Epilogue
Five Years Later
Pain is just another pigment in the painting of life, and over time I’ve learned how to appreciate its place in the greater picture. Without pain, joy doesn’t shine as bright.
A large canvas balanced precariously in his arms, Noah asks with a grunt, “Maeve, where do you want this one hung up?”
“The empty spot on the far left,” I call back to him, pointing to a large white wall displaying several other paintings. I adjust the canvas on the wall in front of me before turning around to assess the gallery.
In their last moments, Phantom correctly predicted my life’s calling. After I graduated from Lizbeth College for the Arts, I went to graduate school in Chicago, where I received a master’s degree in Art Therapy and Counseling.
Now, I live and conduct my counseling practice in the city full-time.
Exactly one year ago today, I bought a small art studio to start my practice with some of the funds from my previous art sales, and started hosting art therapy classes for inner-city youths struggling with mental illness.
Together, we use art as a tool to help ourselves fully experience our emotions and process them in a safe, healthy way.
For the first few months, only a few kids came to my classes, but eventually, they began to grow, and now my average class size hovers around twenty-five students.
If the studio keeps growing at this rate, I’m going to have to relocate to a larger space and hire additional therapists. Which is why tonight is so important.
Tonight, my studio is hosting our first open gallery to celebrate our one-year anniversary and show off our student’s amazing pieces. All the donations collected will go towards expanding our services.
“Does this painting look crooked to you?” Noah asks me. “No. Yeah. It’s definitely crooked,” he continues without waiting for my response.
I laugh as I watch him fiddle with the canvas on the wall. Thankfully, Noah drove in from St. Louis to help me set up for tonight. We’ve grown close again over the years, and for that I’m grateful. He’s engaged to a wonderfully kind woman he met a few years ago, and I couldn’t be happier for him.
My friends from Lizbeth should be making an appearance tonight too.
Emmy is local, but Iris, Zayne, Franco, and even Alexis, are coming in from out of town for the occasion.
I can’t wait to see them all and catch up––hear about their lives, their successes, and their struggles.
It’s been too long. My family’s coming in tonight as well and I smile knowing the studio will be packed to the gills with the people I love most.
But I can’t ignore the small spasm in my chest at the thought of my loved ones.
I never can. All my loved ones will be here but one.
The one who will always be missing from nights like tonight.
I glance at the back wall of the studio—like I do each time I find myself missing Phantom—to my favorite painting. Our final painting. Our masterpiece.
It’s too big for the space and takes up the entirety of the back wall, but I can’t stand the thought of not being near it. It brings me peace having it here; imagining Phantom’s watching over me and the work I’m doing.
“Noah, do you mind continuing on your own for a while?” I ask him over my shoulder. “I need to go get changed. Guests should be arriving soon.”
“Yeah,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “No problem.”
I climb a set of stairs at the rear of the gallery to the level above where I live in a quaint studio apartment.
Humming to myself, I unzip my yellow coveralls and step out of them.
They’re full of holes now and barely protect my clothes from paint stains, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop wearing them.
There are too many good memories attached to them.
I change into a red midi dress and black heels before taming my wavy hair into a sleek knot at the crown of my head. While touching up my makeup, I check the time. Thirty minutes to show time.
I walk back down to the studio to find the walls filled but the gallery empty.
“Noah?” I call, to which I receive no response. He must’ve stepped out.
I take advantage of the moment alone to browse the paintings. Pride splits my face in half at the bravery my students have shown with these pieces, at all the emotions and trauma they’ve tackled through their art.
There was once a time when I thought humans were fragile, but not anymore. There’s not a single living thing that’s stronger or more resilient. My students and their art are proof of that. Phantom was proof of that.
Toward the front of the studio, I come across a painting I don’t recognize.
It appears to be a rendition of the Greek myth of Sisyphus, a man who cheated death.
As punishment, he was condemned by Zeus to push a boulder up a steep hill, only for it to roll back down every time he neared the top.
He was meant to push the boulder up the hill for all eternity, but in this rendition, Sisyphus sits atop the hill with his boulder at his side, his face weary but victorious.
He’s achieved an unthinkable feat, and when I look at it, I can’t help but feel hopeful.
I take a curious step closer to the painting, studying the brush strokes. They’re exceptional, showcasing immense skill with the craft.
This isn’t one of my students’ paintings. So why is it here?
The artist’s name on the nameplate below catches my attention. I don’t recognize it at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve never met a person with this name before. I have no clue who it could be.
The bell above the studio door rings, signaling a guest, as my thoughts continue to clamor haphazardly.
“Noah,” I call, my eyes still glued to the painting. “Whose painting is this? Where did you find it?”
Silence meets my question.
“Well,” I say, more to myself than to Noah. “Whoever painted this is absurdly talented. It’s absolutely stunning.”
An amused chuckle rings out behind me, and when I turn around, all I see is blue and green.