Pink

Copyright by Lynn Bridge

12″ x 12″ x 1 1/4″

Last fall I blogged a short story which I wrote about 10 years ago and recently used as a take-off point for more art.

It involves dementia. You never know when and where inspiration will strike!

The story will come to you in daily installments until it has all been told.

PINK

As the paint from the broken jar slowly spread across the garage floor, the color surprised Harry; it was pink like the stuccoed walls of a Mexican restaurant.  It reminded him of something from his past, something just out of reach of clear memory.

He couldn’t remember why he had chosen that color.  However, his recollection of the circumstance of his purchase was distinct; he’d gone into the paint department at Home Depot to buy paint for the garage cabinets.

After all, the plan was to sell the house soon, right after his move into Happy Village, and surely the boys down the street would be more interested in buying his house if the musty garage cabinets were freshly painted; made to look pretty.

When he had walked into the paint department at Home Depot, he’d intended to buy a pre-mixed container off of the shelf; no fussing with details for him.  He recalled brushing up against a table loaded with paint cans, all remnants and unclaimed special orders, all priced to sell quickly.

The stacked cans quivered and one toppled from the table, thudding and rolling on the floor.  The can disappeared under a display of painting supplies, but it did not occur to Harry to retrieve it and to return it to its place on the table.

Never before having passed by a bargain rack or sale table without stopping, he was compelled now to stop and gaze at the bounty of discounted merchandise.  No question but that he should purchase his can from the discount table.

He had been looking uncomprehendingly at the labels for several minutes when a young salesman broke in to his fog and said, “Anything I can do for you?”

“No, no, not really…Uh, say, what kind of paint should I use on my garage cabinets?”

“What kind of cabinets do you have?  It all depends on what the cabinets are made of.”

“Well, they’re brown… uh, they’re brown pine cabinets and uh, I’m going to sell the house and thought I’d paint the garage cabinets a pretty color.  You know, I really like natural wood, I just like the wood color, but these cabinets are covered with grime… I’ve lived in this house twenty-five… uh, thirty…no, no, forty years now, yeah, forty years and they’d just look prettier if I paint them.”

“Sir, I’d recommend a good primer first, maybe one of your primers that will kill any stains you might have, and then I’d recommend a good quality enamel, since cabinets get so much wear.”

Then the sound of the store’s P.A. system had broken into their conversation and the salesman had glided away, promising to answer any more questions as soon as he had finished with this phone call.

Harry stared at the table of paint cans, thinking of the forty years he had lived in his house; no, not his house, their house.

(to be continued….)