A Brush with Beauty
an excerpt

My name is Seraphina, born of two painters. I inherited my parents’ love of painting. For three years, I had been trying to create the perfect piece, the ultimate painting, my greatest work. Such a piece is usually created near the end of one’s life, when one’s entire life experiences bubbles up to one’s hands and our soul pours itself out in a song of color. Yet at the tender age of 20, I woke up one foggy Wednesday morning and something called to me. That whole day passed in a daze. I arrive home after work and headed straight for my easel. For an hour, I sat there staring at the white canvas, my mind completely blank. Then I began painting in a frenzy. The call rang in tingles throughout my body, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do. My mind just wasn’t functioning properly. I felt a bit puzzled and lost, but eager to discover what this feeling meant. However, no matter what I tried nothing worthy appeared on my canvas. The next three weeks passed in a flash, every day ending with me slumped in front of my easel, each day more dejected than the last. Finally, one day I broke down and tearfully called my parents in desperation.
“Hello, Vontigo residence,” a warm, cheerful man’s voice anxswered.
“Daddy,” I cried,” I need your help.”
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asked.
“I-I’m tr-trying to p-p-paint, and-and I can’t,” I wailed.
“Iris?” I heard my father call for my mother.
After much muffled conversation and crackling in the phone, my mother finally said,” Sera, honey, why don’t you come on over?”
I sniffled. “’kay. I’ll see you later Mom.”
Half an hour later, I pulled into my parents’ driveway. My mother trotted over to me while my father waited for us on the porch, above the stairs. After looking me over with concerned eyes at arm’s length, my mother swept me into a hug. I buried my face in her shoulder like a toddler. After a few minutes I felt a bit better and raised my head again. As my mother herded me towards the door, her mouth and shoulder twitched, probably because of the glob of snot glistening on her shoulder. I grinned sheepishly and mumbled an apology.
“I’m going to go up and, uh, change. Why don’t you take her to the living room, Lindon, and we can talk when I come back down,” Mom suggested as she sprinted up the stairs, peeling her shirt off as she disappeared from view.
“I missed you, Daddy,” I said, pulling him into a hug.
He patted my head and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Then I found myself hereded once again by a concerened parent, this time plopped on the couch, a cup of ho9t cocoa placed in my hand, a plate with my favorite sandwich int eh other, and a plate of cookies slid onto my lap.
I sighed. “Mom, you don’t have to keep trying to fatten me up. I’m not too skinny. And it’s a pain trying to lose the pounds after I leave.”
“Well, have you ever thought about not losing those pounds? And what a waste of good food,” she grumbled, walking down the stairs in a clean, snotless T-shirt.
I opened my mouth, about to retort, when my father cut in, mildly, “Ladies.”
I glanced down in embarrassment and saw my sandwich. Hm, no use wasting a perfectly good ham and turkey sandwich, as long as I keep my eyes from straying to those strawberry shortcakes.
“So Seraphina, what was the problem that reduced you to crying to your parents for help?” my father asked, after they had settled into the couch.
“Thanks Dad,” I grumbled and sighed. The whole heart-breaking, saddening, depressing story of woe poured out from me, in between bites of my sandwich, which I thought needed a bit more lettuce. Strangely enough, when I was done talking, rather than looks of pity or a spew of helpful ideas, my parents exchanged looks of horror. I blinked in confusion. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Ah, your mother and I have some matters to discuss, so if you’ll excuse us for a moment…Finish your sandwich, dear,” my father told me absentmindedly, his soft grey eyes clouded with worry.
I stared at them in consternation. Were matters really so bad? Did I lose my ability to paint completely or something? WAS I GOING TO DIE?!
However, I was not even spared a glance by my parents; they seemed to be concerned with something else altogether, which only succeeded in confusing me more completely. After my parents had retreated to the kitchen, where fierce whispers and the occasional “Lindon!” or “Iris!” could be heard, I wandered around the living room while still nibbling on my sandwich. Or tried to. My parents owned the most clustered house I knew. They kept every single piece of junk I had every owned or made. Here, on the coffee table, was that blotchily painted turtle I had made in fourth grade. There, on that wall, was the poem I wrote for my mom on Mother’s Day in first grade. As I drifted closer to the kitchen door, I began hearing a few words of my parents’ conversation: “Seraphina…Lacianthe…go back…can’t…uncle…IRIS!...duty to Divalta…”
Aha, obviously they were talking about me. I was about to push open the door to tell them that if they were discussing me, I wanted to hear, when I was stopped in my tracks by my vibrating cell phone in my pants pocket.
“Hey, handsome,” I said.
“Ah, the lovely Seraphina has deemed to speak to lowly me,” Shawn teased.
“You’re awful at flirting, you know. Anyways, what do you want?” I retorted.
“Now I’m hurt and I’m not going to invite you to dinner with me tonight,” he told me.
“Mm, dinner’s good. Dinner with my boyfriend would cheer me up considerably after this whole bloody-awful, depressing week. Where are we going?” I inquired.
“How would you like the Four Seasons?” he asked. “Depressing? You okay? Wanna talk about it?”
“Nah, I’m good. I’m at my parents’ right now,” I said. “The Four Seasons? Wow, that’s fancy. What’s the occasion?”
“If you want to find out, just be ready for me to pick you up at 7:30,” his voice betrayed the grin on his face.
“Great! See you later then. Love ya! Bye,” I hung up the phone, feeling happy and expectant for the first time in weeks.
“Seraphina?” my mom called.
