Outside the Lines Read Online Free PDF Page A

wares to the tourists—men in checkered swim trunks and fat women in bikinis. Or maybe he should head north, to Bellingham. Close to the Canadian border. There were hippies there, he thought. I could give up painting and weave shit instead. Blankets. Or those things you put hot pans on . . . what are they called? Oh yeah, trivets. He’d be a trivet maker. He’d bond with the pot-smoking liberals and set up camp with them in the woods.
    Pot. Now there was a good idea. He wondered if his friend Rick was up yet, if he’d slept off the buzz from the night before and was now open for business. Rick dealt the best weed on the coast. Gave David a discount, too, since they’d gone to high school together. Used to get stoned out of their minds in the enormous tangle of rhododendron bushes across the street from the school gym. He slammed on his brakes and flipped a U-turn in the middle of the road, ignoring the horns that blared around him. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, cowboys!” he yelled. “Go to hell. Go straight to hell. Do not pass go! Do not collect two hundred dollars!”
    He was hungry. Starving, actually. A little bit dizzy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Friday, maybe? He’d been painting for days, locked in his studio. Lost in swirls of ocher and green, swept up by the glory of blue. This morning, when Eden got up, he promised he’d take her to Shakey’s Pizza for lunch. She loved the Laurel and Hardy black-and-white movies the restaurant played. Eden. His sweet Eden. Nothing like her mother. Eden loved him. Eden loved to play, to join in on any idea David conjured up. A lemon stand instead of a lemonade stand. A midnight frolic in the front-yard sprinkler. Waking up to make cookies at two o’clock in the morning. Mmm . . . cookies. Maybe he should stop at a bakery and pick some up. Or maybe he should make them himself. He doubted Rick had any baking supplies. David did his cooking with Eden. She loved it. Loved the mix of ingredients and creativity. She’d be an artist, like him, for sure. Or a lawyer. His little girl knew how to stand her ground in an argument.
    God, he couldn’t focus. His thoughts pinballed around inside his head. It felt as though someone else was pulling back the plunger, sending random, rapid-fire thoughts shooting through his brain. He wasn’t the person playing the game.
    Did Eden tell Lydia that he had flushed his meds again? Did his daughter rat him out? Was she a traitor, like all the rest? Like the nurses in the hospital who convinced the doctors to inject his meds when he got caught hiding the pills under his tongue? No, Eden wouldn’t do that. Eden understood him. Eden loved him exactly the way he was. He had to go back to her. He had to. But he didn’t want to calm down. He liked himself like this. He liked the rush, the energy, the thrill of moving from one moment to the next with nothing tethered to him. If he was going to go home, he’d have to find a way to settle himself, at least to a point where he could get Lydia to forgive him. Yet another reason spending the day at Rick’s was a good idea. Weed was the perfect downer. It settled the crazy, brought on the mellow. At least until it wore off.
    The curtains were pulled at Rick’s house, but that didn’t mean his friend wasn’t awake. He never let the light in, too paranoid someone would see him dealing and turn him in. David raced up the ice-cold cement walkway. His bare feet screamed in protest as they came in contact with the ground. He pounded on the door. “Rick!” he shouted. “C’mon, buddy. It’s David! It’s fucking freezing out here!” He danced on the frosty front porch, jumping from foot to foot, his hands tucked into his armpits to keep warm.
    Rick’s front door opened slowly. David pushed through the entry and a sleepy-eyed Rick stumbled back against the wall. He was in jeans and a torn white T-shirt. “Whoa, dude. Slow down. Where’s the fire?”
    “I