- 5.
Tiffany kept calling, in a rush.
<
She would put the phone on speaker, so I
could hear Mark’s sweet talk as he spoke to
her.
He would act like a puppy dog while talking to
his new girlfriend, so eager to please her.
While I was painting, his image kept flashing
in my mind, from his curled eyelashes to his
hair blowing in the wind.
The clearer the image, the more my head
throbbed. I had to take painkillers to stop
myself from hitting the wall.
The sunset was so vibrant, the colors were a
nightmare. It was taking me forever to mix,
blend and apply the paints.
For five days, I didn’t sleep, I ate instant
<
ramen. I was a mess.
Finally, I put on the last touch, staring at the
painting.
In my oil painting, Mark’s smile wasn’t the
same as the photo, but it was mixed with my
memories.
Every brush stroke was perfect.
I sighed, and leaned back, closing my eyes,
wanting a little peace.
My phone buzzed.
Ring! Ring!
Of course, it was Tiffany.
く
“Ms Johnson, is the painting done?”
“It’s the deadline tomorrow. If you don’t
deliver on time, we’ll deduct your fees.”
I coughed lightly, my throat raw. “Ms Tiffany,
the painting is finished. When is convenient
for you to come pick it up?”
She sounded surprised. “How about now?
Just bring it to our place.”
I agreed.
I hung up.
I took a lot of time packing the painting, it
was still wet.
As I stood, my head spun, my legs gave out.
<
I grabbed the table, shaking my head. “After
this painting is done, I’m gonna rest.
I let out a weak laugh.
I’m painting a portrait of my ex and his
girlfriend, delivering it to them.
I have gone through so much.
I needed to start living, now.
I took the painting and went to a cab, telling
the driver the address.
I leaned back and passed out.
The taxi drove the familiar route, the car
stopping at the gate.
<
“Ma’am? We’re here!”
The short break made me more tired.
I paid the fee and walked to the door, hand
trembling to push the doorbell.
Ding! Dong!
Ding! Dong!
The ringing went on and on, but no one
answered.
I could feel my heart pounding, a warning
sign.
Finally, the door opened.
Tiffany in her silk pajamas, hair still wet from
her shower.
“Sorry, Sarah, we were busy.” she smiled, her
smugness impossible to hide.
I didn’t care. “No problem. I didn’t wait too
long.”
I gave her the painting, and as she turned I
saw Mark, only wearing a towel.
I managed to say, “I hope you like it,” my
voice barely a whisper.
This is more American in its language and
cultural context. Let me know if you’d like any
other revisions.
<
My body, already on the verge of collapse,
couldn’t hold me up as I reached the front
yard.
Everything went black, and I fell forward.
Before I passed out completely, I heard
Mark’s sharp, panicked cry:
“Sarah!”
