A Canvas Is My Mirror

I pull my self up from my office chair and turn to my wall with its array of art supplies. Jars of dirty paintbrushes, paint tubes and rolled up stencils decorate every flat surface, an artist’s euphoria. I walk over to my masterpiece in progress and tut. My self-portrait. I gently arrange pieces of broken mirror around my silhouette. I want to release my thoughts and feelings onto this canvas. Let colour run free and do the talking. After a minute of pulling faces at my canvas, I sit back down at my IKEA desk and spin around holding my face in my hands. How do you paint feeling invisible?
I wake up to the default iPhone alarm, the feeling of sleep trying to keep my body within its reach. After shocking myself awake with hot caffeine make my way to the bus stop. My bus comes towards me, but speeds past. I’m not surprised. Instead of sitting at the bus stop and rewatching the previous events, I get up and head to school. I walk through the dreaded gates of hell and speed walk to my locker. Yet another day going unseen. My legs escort me to my art class and stop at the threshold. I feel a wave of blue wash over my eyes as my whole body freezes. I have to enter in my work for the National Youth Art Competition. My confidence has faded rapidly. I still have this session to finish my piece. I can fix this. I put on my headphones and press play. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac pours into my ears, giving my nerves sweet relief. I pull out my self-portrait and get to work. I dip my brush into black paint, and cross out the face. That’s how you paint feeling invisible. My art teacher sighs. She doesn’t understand, no one here does.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and decide to walk home. I need air. I sit on a rotting park bench and take a few deep breaths to cleanse my head. On my way home, I deliver my entry piece to the post office. Behind the desk, playing with postage stamps was my cousin and my only friend, Nick. “Dani, long time no see!”
“Nick, you stopped by my house last night,” I spat. I’m so not in the mood for this. “Come on Dan, what happened to my fun cousin?” he shot back.
“Just deliver my project please.”
“Alright whatever, I don’t think I like the new you Dani.”
I lock eyes with nick, my hurt clearly puzzling him. I catch an incomplete reflection of myself in the shop window. I haven’t changed, I’ve grown up. I’ve grown out of silly childish things like playing with postage stamps. Nick won’t understand, he can’t possibly understand.

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