“That was Shawn. We’re going to dinner tonight, so I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes,” I told them. Then I looked at them curiously, “What were you guys talking about in the kitchen? I heard something about Lacianthe, Divalta, and going back. What was that all about? Who or what are Lacianthe and Divalta? Weird names.”
“You heard?!” my parents cried out in unison, alarm plain on their faces.
“What? No, all I heard were the names and uncle and going back. Can’t you just tell me what’s wrong? I heard my name mentioned. I’m guessing this has something to do with my not being able to paint?”
“You said you’re leaving soon?” my father asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Come back tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll tell you. It’s a long story, and we don’t want to ruin your date. Say hi to Shawn from us, and we’ll explain everything tomorrow,” Mom said. She leaned forward to kiss my cheek and smiled at me lovingly. I still felt very lost, but I had a date to get ready for. I kissed my parents good-bye and rushed back to my little apartment.
An hour and a half later, I was cleaned, dressed in a simple blue dinner gown, a sapphire drop dangled from each ear, a net with blue stones covered my just below the shoulder length wavy dark auburn hair, and my feet were encased in gold and blue high heels. All the make-up I had on was some light magenta lipstick, since I didn’t much like make-up. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Not particularly large brown eyes surveyed my image. My nose was small and round, not my favorite aspect of my face. My mouth was full, but I personally thought it was too big for my face. Curls of bangs reached just above my eyebrows, just short enough not to get into my eyes. My skin was a very light tan, not snowy white or pink as described on the beauties of old.
There was a knock on the door, startling me. I flung the door open, to reveal Shawn, dressed in a tan suit, short black hair combed back, brown eyes crinkling in his smile, which disappeared as soon as he saw me. He gaped at me, taking in my appearance.
“You look…beautiful, Seraphina,” he said softly.
“And you look quite handsome yourself,” I said, smiling.
He suddenly lunged forward, caught my waist with hand and my head with the other. After staring into my eyes for a moment, he kissed me deeply. I let myself melt in his embrace and in this kiss. It seemed an eternity that we stood there, until he finally broke away, breathless and beaming.
“That was a good kiss,” I gasped, catching my breath.
“One of the best,” he agreed.
With that, we ran downstairs to his car, laughing all the while.
“You still haven’t told me, what is the occasion for all this dressing up and a fancy restaurant?” I asked again.
“You’ll see when we get there! Have a little patience, Sera. Shoot we’re going to be late,” he said, looking at his watch. The one I got him for Christmas.
I sighed and resigned myself to the slow passage of time. Instead I focused on all the city sights. I loved the city, with all its bustle and hustle, lights and sights, and all the milling people. It was too expensive to live here, though.
“Why don’t you tell me about your so very depressing week?” Shawn asked suddenly.
I sighed, yet again. “It’s just, I’ve been trying to paint and I can’t get anything,” I complained. “It’s just like last week, and the week before that. I think I’m going to die of frustration.”
“Maybe you just need a little encouragement, maybe a muse,” he suggested. “Maybe I can be of help? Both to lighten your mood and to help with your problem?” He grinned evilly.
“Ooh, your dirty little mind. Though I shall definitely consider it,” I told him.
“Well, here we are,” Shawn announced.
The Four Seasons was one of the most sophisticated restaurants in the city. Colorful lanterns framed the large door, a red carpet led up to it, and artful designs curled around the four pillars to each side of the door. A small crowd of richly dressed patrons sat on the petite benches outside, waiting for their table. We walked up to a pretty attendant at the front table.
“Hey, I’ve got a table reserved for two and 7:30,” he told her.
“Name please?” she asked.
“Uh, Daniels, Shawn Daniels,” he said.
“Follow me please, Mr. Daniels,” she said, beckoning us to follow her as she led us to an empty table. A light fragrance wafted from the little red candle in the middle of our table. All around us were colorful, bejeweled people, their chatter softly reaching our ears, as well as the soft piano music from the grand piano over in that corner.
“It’s a very beautiful place,” I said, my eyes roving over all these sights, until I was almost dizzy.
“Thank you, miss,” our waiter said, seemingly to materialize by the table, so quietly did he come. “Would you like something to drink? We carry some of the most premium wines and cocktails in the city.”
“Hmm…how about the Kendall Jackson Chardonnay?” Shawn asked me, after a brief look at the menu.
“Yes, that’d be nice,” I said. “Not that I know anything about wines.”
The waiter smiled at me. “The chardonnay it is. I’ll be back for your entrees.”
“So, now you can’t avoid me any more. Please tell me! Pretty please?” I batted my lashes at him.
“Sera, I promise that I’ll tell you, but,” he added, as my eyes lit up, “after dinner. Just enjoy it. It’ll be good news, I promise.”
I growled, “Meanie.” And I enjoyed my dinner. It was, unsurprisingly, delicious. I had a lightly roasted salmon with herbs and a small green salad. The lemon added a very tangy taste, helping to bring out the full flavor of the fish. Shawn had a pasta with spinach sauce and a side of garlic bread. As we dug into our chocolate cakes, Shawn finally decided it was time.
“So, we’ve together for going on three years now, Seraphina, and I’ve fallen, deeply, in love with you,” he began.
“Oh, Shawn,” I whispered, as he slid from his seat and knelt on one knee in front of me.
“So deeply in love with you,” he continued, as he pulled a small black box from inside his jacket, “that—”
And that was as far as he got, because at that moment, he suddenly toppled over and fell on his face.