never seem to go away. She wondered if this would ever get easier, but knew in all her years it only got harder.

She just wished it wouldn't happen so often, at least not to Sedgewick, her poor grandson who had seen more pain and death in his short life than any of the woman at the bingo hall could ever expect to see, not that she would wish it on any of them. No one deserves to go through what Sedgewick had.

"Oh, Gram," Sedgewick said after several minutes of silence. Her comfort was so dear and, well, comfortable to Sedgewick. He didn't like turning to it, never liked needing it, but when the time came there was nothing better.

"When I found out we threw rocks, together."

"Oh, honey." Tears welled up in her eyes this time, and she pulled Sedgewick close.

Later that evening Sedgewick called the number written on the back of his hand again. He sat on the edge of his bed, just under the eave, with the phone cord stretched from his desk in front of the window. He had told his grandmother he didn't need a phone in his room, but when he graduated from high school and decided to stay at home and attend university his grandmother insisted. He insisted on paying rent, since he was no longer a minor under her care, but the idea brought tears to her eyes and Sedgewick quickly dropped it, a rare moment in his life that brought unnecessary pain to his grandmother.

He twirled the phone cord around his fingers, eyes nervously darting around the room, fingers smoothing his hair as if she could see him.

After the fifth ring the voice mail picked up, and Sedgewick could feel his stomach relax. A bright cheery message sounded in his ear, much more like the Allison he had met that morning.

After the beep, he left a short message: "H-hi, Allison. It's me—Sedgewick. Sometimes coffee helps, too. Well, not so much the coffee. But, anyway. Coffee. Or maybe breakfast. It's just something else, I know." He left his number and hung up the phone.

Chapter 5

"Why the long face, boy?" Charles asked. "I thought you were in the chase."

Sedgewick hadn't said anything, and he didn't want to. But after this morning, he could understand, even appreciate, Charles asking. But it didn't change the fact that he was reluctant to talk about it.

"Ooh… that bad, huh?" Charles said, studying Sedgewick's face. "I'm sorry, boy, I didn't mean to bring it up and pull you down into the dirt again."

Sedgewick pursed his lips and the bus pulled away from the curb.

"It's—it's not that."

Charles waited, relieved at what seemed like decent news, but he realized this meant something deeper. Slowly, forcefully at first but then with a little more ease, Sedgewick told the story of how Allison sauntered up to him in the cafeteria that morning. Charles grinned, and did everything he could to keep from slapping his knee and letting out a whoop.

"But then…" and Sedgewick grew quiet. The woman sitting in front of them got off the bus, and a blind man with a white cane got on, feeling his way to an empty seat in the front. Sedgewick watched the man move about with careful ease, seeming to know where everything was, even though he couldn't see.

"Oh Charles, her mom died today."

Charles' grin fell flat.

"Oh, my boy," he said, putting a tired arm around Sedgewick. They didn't say anything the rest of the trip, just a gentle silence between the two and the sound of the bus driver announcing stops over the intercom.

When Charles' stop approached, he lingered for a moment.

"Do you want to come with me, today, boy?" Charles asked. Sedgewick looked up at him, considered the option, the thought of being at home so soon, and nodded. Together they got off a few stops before Sedgewick regularly did and crossed the street together.

"I'll need to make a quick stop at home first, and then we can go." Sedgewick nodded and they walked the six or seven blocks to Charles' house in quiet. They turned the corner, pushed the gate open and walked up the steps. It was a tiny little house, a single story, but Charles always said there was plenty of room for him and his wife, Rita, and their little dog Dobbie.

When they opened the door they heard a bark from the other room and scurrying feet. Sedgewick closed the door and turned to see the little jack russell tearing down the hall. In the entry way it launched itself, practically landing in Sedgewick's hands.

"Now you make Sedgewick feel welcome, Dobbie," Charles said, giving the dog a good scratch behind the ears. Sedgewick laughed as the dog tried to lick his nose, or maybe the inside of his nose. He put the dog down and it ran a circle around him and stopped in front of him, then ran another circle or two, first clockwise, then counter clockwise. It stopped in front of Sedgewick again and sat on the floor, it's butt firmly planted but its tail thumping back and forth on the hardwood floors. Sedgewicks scratched the dog's head and it leaned into his hand, savoring the attention.

"I'm pleased to introduce you," Charles said, as Sedgewick looked up to see a shorter, rounder version of Charles, an older woman full of just as much spunk and joy, "to my beautiful wife of 35 years, Rita."

She bowed slightly at Sedgewick, and he smiled and bowed back, causing her to cry out in laughter and reach out both arms to hug the boy she heard so much about from her husband.

"So I finally get to meet the boy who keeps my man from falling asleep on the bus and waking up in Bloomington. Thank you, my boy, thank you."

"And I've heard so many stories about you," Sedgewick said, feeling an air of joyful formality in the air, but also playfulness. Rita gestured for the boys to join her in the living room, pointing Sedgewick to a threadbare recliner.

