Alone Read Online Free PDF Page A

doing what should have been done for the gallery.
    When I got home, I set up the answering machine and got myself something quick to eat. I realized I hadn't eaten since yesterday and I was actually pretty hungry. The phone rang and I ignored it letting the new machine pick it up.
    “ Willow, it's Miss Morgan,” I had been in her gallery for six years but she still felt the need to introduce herself on the machine, “I need to talk to you. If you get this before we close, please come down to the gallery. If not, I expect to see you first thing in the morning.”
    I decided to just wait until the morning. There was still a lot of creativity flowing in my mind, and I didn't want to waste it. Plus, it was always fun to keep Miss Morgan waiting. She got a little edgy when you made her wait too long and it never failed to amuse me.
    I pushed the couch to the back wall, set up two of my easels in the middle of the room and put a blank canvas on each. I grabbed the phone as well. I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be disturbed and it had been over a week since I had spoken to my mother, she'd be more determined than ever to speak with me. I hoped that I would just get the machine as I dialed the number.
    “ Willow?”
    “ Hi mom,” I said defeated.
    “ What's been going on with you? I've been leaving messages.”
    “ I know. Sorry, I've been busy.”
    “ Right, I know what that means.” Did she?
    “ So what was so urgent mom?”
    “ I was wondering if you planned on coming down here for Thanksgiving.” Her voice sounded hopeful and I almost felt bad that I was about to ruin that.
    “ No, I don't think so. I have too much going on right now. I have to have four,” I started to explain what I had going on when she interrupted me.
    “ Whatever Willow. I am still your mother you know.”
    “ I'll talk to you soon mom,” and I hung up on her.
    I turned on the overhead lights, turned off the ringer to the phone, and sat on the couch. The conversation had gone much better than I had expected. I couldn't believe that she still thought of herself as my mother. I called her mom out of habit more than anything else, but she has never truly been my mother. She never cared a damn thing about me. The name she gave me was proof of that much. I pushed her out of my mind and stared at the blank canvases.
    I waited for the feeling again, wondering if it would come or if I'd have to wait another day. My body was drained from the work I had done in the building. I decided to get the paints ready on a table next to the easels and I sat back down. Nothing was coming, artist's form of writer's block I guess. My mother seemed to have a way of doing that to me. I was used to this but it was always frustrating. I thought about recreating what I was doing on the wall of the building but quickly decided that it would not be as full of emotion on such a small space in comparison. I stared at the canvases, the paintbrushes and the colors of paint.
    Obviously I was going to be up for awhile so I decided to make some coffee. I watched it brew and grabbed my coffee cup and the creamer from the refrigerator and poured myself a cup watching the creamer mix with the coffee into a murky brown. I took the sugar out of the spice rack and the salt shaker fell onto the counter and that's when it had hit me. The inspiration I had thought would take longer to hit me was there and I grabbed the salt shaker to bring it with me over to the paints.
    It was a technique I hadn't used in years, probably elementary school. Mixing salt with chosen colors of the paint would create a sparkle effect. It was difficult in some ways because you couldn't over use it or it would overwhelm the painting, using too little would make it look like a mistake. I mixed it with a yellow color. I painted freehand this time, layer after layer of paint working on the canvas. After about two hours I had created a near replica of the inside of St. Mary's Assumption with the main focus