Page 55 of Fallen
Now? No longer a child, I was a woman with wants and needs, with a will to survive and determination to see it through. I needed to get on with my life, even if it meant leaving the past behind.
"You're right." I stood and pushed my chair back to gather my book and purse. "I'm helping no one by feeling sorry for myself."
Her smile beamed. I'd always known she had a beautiful heart, and now I could see her face matched the beauty of her soul.
"Wonderful." She clapped her hands together. "I know just the place to start." She motioned for me to follow as she turned and strode for the exit.
Taking a deep breath, I followed.
The church had always been my shelter, and now, it would become my world.
Two months later, I found myself at the Marolen Art Center with several pieces of my work on the wall.
Sister Carrie had helped me secure a space in the city’s annual art show. Several other community college students were featured, along with two successful full-time artists who had roots in the town.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” My thumbnails were ragged from my constant chewing.
She patted my shoulder. “Of course it is. Just look at that view.” Her attention turned to the framed painting in the center of what was deemed my wall.
It was an earlier work, when I’d painted the world with my fingers, along with the other senses that helped me see the images in my head.
I swallowed. “I don’t think it’s very good.” Over the past couple of months, I’d begun adjusting to having my eyes again, and I couldn’t stop comparing the things I saw to what I’d imagined.
This painting looked like a white cloud that couldn’t decide if it had wanted to be cotton candy or a roll of toilet paper.
It was right after Lucian had taken me to the carnival.My stomach tightened at the thought of the fallen angel.
"Nonsense. It looks like Heaven.”
Four smaller pieces surrounded each side, ranging from a simple flower—the same one in the pots outside I always loved touching—to a lopsided church.
“I really need to work on some new stuff. No one’s going to want to buy these.”
The purpose of the show was to raise money for charity, and this year, the city had chosen The Girls and Boys Club. For the next two hours, anyone could bid in a silent auction.
“Hmm.”
I turned toward the voice.
An older gentleman, a bit stooped with graying hair, tilted his head as he stared at my work.
Sister Carrie, normally dressed in her habit, wore a light blue sweater and tan slacks. It was strange seeing her in normal clothes. She raised her eyebrows at me, then flicked her wrist as if to say,"Go on, talk to him.”
"Hello." The urge to bite my nails beat in me. I stuffed both hands into my pockets.
"Good evening." Dimples popped when the man smiled. He nodded toward my artwork. "Are these yours?"
"Yeah." I nodded, suddenly embarrassed that I had the audacity to show my work, to think that anything I painted was good enough for a show. "I know they're not very good, but this…this is my first show." Fire burned in my cheeks.
His eyebrows drew inward as he turned and stepped closer to the wall.
I swallowed.I should crawl away. He must think I'm extremely arrogant for—
"Expressive works like these aren't like a college paper. There's no pass or fail, no good or bad." He pivoted and reached out his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm Professor Chang."
Giving it a quick shake, I hastily withdrew my hand. "It's just, um, I painted these at different times in my life."
"You didn't just paint these, my dear. You poured your soul into the strokes." He glanced at the wall again. "Art isn't just about aesthetics and proportions. It's about emotion. If a piece manages to move only one person, then it's a success. These"—he nodded his chin toward the largest painting"—Are the windows toyoursoul."
