Day 33

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: includes the words: garlic  portrait  belgian

Step 2: include a dialogue that begins with: I'm gonna live forever.
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"Yard sale 10-2. Only serious buyers wanted." Lizzie read the sign along School Street while out biking, and was intrigued enough to stop. She couldn't decide if it was a joke or terrible advertising, but she felt compelled to check the time. It was 1:15, so she turned down School Street and headed for the sale. Actually, it's brilliant advertising, she thought.

The road turned at the bottom of a hill, and at the turn, just barely visible, was a small driveway with items arranged along its length. Lizzie parked her bicycle along the curb and approached the driveway. The items appeared to be arranged by type. The first group was kitchen items, where she saw a garlic press, a Belgian waffle maker, and a large stack of mismatched plates and bowls. Although she had often thought of getting a waffle maker, the idea of carrying this one home while riding on her bicycle was enough to make her lose interest.

The next section contained art supplies—paints, blank canvases, brushes, etc.—followed by actual paintings. Lizzie walked alongside the paintings, trying to picture what any of them might look like in her living room, where the walls had long been empty and in need of color. The first few paintings of fruit didn't interest her, but then she saw a portrait that drew her eye. It featured a woman sitting on a floral couch. The woman wore a red dress, modest at the top and hanging to her calves. She had long brown hair tied loosely in a ponytail, which hung over one shoulder. And she was smiling, that unmistakable smile that belonged to Lizzie's mother.

"I'm gonna live forever..." a voice sang.

Lizzie was drawn out of her shock long enough to look around to see who was singing.

"I'm gonna learn how to fly... Fame!" the voice sang.

And then Lizzie saw him: a man working in the garage that stood just beyond the driveway. He was wearing earbuds and was moving boxes from one side to the other. She walked toward him until she stood just outside the garage.

"Excuse me," she said.

He didn't hear her, but continued moving the boxes.

"Excuse me!" she said, louder.

At that he turned, and seeing her, popped out the earbuds.

"Hey, sorry," he said." Did you want to buy something?"

"That painting," she said. "Do you know anything about it?"

She led him to the painting of the woman on the couch.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "My dad painted that. Pretty good, right?"

Lizzie stared at the face in the painting: the blue eyes, the sharp nose, that smile.

"Do you know who it's a painting of?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," the man said. "It's my mom."