Canvas Shifts

I

Past and present blur, haunting Doris.

A blue towel sends Doris into a fugue. She expects Will to walk around the corner, and for Lila to...No. Not Lila, Calla, whose small hands reach for the blue towel...Uses the ultra adsorbing cloth to wipe up water and paint.

Yes, Will hung a blue towel across the same easel bar, the same way, and Doris watched the bright blue become the faded, paint stained rag she recalled better than its newness. The gray-blue of the towel matches Will's eyes. Will favors the color blue, due to its mutability.

Calla, though, prefers red and black.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men! It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!” It has been years since Doris heard this song. Now, here is Calla, singing all the parts as she used to.

Decades merge. Doris places a blue rag into a coffin. Calla is just ten and she mourns her death, Eponine's alto her favorite... Lila's father strangled the perfect pitch out of her... but then, the ear for it remained, and reminded her as she shivered painfully while hearing discordance.

Calla doesn't share her parents musical aptitude. Her father plays every musical instrument well, as her mother had once sung each note perfectly. Calla sings despite her voice's mediocrity, and does not play any instrument.

“Red, the color of the dawn! Black, the night that is to end!”

Will's blue is subtle, awash in ambiguity, just as Will is. Only Art matters, and the forms... and that is what he pours himself into.

“Red, the color of desire! Black, the color of despair!”

Calla is bold, she is frank, she is open and warm. She is “more than”. More than alive. More real. More beautiful, more intelligent, more...strange and special than her mother Lila, or Will, even. The girl's even brushstrokes, her back to Doris, makes Doris retreat into her home.

II

Doris cannot sleep. Will keeps talking about the gallery- gone for decades- and Doris turns to find herself in a helicopter, piloted by wife-beater Ed... Calla sings of Cosette's clouds and white mothers in a grave voice.

A baby's shrill cry awakes Doris, but, there are no infants around.

“Calla's Gallery, Doris.” Will tells her in a soft voice behind the baby's pitiful, dying cries.

“What could I do?” Doris sobs. “He locked me in the room! Doped me up! Beat me, tied me to the bed!” And the baby stopped crying forever, then the hateful looks from her stepdaughter, who blamed Doris for not coming out of the room... for her father's transgressions. After all, had Doris kept Ed satisfied he wouldn't need to... And Doris's fugues made her as cruel and as dangerous as Ed. Pregnancy. A girl, then another... Ed liked the girl babies...

Despite managing to survive and escape with the children in a women-hating world, he now tormented her nights. Will came, and Jr, and Ed, as if Calla's first brushstroke broke a seal, summoning Doris's past...and judgments.

“...music of the people who will not be slaves again! When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums...”

“Yes, it echoes.” Her heart beat painfully through her. “Was this how it was Will, the days weeks months before... This disorientation?”

III

Calla works on her first watercolor series. She calls it a collection. Black sheep Calla. Calla the outsider, the unwelcome stranger. Calla is distant. Something about her makes Doris feel funny. She breaks the rules, listening to her own council.

Calla's brushstrokes change her, of course. But does she see the small girl in a pinafore standing near Calla's easel? The child tugs at Calla's shorts, then plays hopscotch a moment before tugging on Calla's shorts again.

“Not now, I'm working.” Calla responds automatically.

The girl in the pinafore plays peek-a-boo with Adele, Calla's baby. The girl then scares Seb, Calla's son, by turning her form into a rotting zombie. Seb blames this spirit girl for all manner of troubles, some of which she is guilty of.

Doris keeps her hallucinations quiet.

IV

Spirits come for Doris from the glass and the paintings. They step through and accuse her... She fears Lila will learn of these hallucinations and have her committed. It was something Lila and Vivian would do swiftly and with smug satisfaction.

But, Mars comes before stained glass studies, before assailants step out of pretend windows-

“And I love the reflection!” Doris exclaims, but really, the way it follows her is frightening.

But, the red planet's heat wave and Adele's birthday and Calla paints moon and Mars, over and again. Ten days of Mars and the sky at dusk, midnight, dawn. Watch Mars creep across Calla's canvasses.

