Untitled Andie Kinstle

Untitled

Andie Kinstle

I ended up eating quickly, with no appetite. I collected an old sponge and a cleaning solution, one I made by mixing leftover supplies from various shifts. I did not mention to Dad that I had seen Katie, instead heading silently towards my room. I’d known for a while that the mold was growing. I saw it on my walls every day, all large and peeking through the paint. I knew it was there.

I walked inside of my room and kneeled onto the floor, right in front of the mold. The largest part was right below the window, big clumps pressed together. I wet the sponge with my solution and began to scrub at the wall, starting at the bottom where the largest amount was and working up towards the ceiling. After some time, with little progress, flakes of splotchy pink paint crumbled onto the floor. They fluttered from the wall, one after another. As they fell, the mold remained stuck in place. If anything, my cleaning made it worse. Now there was less paint to somewhat cover the mold, and it could be seen clearly for its black, green color. I scrubbed the wall raw, and still, the mold would not go away. My room was very small. There was not a lot of space, which was fine. I continued cleaning down the base of the wall, moving slowly. When I drew nearer to my bed, I paused. There was some random clutter underneath it, including the dictionary Katie had given me when we were younger. I had tried to avoid thinking about her since I saw her earlier. Seeing the dictionary, I wondered if she had become a writer. If that was what she was doing now, where she was headed. Off to sell something worthy that she had created.

I reached for the book and carefully brushed off the dust from the cover. It had a few scratches and tears from when we would mess around with it. There were a few pages with sticky

tabs attached to them. We used to sit together and flip through random pages to find the long words we couldn’t pronounce, convincing ourselves we would use them in the stories we would write someday.

“Make sure you get rid of all the mold.” I put the dictionary back under my bed and turned around. Dad was standing in the doorway, cocking his head at the wall. “It looks worse.”

“I know,” I said. “The paint is coming off. That’s why. I’ll clean all the mold off.” He nodded and walked off, leaving me alone again.

Instead of picking up the sponge, I remained seated on the floor. The sun had risen not too long ago. I could not see much through the window I had, but I could make out the faint orange tint lighting the bumpers of old cars outside. I imagined the horizon still warm with an orange glow, like the sky was savoring the sunrise for as long as possible. It was a pretty image. With my schedule at the office buildings, I never got to really see the sun come up. I would get home from my night shifts, eat quickly, and try to fall asleep. I usually did not give it too much thought, but today it felt different knowing that this was something I always missed. I wonder if Katie got to see it.

I reached under my bed and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and a pen, left over from my time in school. I began to write. I didn’t know what I was trying to say, or even wanted to say, but the words still spilled out of me in a way I could not control, like a river with a dam about to break. I continued writing, scribbling back and forth across the paper, crossing some lines out and circling others. The paper was mess of sloppy sentences, but I didn’t mind. Later, when I was finished, I looked back at what I had written:

“When the sun rises, it graces the world with beautiful waves of pink and orange light that slip between the clouds. I have not bathed in those lights in a long time. But today I saw them. I saw the trails of her blazing colors and the warmth she radiates. I saw the wonder hidden in her tracks and the place where she now belongs. Or maybe she always had a place? I think the sun was always bright but it’s hard to remember. Will I get to see more of the sun? Will I see her tomorrow or was this my only chance? Will the sun always rise without me? I hope that one day, if I grab the sun this time, maybe I could rise too.”

I slowly and carefully folded the paper and tucked it inside my pocket. With a strange new lightness in my chest, I started scrubbing at the mold again.