Photography © Glenn Bowie
Black Drama
After painting the entire room black, I stand in the middle to assess. Still holding the paint tray with dripping roller as I turn slowly taking in all four walls. A few drops landed on my foot but it’s latex paint so no big deal.
Scotty pokes his head in the open doorway. “Have you gone insane!”
“Hm?” Maybe the paint should have been the glossy version, not this flat black. I catch myself grinding my teeth; a bad habit when I start to stress.
“It’s a dreary day, on a sunny day this will strike you as a masterpiece of design creativity,” I tell him.
“It’s like a coal mine.”
“Are they black inside? I mean, of course the coal is black, everyone knows that, but the mine itself, is that black? On its walls?”
“Rebecca, I’ve reached my breaking point.”
“Well, damn. ‘Cause I reached mine a few months ago.”
He just stands there, all pent up, tight fisted.
“This surprises you, Scotty? This is some kind of revelation? A sign from the Christmas angel?” I feel a laugh coming from deep in my belly.
He opens his mouth then clams up. “I thought you were happy.”
Happy? I set the paint tray on the floor. Where did he come up with that idea?
“Well, Scotty, since you don’t sleep in here anymore why is the color any of your business?”
He looks befuddled; like he believes he sleeps in here.
We each stare silently at the other.
Finally he breaks the ice. “There’s a lot to do at night, what with X-MAS coming,” he says.
He actually pronounced it X-MAS.
“X-MAS a busy time for you?”
“Of course!!!” he yells.
“Well stupid old me not to notice!”
“Is there a chair?” he says.
I’m thinking he looks wobbly.
“Tomorrow,” he says, “I’m calling in a professional painter to cover up this black death.”
“Oh no you won’t. I worked hard here. See how I used the special blue painter tape so I wouldn’t get any black smears on the white trim.”
It came out quite striking. All that black drama. White ceiling and ceiling moldings, and the windows trimmed in bright white make a lovely contrast against the black.
“Red,” he says. “Tomorrow it will be red.”
I plop down onto the floor. “And I’m going to add white wall to wall carpet. Gorgeous with the black. I need to think more about the new furniture. This room is going to be really something.”
“Rebecca, it isn’t gonna happen.”
I point my arm. “You sleep over there now. Paint that room red. What’s stopping you? Do you see me giving orders about the place you choose to sleep?”
A sudden flare like fire crosses his dark eyes. “I never sleep this time of year. Never. It’s always something to be done.” His fingers scrabble through his short chin stubble. “The sleigh. Now Santa wants the legs of the sleigh polished to a high sheen.”
“What???”
“Otherwise they chew up the roof shingles. You can’t imagine the bags full of insurance claims stuffed into his cottage at the North Pole.”
“You are kidding right?”
“Hell no! Why do suppose there’s no mention of Mrs. Clause anymore?”
Yawning I stretch out on the floor making a snow angel.
“Do you see her sweet face anymore on the cards or TV commercials?” he says.
“Never gave it much thought.”
“She couldn’t even get in the bed. And forget about the toilet.”
“Mrs. Clause died up there?”
“Nah. She moved to a warmer climate.”
Susan Isla Tepper presented her darkly comic play Clandestine in an Equity Premiere Staged-reading, hosted by SHOPTALK, on June 10 at EAG Guild Hall Theatre, NYC. Her latest Novel Hair of a Fallen Angel was published by Spuyten Duyvil Books. A twenty-year writer, she’s written 12 published books of fiction and poetry and 7 stage plays. Honors include 21 Pushcart Prize Nominations. Her play The Crooked Heart concerning artist Jackson Pollock premiered on October 25, 2022 at the Irish Repertory Theatre in NYC. Adapted from an earlier novel, it was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Susan is also a Brand Ambassador for The Galway Review. http://www.susantepper.com
Glenn Bowie is a published poet, lyricist, and photographer from the Boston area. He also owns and operates an elevator company that supplies custom-built elevators for clients from New England to Hollywood. Author of two poetry and photograph collections (Under the Weight of Whispers and Into the Thorns and Honey) on Big Table Publishing, he donates all profits from his books to various charities for the homeless and local animal shelters.