Do the dogs bark more while Mars hangs next to the moon? Nervous birds chatter, deafening highway noise. Everything pains Doris's skin and head and eyes... She doubts the spectacle of so many shooting stars, yet Calla paints streaks of white gold, relieving Doris's sleep deprived mind.

V

Calla doesn't notice the absence of her collection. Oddly, the temporary burglary is Bearnard's doing instead of Doris's. Even though Will whispers the idea to Doris, Ed's torments and the baby's dying cries supersede Will, and when did Will ever do anything altruistic? His voice was a self-absorbed artist's... and he'd left her drowning in debt.

Did the nightmares worsen with Mar's advent? Doris feels weaker each day, and less aware. Even nap time dreams hurt. Mars fades and family vultures gather, unbeknownst to Doris. She calls the doctor another name, and does not remember his numerous visits. She calls her nurse Vivian, Lila, or Will. In her mind she is alone, the nurse is a phantom, another specter accusing her, another tormenter forcing her down.

“Rest, Miss, rest.”

Calla paints the stained glass Doris and Will designed onto canvasses. Out of the glass step images from the past, each one bearing secret horrors... Uncle Mikey ... Ed ... Jr. ... Pastor Jakeson...

“Lila!”

Doris falls; thud onto brick, into Calla's easel, which topples. Calla, turning at Doris's cry, sees Lila, her unknown mother. Lila's harsh laugh pierces Calla, who manages to shift her shocked gaze to Doris's inert form. Lila forever vanishes while Calla attends to her dead grandmother.

The End

Three-way

“We need your help, Mrs. Burma.” FBI Agent Clark said to the petite, dark haired woman. He fingered a small zip-lock baggie containing a nugget of marijuana, before replacing the bag and a glass pipe back into a wooden box. He closed the lid, regarding Mrs. Burma’s small son, who played next to his redheaded partner’s leg.

“Grace is fine.” Mrs. Burma said. Her serious eyes matched her son’s golden brown gaze.

Agent Clark, a tall and solid man, continued covertly searching through Grace’s closets, drawers, and boxes. Other than pot and a dismantled rifle, properly registered, the home was as Grace’s appearance and manner presented. She did not seem to have deep, dark secrets.

Grace saw Agent Clark open the box containing her paraphernalia, just as she noticed the exotically attractive female agent’s diversionary tactics. Grace offered no explanation about the box’s contents, and felt relief that neither agent mentioned it. She watched the pair watching her, answered their questions, and even made a few jokes. Calm and polite, she served coffee in green glazed Mikasa mugs after Agent Clark observed a fresh pot.

The agents briefly told Grace that her ex-husband had acquired the FBI’s attention by hacking into government web sites. This information provoked a strange expression from Grace, who raised an eyebrow and slightly frowned. She seemed ready to say something, but stayed silent. They finished poking around the neat home, asking again for Mrs. Burma’s assistance.

“I’ve told you what I know of him. It’s been a few months since we spoke. He hasn’t returned my phone calls. His family living in Highland should know more. Last I heard he lived with them.” Grace shrugged. “You said they sent you to me. So, I don’t see how I can help further.” she looked straight into Agent Clark’s eyes.

His partner, Agent Steely, moved away from the baby, who climbed into his mother’s arms. Grace’s olive skin contrasted with the child’s golden hue. Agent Steely stared at the one-year old while speaking.

“If he does call, or drop by, we’d appreciate you telling us. Here’s our card.” Agent Steely said.

The baby grabbed the card Agent Steely held out, putting it directly into his mouth. Frowning, Agent Steely handed Grace another card.

“O.K.” Grace said, placing the card on an end table. “He might call, it’s been a long time…but usually I call him. I doubt he’ll come here. He doesn’t know where I live, for one. It’s been five years, and I have a better life he doesn’t like rubbed in his face.”

“Can you call him now?” Agent Clark asked. His cold eyes glanced at Grace’s stash box.

“This puts me in a slight moral dilemma, but, yes, I will call him after I make a bottle for my little primitive.” she sighed after this agreement.

Both agents nodded, and watched Grace prepare a bottle with one hand. She talked through the event, describing each step to her son, preventing the agents from asking more questions.

