Squares
Linda paints squares on grid paper. Grey and lavender watercolors.
She's fifty-six. Lives in Portland.
The squares are small. About an inch. She fills them in. The colors bleed together.
Her son visits. They talk about his car. Needs new brakes. He borrows her ladder. Brings it back next week.
Linda keeps painting. Buys supplies from the craft store. Paints at the kitchen table.
Her daughter calls. Her son is having trouble in school. Linda says kids go through phases. They hang up.
Linda paints more. They're stacked on the counter.
Her friend Joan calls about lunch. They get lunch. Joan talks about her daughter's wedding. They split the check.
Linda goes home. Paints.
Her neighbor needs sugar. Linda gives her some. Neighbor leaves.
Linda paints. Hangs one on the wall.
Her son visits. Borrows a screwdriver. Sees the grid on the wall. Doesn't say anything about it. Returns the screwdriver later.
Linda paints more. Ran out of lavender. Buys more.
Her bills are piled up. Pays some. Forgets the rest.
Her daughter visits with the kids. They watch TV. Ask if there's any juice. There isn't. They leave after an hour.
Linda paints.
Her dentist appointment is Tuesday. She forgets. They call. She reschedules.
Keeps painting. The grids are stacked everywhere now.
Her son calls about her water bill. It got sent to his address. Linda pays it.
Paints more. Wrist hurts. Arthritis maybe. Paints anyway.
Joan texts about lunch. Linda says she's busy.
Her daughter texts about Sunday dinner. Linda says she can't.
Paints more. Grid paper runs out. Orders more online. Takes a week. Paints on regular paper while she waits.
Grid paper arrives. Goes back to grids.
Her son comes over. Needs to use her printer. His is broken. Uses it. Leaves.
Linda paints. Hangs another grid on the wall.
Paints another one.
