Dehydration

A simple introductory chapter to The Painter. Calvin finds himself painting in the blistering heat and out of water.

The sun was high in the afternoon sky, glaring down without mercy upon the creatures below. A dry breeze that swept through the prairie now and then was the only thing that kept the day from getting “too hot”. The long blades of grass swayed gently back and forth to an unheard rhythm, looking like thousands of arms waving their hands in the air. This was the scenery for miles around: nothing but swaying, dehydrated grass--minus a few large trees.

A lone painter was the only piece of the setting that didn’t quite seem to fit. He stood underneath the largest of the trees on the landscape, garbed in autumnal clothing. Easel propped up before him, his brush moved lazily across the canvas, each stroke precise and slow.

Despite his loose cotton flannel and slim-cut jeans, he didn’t feel overheated in the slightest. Rather, he felt a little chilly, standing barefoot in the cool grass. As if to remind him of the ungodly weather, the fresh paint on his wooden palette started to dry up. Pursing his lips in a type of pout, he glanced down at his colors. Maybe he should pack up soon . . . he was nearly done with his painting, anyway.

Reaching down for his water bottle, he poured what little liquid remained into the driest of his paints, hoping to revitalize them. Rather satisfied with the results, he resumed his painting, a merry smile on his face.

A few brushstrokes later and he was finished. Taking a step back to admire his work, he suddenly became quite aware of how lightheaded he'd become within the last couple of minutes. Or perhaps he'd felt that way for a while--he hadn't noticed anything up until now. Assuming he was just thirsty, the young man looked around for his bottled water, brushing his copper red hair out of his eyes. Remembering he'd used the last of the stuff for his paint, he lightly smacked his bang-covered forehead with the palm of his hand, smearing paint on himself in the process.

Feeling rather tired, he simply decided to relax in the shade of the tree until things got cooler. After all, he didn't have a job to get to or anyone to worry about him; there was no harm in a small nap.

His high spirits unhampered, he slowly lowered himself down and rested his back against the cool bark of the tree. Smacking his lips twice, he noticed his mouth was quite dry.

Che sarà, sarà, he mused, allowing his eyelids to close.

 

* * *

 

"Calvin, you idiot. Wake up! Oh, crap . . . he'd better not be dead. Calvin!"

Groggy, the young man was unaware that what he heard was real life and not a dream. Dismissing it for the latter, he kept his eyes closed.

An annoyed grunt followed, trailed by an angry foot stop and a sharp hmfp! Once Calvin felt the ice cold water splashed against his skin, however, he awoke with a start, glancing about like a frightened animal.

"What the--" he gasped, his eyes flying open. "What was that?""

"What the hell do you think you're doing out here dressed like that? Do you have any idea what the temperature is?"

Glancing up, Calvin quickly recognized who it was badgering him. Long bleach-blond hair, angry blue eyes . . .

"Hello, Gabi."

"Don't sound so nonchalant," she said, turning away in a huff. "I hope you realize it was one-hundred-and-eight degrees this afternoon. And here you are in a heavy flannel and jeans!"

"It didn't feel so bad," Calvin said, his voice calm and cool. He gave his friend a smile, tilting his head to the side like a cat. "What're you doing out here anyway, Gabi? Your hair looks pretty like that in the sunset."

Slightly flustered by his last comment, Gabriella began to pull on a strand of hair out of habit. "Finding you, of course. What am I, your babysitter?"

"You didn't have to come out here, but I'm glad you did."

Gabi turned away, folding her arms across her chest in an I'm-not-impressed manner. "You weren't at the coffee shop so I figured you were painting. Of course you would pick to paint at the hottest time of the day dressed like it's Winter. Here, drink this," she said, thrusting a bottle of ice cold water in his face.

"It's half full," Calvin said plainly, tilting his head to the side again.

"Oh, you and your stupid optimism . . ." Gabi grumbled. "If you're wondering where the other half went, you're wearing it."

Glancing down at his flannel--which was now clinging to his body--the young man gave a light, amused snort.

"Well," he said before drinking what was left of the water bottle.

"Come on," Gabi began. "Grab your painting crap and let's go. I'm taking you to the doctor. You're probably dehydrated as hell and don't even realize it."

While she spoke, Calvin shrugged out of his green flannel, exposing his bare chest. It felt nice to finally get it off--refreshing, even.

"You're not stoned, are you?"

"What?" Calvin said, looking a bit confused.

"Stoned? Are you? Smoke a j? Whatever the hell people call it now?" Gabi asked, sounding bothered by the fact she had to explain such a simple question. "You always act so calm and mellow, it's like you're stoned."

Gathering his painting materials and placing them in his wet flannel, Calvin replied with a smile. "You're funny, Gabi. I don't smoke."

"Well, whatever . . ." she said. "Let's go. I have another shift at seven."

"Can I hold your hand?" Calvin asked plainly as he got to his feet.

Flustered again, Gabriella's head spun around. "Wh-what?"

"Can I hold your hand on the walk back?"

"O-of course not!" she snapped, blushing. "We're not dating or anything--and you have all that painting crap to carry. What a stupid question . . ."

Shrugging casually, Calvin picked up his painting materials and waited for his companion to lead the way.

"You know," she began, "you're kind of like a dog sometimes . . ."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked; his perpetual smile on his lightly tanned face.

Gabi thought for a moment, brushing a wrinkle out of her white work shirt. "Well, I don't think it's exactly a good thing . . . but, whatever. Let's go."

"Okay."

Gabriella led the way, stepping out of the shade and into the open prairie, Calvin following obediently behind. He liked the way the grass felt as it licked at his exposed skin, tickling him as he went. Gabi's hair did look nice in the light of the sunset, the way it reflected all the warm hues so well.

"Can I paint a picture of you someday, Gabi?"

"Stop asking so many stupid questions," she hissed. "And . . . maybe."

"Gabi?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to go to the doctor's. Can we get some coffee instead?"

Gabriella let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Fine . . ."

Author's Note

Any and all errors that could be pointed out would be appreciated. Please and thank you.

Reviews

[abigail elizabeth]

I like your writing style. the descriptions seem to flow very naturally, not forced at all and your sentence are structured nicely (envies) =)

[Kailani]

This is an excellent piece of writing, an I enjoyed reading it. Your characters are well developed and your ability to write so well is amazing.

Keep it up!

~Kailani