Grace settled her son in a small reclining chair, where he drank his meal before falling asleep. The three adults moved into another room to use the phone, unwilling to disturb the welcome naptime.

“Usually, I don’t just plop him in his chair, but sometimes it makes life easier.” Grace told the impassive team.

Grace punched the speakerphone button on her white telephone, and dialed a number retrieved from her Nokia cell phone. She took a cigarette from an embossed silver cigarette case, holding it without lighting it.

“I only smoke outside.” she commented, before a man picked up the line on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi…” Grace frowned at the phone. “I’m calling for Tyler…”

“Yeah, Grace, it’s Daniel.”

“Oh. O.K. Is Tyler around?” her frown deepened as her fingers fiddled with the unlit cigarette.

“Yeah, but, maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you. Maybe that’s why I answered the phone.”

“Oh, really?” Grace responded. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Maybe that’s changed.” Daniel’s voice drew out in a little laugh.

“O.K. You’re stoned and fucking with me.”

The partners exchanged glances, intrigued by the conversation. An affirmation of Daniel’s location was a bonus, due to his partnership with Tyler. Steely noted Grace’s disdain for Daniel, and watched her intently.

“Ever get stoned, now, with that baby? Huh, Grace? Or does the kid cramp your style?”

“Aren’t you the one who said creating life was the greatest art form? Anyway, my style has changed, for the better. So, can I talk to Tyler now?” Grace evaded answering Daniel’s first question.

“Maybe…Do you know the password?”

“O.K. So, you’re his gatekeeper now. Never saw you as a guard dog…” she laughed, hoping to disgruntle him.

“Password.”

“The password is ass, as in you are one.”

“Hello?” a deeper voice came onto the line.

“You have me on speaker phone.” Grace stated.

“You have us on it!” Daniel chortled.

“Only because I need four hands with my son, and I have two…Tyler. How are you doing? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah. Had to get a new truck, totaled the last one. Phone was out until I had more money.” Tyler answered.

“Are you breastfeeding now? Is that why you need your hands free?” Daniel laughed in the background.

“Yeah, and I’m naked. But, I’ve gained a hundred pounds, so it’s not an exiting image.”

The agents stifled amusement.

“So, Tyler, I was about to call your mom, brave the daggers and all that…”

“Yeah? Glad you didn’t, she’s pissed at me right now. I try not to give her too much info, you know.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty invasive. Still living with her?” Grace paused, knowing from the agents that he did not.

“Nope. Couldn’t stand it. Daniel and I got a place together.”

“Oh. That’s cool. No wonder he’s back there, gloating.” Grace said, dryly.

“What’s that mean?” Daniel asked quickly, while Tyler laughed in a tight, funny way.

“So, How long have you been out of your mom’s?” asked Grace, ignoring Daniel.

“Oh… a couple of months…”

“Still in Riverside?”

“Yeah, can’t seem to get away…”

“Ah... so, my baby is almost walking. He’s all over the place.” Grace watched Agent Steely scribble on a notepad while she chatted. Grace nodded after reading the questions handed to her, adroitly changing the almost awkward conversation to gain the answers. Three bits of information took her five minutes to obtain without arousing Tyler’s suspicion. A moment later, she hung up the phone.

“I hope that helped.” she stated.

“Yes, a lot. Thank-you, Grace.” Agent Clark said, flipping his notebook shut.

“Seems to be some underlying tension between you three.” Agent Steely commented.

Grace nodded.

“Love triangle?” Steely mused.

“Used to be. Now it’s just between them.” Grace shrugged at two sets of lifted eyebrows. “But, I think it was about them all along. I was just a red herring, a diversion.”

“Anything happen?” asked Steely.

Grace smiled, her lovely visage subtly changing.

“I opted out.” she said, her warm voice conveying ambivalent emotions.

“I doubt you were just a diversion.” Agent Steely said. “Tyler’s fallen apart since you left.” her eyes bored into Grace, impolitely. “Do you ever regret marrying him, or leaving him?”

Grace regarded her sleeping cherub. She thought Steely’s query odd, yet answered.

“No.”