"This is a very nice piece. You are extremely talented," she said. I waited. "I'm sorry," she said. I waited for more, but that was it. I wasn't getting the painting.
"I understand!" I chirped, but the lump in my throat had gotten bigger. I rushed back to my place. In a haste, I grabbed my jacket and rushed out the door, my sketch in hand. I could hear Jake calling, "Where are you going?" I didn't even look back.
I rushed all the way home and up the stairs. I slammed the door shut and cried. Why was I making such a big fuss over a canvas with textured colors?
But I remembered how it had captured the moment perfectly, and how much I needed to be reminded of Mom. Where was she right now? Was she safe?
Dad came up and knocked on the door. "Sadie?" he whispered. I didn't answer, but he opened the door, his eyes wide at the sight. He came in and sat on my bed next to me. "What happened?"
I shook my head, as if to say "I'll tell you another time". He nodded back in agreement and slowly rubbed my back, saying, "Shh." He repeated this until my sobs became quieter. I was reminded of when I was little, how he used to do this to calm me down. It always worked.
When I had stopped crying, I turned and flung my arms around him. I didn't let go.