The Canvas, Part III

“I’m Emerson,” she said, “I don’t think I introduced myself. And, by the way, welcome to my treehouse!”
Riley looked around the room in amazement, his eyes moving across the canvases that covered the walls from floor to ceiling in every color imaginable. Riley couldn’t help but get up and look around. On her bookshelves were little toys ranging from superballs to blowing bubbles to spinning tops. Her desk was covered in notebooks full of stories, crumpled pieces of paper and markers in every shade. A ladder led up to a mysterious second floor loft, and three windows framed a beautiful sunset over the mountains.
Emerson got up out of the bean bag and begun lighting the candles that sat on almost every surface of her getaway. “It’s starting to get dark, and I figure that the guests won’t leave until the sun rises in the morning,” she explained as she lit another match and walked to the other side of the room.
“My mom and dad will want to be the last guests here for sure, since my dad’s running for the next election. He said he’s got to ‘make nice with the public’, whatever that’s supposed to mean,” Riley said.
“I’m sure it’s fun being the governor’s son, right? Don’t you get treated like royalty?” Emerson asked.
“Yeah, if by royalty you mean being watched all day to make sure I don’t get into trouble,” Riley said, sadly looking down at the floor. Emerson knew that feeling too well.
“Follow me,” Emerson said as she started climbing up the ladder with a candle in her hand. Riley followed close behind as they entered the dark loft with a single flickering candle as their only source of light. Through the shadows, Riley was able to make out a blank canvas on an easel, and a strange, magical feeling came over him. It’s as if he felt the canvas pulling him closer and closer…but that had to be irrational, he thought. He shook the idea out of his head.
Emerson lit two more candles, revealing a completely bare room without any furnishing except for the canvas. There were paintbrushes in cups full of water, towels blotted with paint, and an old smock hung up on the wall. The white walls were splattered in different colors of paint, and one could tell that the wood floors had seen cleaner days.
“Let’s paint!” Emerson suggested as the fire oscillated in the dark. “I know what it’s like to be told what to do all the time. But painting is like freedom. Don’t you want to try?”
Riley picked up a paintbrush and shrugged his shoulders. Emerson lifted the smock off the wall and tied it over her fancy pink dress. She grabbed her favorite green paintbrush, mixed a dark green hue with white, and the blank canvas was blank no longer.
Beginning with swirls and bubbles, Emerson poured her feelings onto the canvas. She painted where she wanted to be, with lime green grass and a pink sky and a purple stream running through it. She looked to Riley. With a little bit of hesitation, Riley dipped his brush in the paint and lifted his hand. All of a sudden, his brush was pulled to the canvas, as if it was yanked by a mysterious magnetic force.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Riley exclaimed as he dropped his paintbrush to the floor.
Emerson jumped. “Why do you scare me like that? What happened?”
“Emerson, it was like something pulled my brush—I didn’t try to—it was like—like—magic!”
Emerson smiled. “Pick up your paintbrush, silly,” she said.
Riley dismissed his foolishness and decided he must’ve imagined the whole thing. He picked up his paintbrush once more and tried to ignore the odd feelings that the canvas evoked. While Emerson was busily focused on her painting technique, Riley began to mix colors of paint on his palette. In his inexperience, Riley fumbled around trying to make any sort of unique color, adding blues and greens and reds all together into one. After failing miserably, he decided to settle for the black paint he had created, and added a whisper of black paint to the canvas.
“Oh no!” Emerson shrieked as she hit the paintbrush out of Riley’s hand.
“What’s wrong?” Riley asked, confused.
“There’s a reason I don’t have any black paint tubes in my treehouse Riley! Ugh, it is simply the most depressing color. I’m sorry I overreacted, but just make sure not to use any more black, it’s very important.”
Riley, feeling a bit discouraged, picked up his brush and continued to work, but this time, only in technicolor. After a while, Riley was feeling the freedom that Emerson had mentioned before, and his spirits started to lift. His creations were wonderful. They continued to paint in harmony until they stood in front of a magnificent masterpiece of abstract designs and creatures, its color filling their minds with pleasure, until Emerson stood back and looked at the completed piece with a mysterious glimmer in her eye.
Upon looking at the mesmerizing canvas and making eye contact with Emerson, Riley began to feel the magic rush through his veins again.
This time, he couldn’t ignore it.