"We don't mean to stay for tea, Rita. Got to get going says we." The couple laughed, and kissed with protruding lips, like two birds pecking, and Charles disappeared to another room.

"So you're going to go with Charles today?" Rita asked.

"I guess so." Though he hadn't really thought much about it. He jumped at the chance to delay going home. It wasn't something he normally did, but repeating the story to Charles had been more than enough, and though he would eventually have to tell his grandmother, and he wanted to, he also didn't want to do it just yet.

"You ready, boy?" Charles asked. He was standing in the entry way, a dirty, plastic toolbox in one hand, dressed in raggedy pants that looked suspiciously like old dress pants, and a faded zip-up sweater with a hood and lined with long-john material. The sleeves were worn and holes poking through.

Sedgewick said goodbye to Rita and gave Dobbie one last pat. Sedgewick and Charles left the house and headed up the street.

They approached Midway Baptist Church, an ancient brick and stone building perched on a corner lot, a literal anchor in the neighborhood. The front entrance was massive, towering above the street with great double doors and a bell tower. Baptists didn’t usually ring bells, but a good bell tour was a fine way to top any church.

It had been in the neighborhood for generations, longer than Sedgewick or Charles or even Sedgewick's grandmother. Though from the look of it, the worn bricks and sagging woodwork, it wasn't a sure thing if it would be there for many generations to come.

Charles led Sedgewick passed the massive front entrance and towards a little shed in the back and a fenced in side lot. Charles unlocked the shed and disappeared into the darkness. He came back with several buckets of paint and handed one to Sedgewick. He unlocked and opened the wooden fence to the side yard, and let it hang open.

The entire lot was fenced in with a tall wooden fence, a fence that looked like it might last longer than the church itself. It encircled the entire yard, which must have been a lot or two, and butted up against the church on one side. The entire yard was grassy and open, with a few towering trees providing shade here and there. In the middle was a sandy play area, with old time playground equipment, swings, a slide and some monkey bars.

Charles set the paint cans down and returned to the shed for more supplies. Sedgewick walked closer to the fence. Charles had been working on it for weeks. A vast scene stretched across the back of the fence, colorful and vibrant, full of life and wonder. There were faces and huge splashes of color, children laughing and playing and the stars in the sky and the sun rising and so many, many other things.

Charles had been telling Sedgewick about the playground mural for months, if not longer. Sedgewick didn't even remember how long ago he'd first heard the idea. But it had grown and grown, with more elaborate descriptions, as long as the bus ride would allow. Sedgewick had even done some research for Charles, exploring the art of mural painting, finding books and articles on the subject, the proper preparation of the surface, the history and political ramifications of the art, and the many wild examples of murals across surfaces throughout history.

Sedgewick walked up to one particular section. Standing only a foot or two from the fence, the broad strokes were visible, the blocks of color that made up the face. The massive eyes that were three dimensional despite the flatness of the wood-planked fence. Sedgewick wanted to reach out and touch the face, but he restrained himself.

"So what do you think, boy?" Charles asked. He had been standing behind Sedgewick for a few minutes, silent.

Sedgewick turned and smiled and Charles slapped his knee and started laughing, a loud, echoing laugh that carried up into the branches of the trees.

"Now that's what I wanted to see," Charles said. Sedgewick dropped his head, his smile now beaming.

"Thanks, Charles."

"Now if you really want to thank me, you'll give me a hand."

"You don't want me to paint, do you?" Sedgewick asked, his smile fading.

"I want a hand—what does it matter what I put that hand to work doing?" Charles asked. He started setting out buckets and brushes, mixing paints here and there and testing it on a piece of old wood. Sedgewick helped spread tarps and set out buckets. They worked quietly for a while, Charles occasionally giving gentle instructions as they did the preparation work.

When it came time to start painting, Charles set up near the middle of the yard along the back. He set up an array of colors on the rickety card table before him, and started work finishing an extension of the playground that looked like it stretched beyond the fence, spilling into the neighborhood.

Sedgewick watched, and then Charles pointed him to a corner of the fence and gave him a brush and a few colors. Sedgewick started to weakly protest, and Charles cut him off.

"I'm not asking for a masterpiece," he said. "I'm asking you to put some color on the wood over there." He put his brush down and looked at Sedgewick.

"I didn't bring you here to be a spectator. There's no spectators allowed." Sedgewick nodded and turned, meandering towards the corner of the fence. The back wall of the fence went all the way to the corner, then ended abruptly as the clean, fresh face of the natural wood showed all the way down the side and along the front. The wood was old and weathered, but close up looked smooth and shiny, the old damaged face of the wood probably sanded away so the paint would take better and last longer.

Sedgewick looked down at his hands, the thick stubby paintbrush and a few jars of greens and blues. He looked up to the sky and saw a clear patch of powder blue between the branches of an elm.

He sighed. Dipped his paintbrush. Spread a streak of green across the virgin wood. He did it again, and again, and again, spreading the color across the dead wood, bringing it slowly back to life.