Forrest leans in for a closer look, not quite grasping the concept. “Where’s the dragon?”
“I’ll draw one.” I google his request and up pops a picture of a boy posed as if he’s holding a shield to fight off a fire-breathing dragon. “Does that work?”
Forrest’s dark eyes grow wide underneath his wispy, white-blond hair. “That’s scary.”
Yeah, trying to draw such detail would be kind of scary. I’ll do better with simple shapes, like a moon for him to “stand” on with a big space helmet drawn around his head, or a swing under a tree where Daisy can “sit.” I swipe to a picture of a boy “flying” over a city skyline. “How about we make you both superheroes?” I offer.
“Awesome!”
Jewel’s lips twist as if I’ve almost impressed her. “That’s a cute idea.”
Wow. Okay. Maybe tonight won’t be as painful as I’d expected.
While Jewel sets the table, we get to work, making up the story as we go.
“Once upon a time, a brother and sister decided to take a trip to the beach.” I draw a shade umbrella over beach towels. Daisy runs inside the house and returns with two pairs of sunglasses for props, which make the whole picture even cuter than I imagined when they lie down on the towels. There’s seriously nothing more adorable than kids in sunglasses.
Next scene … “The sister went swimming, while the brother went fishing.” Forrest “sits” on the dock “holding” a chalk drawing of a fishing pole, and Daisy pretends to dive underwater with the seaweed, starfish, and octopus. Perfect.
We troop up to the second-level patio for fresh cement.
I stretch my stiff lower back before squatting to draw again. “But when they returned to the shore to dry off, they realized their towels were actually capes.” Thus they have to fly through the sky.
We’re just getting to the part where their capes stop working and they have to use them as parachutes when Jewel joins us, hands planted on hips.
I brace for criticism.
“Do I get to be in the book?” she asks.
“Uh …” I guess every superhero story needs a supervillain.
“You can be the butterfly,” Daisy yells, as if this makes sense with our plotline.
I’ll figure some way to connect it. I draw butterfly wings and my sister lies down flat. I have to climb onto a chair to get a good angle for my camera. The end result actually looks pretty good. I show her the picture.
She laughs, and it’s not a villainous laugh. “Dinner’s ready.”
I don’t argue. Because steak. Also, I want to keep on Jewel’s good side.
We sit around the wrought iron table, Daisy and Forrest wiggling even as they fold their hands and close their eyes for the blessing. I follow suit, sans wiggling, though I always have trouble listening to my sister pray too.
Usually she’s praying for food full of gluten and dairy to bless my body. But I guess her prayer isn’t so bad with today’s steak and salad. I’ll be thankful too.
“Amen.” I cut into my meat and savor the first juicy bite. Jewel may not be thoughtful, but she sure can grill.
“So, are you enjoying your summer off?” she asks, as though I’m a slacker.
I do love my summers, but not in the way she implies. I haven’t stopped working.
I slow my chewing to think of the best way to answer and finally swallow into a sour stomach. Might as well respond with a segue into the topic I came to discuss. “I’m taking a citizen’s police academy class as research for the screenplay I’m writing.”
“Play is right,” she says, confirming my suspicions that she only studied psychology in order to inflict deeper mental anguish on those around her. “Have you sold anything yet?”
Many retorts script themselves in my brain, one of which involves how artists have to master their art before they can make money, and we don’t get paid to “practice” the way doctors do. But I can also script how she would react, and I would rather not play a role in that scene.
I reach for the kale salad to avoid eye contact. “I wrote a play the high school senior class performed this spring.”
My students enjoyed the unit I taught onThe Scarlet Pimpernel, so we came up with a parody calledThe Scarlet Fingernail, where the heroine pretends to be a Paris Hilton type. I’ve tried pitching it as a screenplay, but the producer I met with had never even heard of the world’s very first fictional hero with a hidden identity.Sink me.
