I’m going to play soccer.” She headed off in the direction of the field, her strong legs taking big steps.
Lee wished her pockets were bigger; she wanted to push herself deep into them and disappear.
After recess the students worked on the math Ms. Candle had assigned. Lee usually didn’t mind math. Today she hated those stupid numbers. Next they went to music, down the hall. Lee hated singing.
By lunch time she was hungry, but she had nothing left to eat. Natasha chewed her sandwich. Lee tried to smile. It felt funny, as if her skin was too tight, as if a smile no longer fit her face.
In Ms. Candle’s class Friday afternoon was set aside for art. She taught sculpting, weaving and drawing, and the best art projects were put in the display case.
Today Ms. Candle showed slides of paintings by one of Canada’s most famous artists, Emily Carr. She talked about each slide, commenting on the vivid colours, the realistic shapes of trees and the swirls in the sky. She pointed out the difference between a photo of a tree and the paintings. “They’re so rich,” she sighed. “Artists are often extremely poor, but their work gives us such wealth. That’s certainly true of Carr.”
She went on to explain that Emily Carr had lived in San Francisco for a few years to take painting lessons and had then gone to Europe for the same reason. Later, she travelled around B.C. so she could experience the feelings, the smells, sounds and movements of what she painted. She visited the northern part of Vancouver Island, the Skeena and Nass river areas and the Queen
Charlotte Islands, and painted in tiny Native villages, even though she got sick on the boats, even though the mosquitoes were horrible.
“These were not easy trips, certainly no luxury, but she loved the totem poles and the huge trees. She never married and didn’t have children of her own, although she liked children and gave talks at a few schools in the area. But she was a loner and she put her feelings into her art and her animals rather than into people.
“We can see some of her work in museums. Her paintings are worth a fortune now, but copies of them, prints, like this one,” she pointed to a poster on the wall, “are relatively cheap.”
Ms. Candle asked the students to imitate Carr’s style of painting, trying to use the brushes with the same energy they had seen in the Carr paintings.
“Feel it. Reach deep inside yourself.” Ms. Candle moved her arms up and out from her stomach in a dramatic gesture.
Lee loved painting, she always had. The trees they were supposed to portray, the trees right outside the classroom window, swayed slightly in the wind. Lee swirled her brush to make branches.
“Yes, good motion.” Ms. Candle smiled, lightly putting her hand on Lee’s shoulder.
Before Lee knew it, the afternoon was over. She and Natasha walked home together, not talking much. The closer Natasha got to her house, the more she slowed down.
“My grandma’s having a quilting party on Saturday afternoon.” Natasha sighed as she walked up the steps. “I have to wear my best dress and serve cookies and tea.” She made a face.
“We’re going camping,” Lee said, not envying her friend. Natasha always had to act “properly” around her grandmother.
When Lee got home, Minnie sat by the front door, meowing in protest.
“Poor kitty. Are you miserable too?”
Lee stroked the cat and fed her before turning the music on.
In her journal she wrote:
I could never live at Natasha’s house. No way. It’s the woods for me. I’ll wait till tomorrow or Sunday. Then I’11 split. Go up to the old sheds in the hills….
Mom would be home any minute. She worked until 3:30 as a secretary in the high school office. She didn’t make a lot of money, but with Dad gone, he wouldn’t be able to spend most of it. Mom could buy things without borrowing money from her brother all the time.
Maybe he would come camping with them tomorrow in his motorhome. Alex, her cousin, and Pat, Uncle Brooke’s partner, could all head out for an overnight at the beach.
Even though they went to different schools, she and Alex spent a lot of time together, camping and hiking. Uncle Brooke and Pat loved to cook and invited Lee and her parents over for dinner often. Dad had never come along.
“Hi, how was school?” Mom bustled in, dumping her purse and two bags of groceries on the counter.
Lee grabbed a carrot, the only thing she was allowed to eat just before supper. Her mouth full, she mumbled, “Fine. We painted.”
“Your teacher phoned earlier. Did the morning improve after that?” She handed Lee the food to put in the fridge.
“Yeah,” Lee shrugged. “Can we invite Alex and Uncle Brooke to come camping?”
“They’re coming later, Saturday afternoon. I phoned Brooke from work. We’ll set up camp tomorrow morning.” Mom smiled. She looked tired and her cheeks were pale.
“Are you glad Dad is gone?” Lee slammed the fridge door shut. She had a funny feeling in her chest, as if something was pressing hard against her ribs.
“Yes, honey. Your father should have left years ago. He wasn’t the kind of Dad you deserve.”
Lee shook her head. “He used to be all right before….” She wanted to hit something. Then the tight feeling loosened a little. “Why can’t I talk to anyone?”
Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “You can….”
“You said I couldn’t,” Lee interrupted loudly. Her hands curled into fists.
“Of course you can!” Her mother stood right in front of her. “But not to just anyone. Talk to me. Or your uncle, or your teacher.”
“To you? What difference would that make?” Lee took a step back.
“I know I couldn’t make him do what you wanted, honey,” she shook her head, looking drained, her shoulders sagging. “But some things we can only do for ourselves.”
“I guess.” Lee walked to her room. She didn’t slam the door, but she did turn the music up.
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