Chalk

 Melanie loved to draw. Melanie did not, however, like to be outside. So when her father presented her with a brand new set of sidewalk chalk she was less than enthused.

           

“Sidewalk chalk? I like crayons an’ markers, dad. They don’t make my skin all bumply when I touch ‘em.”

“I know that you like them, Melanie. With markers and crayons you only have a small piece of paper, but you get a much bigger canvas with chalk.”

“Yeah, but-“

“Aren’t you always telling me how you need more and bigger paper?”

“So get bigger paper, please.” She hung her head as she said it, glancing sideways at the plastic clamshell container. She did like the soft, pastel colors. “I’ll try them.”

“You will? Not just for a few minutes like the watercolors?”

“The paper kept gettin’ soaked!”

“You’re right. We’ll just have to come back to that one day.”

Melanie loved the smooth and simple nature of watercolor art. When several attempts to replicate the style with her preferred mediums didn’t meet her exacting standards, she asked for a watercolor set. She was greatly disappointed when she couldn’t get it to work. Being five at the time didn’t help matters one whit.

Her father was always supportive when it came to her hobby. He didn’t have much free time with such a demanding career, so what little there was he used to bond with her over their shared love of art.

She picked up the container and, with the familiar assurance that dad would be in his office, she took it outside. The cement patio was fairly large and occupied by furniture. A set of rocking chairs next to a small, short table were perfect spots for stargazing. Rain from last night left flat craters on the dusty glass tops of two dinner tables, but the chairs around them were dry and warm from the unimpeded glow of the sun. It was gorgeous outside, making Melanie squint to see properly.

She held up a hand and looked for the source, flinching once she found it. Going back inside where the sun couldn’t reach sounded like a great idea. Yet her interest in seeing what some of the chalk would look like when scrawled across the cement sounded better. It took her a moment to decide on a spot. Moving furniture if she needed the room wouldn’t be much of a problem, but she liked to work with as few interruptions as possible. The neatly empty space next to the garden, she thought, would be perfect.

~~~

continued in Stranger and Fiction Anthology 2

Good Day, Sunshine by Russell Walks. Inspiration for this story.