Fresh Paint Fresh Life

Breaking with tradition, or my newly self diagnosed OCD, I made my way to the kitchen in the morning before I took a shower so I could get a glass of pineapple juice.  Mom had left me a note on the table saying Shaun had called and then had called again because I hadn't returned his first call.  I took my juice upstairs  so I could get my shower and contemplate calling Shaun.  I went over and over  our conversation at the graduation party and then the party at his house.  I couldn't help but get excited that he was interested in me.  He sure was not difficult to look at either.  By the time I got out of my shower I was ready to call him, but nervous.  Okay, maybe I wasn't ready to call him.  But I kind of wanted to.

I towel dried my hair and pulled it back into a pony tail.  I dressed in denim shorts and a t-shirt with Winnie The Pooh on it.  Mom loved buying me character t-shirts.  She said it made her happy to buy happy little creatures with happy little faces.  I think it was her way to tell me to smile more.  Or maybe she just really liked these guys.

I dialed Shaun's number and got his voice mail.  I left a message for him and hung up.  I sat on the couch.  A whole day.  With nothing to do.  I laid back on the couch  and swung my feet up on the other end.  A day made for lounging.  I closed my eyes and tried to relax.  Tim was the first thing I thought of and my brain drifted right back to yesterday.  This happened to him.  I snapped up, swung my feet back down to the floor. Nope, not going there right now.  I went to the basement, didn't mom tell me she had bought that paint I had asked for-for my bedroom?  There were two gallons of new paint sitting by the shelves filled with old paint cans, tools, paint rollers and pans, electric cords, old fan, and various items I did not recognize for use but recognized because they had been there forever.

I took the paint upstairs and set it in the hallway outside of my room.  I went in my bedroom and for five seconds stared at everything.  Bookshelves, desk, dresser, televisions, all of the things I had gathered in the last 18 years that made a running history of my life.  I went back to the basement for some boxes, found only one big box and went back upstairs to start packing.

Quickly I took things from the walls and shelves that I decided I could live with packed in a box and placed in the closet.  I couldn't get rid of anything but I could live with it in there.  I turned my stereo on to my favorite station, I wanted music blaring in the room, not through little ear buds from my ipod and took my time filling the box.  The room seemed quite bare when I was done.  It was a pretty big room but still, eighteen years of stuff adds up no matter how big the room is.  While packing everything I seemed to notice more dust than I had previously noticed or even thought possible.  So back to the basement I went for a bucket and rags.  Very quickly, because I wanted to get to the painting and have it done, I wiped down the walls and the shelves where things no longer sat.  After that was finished I returned to the basement to find the tarp dad kept there for his painting projects.  I dragged it up to my room which was no small feat.

In my head I planned all of this prep work to take a matter of minutes.  By the time I shoved all of the furniture in to the middle of the room, stripped my bed and covered it with a couple of older sheets, piled everything I could UP to make the pile smaller in circumference but higher by stragetgy, a couple of hours had passed.  Now I was sweaty, dirty and hungry.  Did I want to eat?  Yes.  Did I want to get this painted and returned to order?  Yes.  Instinct was to go and go and start painting, work until I was completely finished.  I couldn't stand the clutter and disarray.  I looked at the pile of my room, in the middle of my room, looked at the walls that I would need to wash down again because they were still not clean and had the sinking feeling my little job was not so little.  I made myself stop.  I took a deep breath.  Where as all of this going.  I looked at the once green, now spotted, tarp covered pile in the center of the floor.  I had no where to rush off to.  Go eat.  Then come back and clean again.  And paint.

As I was walking in to the kitchen the house phone rang.  It was Shaun.   "Hi Nicky, you are a hard person to get hold of."

"Sorry Shaun, Tim was over yesterday and we cooked out for mom and dad and then I was talking to dad and I didn't get a chance to call."  I almost said I forgot but I didn't want him to think I had forgotten about him.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Tim?"  There was a question in his voice but before I had to think about answering it, which I didn't want to he went on.   "Well I was calling to see if we could get together.   Maybe go out?"

"Yes.   No."

"Am I suppose to pick which one of those answers I want?  If so, I pick yes."

He made me smile.  More.  "I pick yes, but I can't today.   Not now."

"Oh."  Not as happy as he was a second ago.

"Let me explain.  I got up and didn't have anything to do so instead of lounging around doing nothing I decided to paint my room so right now I have everything scrubbed down, pushed in the middle of the floor and covered with a tarp and I was just going to eat real quick and go back upstairs and paint my room because I want it all done and put back together tonight."  I said it all in one breath, as quickly as I could because I wanted him to hear me and believe me.  Why I thought he might think I would lie to him escaped me at the moment.

"Can you breath now?"  I could hear the happy back in his voice now.  "Sounds like a lot of fun.  Why don't I come over and help you and then we can make plans for even more fun."

"I don't think so."

Silence for a beat.  "You don't want me to come over?"

"No.  No I'm not saying that.  But that just doesn't seem right."

"Well Nicky I think it would be very right.  I would really like to see you and I think we would have a good time painting and talking.  It would be like playing cards.  Conversation sure seems easier when your doing something else."

"I would feel pretty selfish having someone I just started to get to know come over here and help me paint my room."  He didn't say anything.  He was waiting for me to just say okay.  "Okay, but you have to promise to leave if you get here and think there is no way you want to spend your day painting this room."

"I'll do that.  Well, I won't do that. But if that was how I would feel I would do that.  But it isn't."

He didn't need directions and said he would be here in less than an hour.  After I hung up I hurredly ate a bowl of cereal and went to my bathroom to see how I looked.  Criminy.  I brushed my hair out and pulled it back into a pony tail again.  I felt grimy...but hey.  I'm painting here.  I washed my face and neck and felt a little better but couldn't believe I was letting him come over to one; see me like this and two; help me paint my room.