A Chance to Fall Contest Winner - @chiaraline

The weight of the paint brush felt satisfying in my hands as I balanced it in the crook of my forefinger and thumb. Orange gliding across the canvas created the perfect moment of comfort and warmth in front of my eyes. My hand lowered and dabbed the paint brush into more paint. I brought it back up to the canvas to tap in some details. The sound of the paintbrush scratching the canvas was music to my ears. Staring back at me was a plump round pumpkin. The scene of the pumpkin field before me looked so real, I could almost smell its fall fragrance.

I gave a sigh. Dad would've loved this painting.

Setting my paintbrush into the water, I stood from my stool and untied the painting apron from my waist. As I placed the apron on my stool, the sound of someone pressing a code into my door keypad caught my attention.

The door opened, and my mom's smiling face slid into view a moment later.

"Guess who found apple cider on the shelf today?!" she exclaimed.

"Mom," I groaned. "Why don't you knock?"

"Well, you gave me the code, so why would I do that?"

Rubbing my forehead, I took a deep breath in before releasing slowly. "Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have done that. You don't know how to use an inside voice either."

My mom's lips turned down into a pout. "Shelly, I feel like I'm being scolded. Besides, I like using your keypad. It's so high-tech."

I loved the keypad too. My eyes briefly scanned the small studio apartment with its side-by-side refrigerator, glass top stove, and real granite countertops. It took me a long time to get here, to a place where I felt safe and could finally say I made it. Something I could brag about at my 10 year high school reunion along with my cool job as an Art consultant. My art space was also my bedroom, and it was also my dining area. Not 10 feet away was my island and kitchen. I couldn't help that it felt lonely sometimes. Like it was missing something or someone.

"Anyway, what brings you here?"

"Can't I just stop by to check in on my daughter?" my mom inquired, playing dumb. I saw right through her, and she knew it by the dubious look I cast in her direction. Without a beat, she sighed. "I just know this time of year is tough for you."

She then finally placed her attention on the painting I had been giving my heart and soul to just moments before. Her breath faltered, and she stood there stunned.

"It's absolutely breathtaking. I don't understand why you help sell other's art, but won't sell your own."

"They're all personal, mom. Way too personal to sell to strangers that will just hang it over their couch."

"I think you're just scared that someone will love it."

"Well, this one is definitely not for sale."

"Yeah, you say that about all of them."

She wasn't wrong, but we had this argument every couple of weeks. Selling my own art didn't get me this apartment. Selling other's art did. People who were...just more talented than me. Or sometimes just more marketable than me.

"Anyway, are you ready to go to the pumpkin patch with me?"

I blinked roughly. "Ummm..."

"Come on. You promised!"

I shook my head. "Just go without me."

Mom rolled her eyes, but didn't argue. She was used to this answer by now. Every year since dad died, I said no. It was our thing. My dad and I spent hours picking the perfect pumpkins, giving life to each one of them by painting things on them. Now when I painted, my art looked more like Edward Hopper's than Claude Monet's, basking in a type of loneliness and solemnity that only people who had experienced loss would understand. It was true, artists profited off of their pain, but I didn't want to be one of them.

"Fine, but those pumpkins sure would miss you. It's been 3 years since you've given them a good makeover. I'm sure your dad would love to see your pumpkin art just one more time."

Mom left the apple cider on my island counter and left.

I tried to get back into the groove of things, first putting my apron back on, and then twirling my brush around in between my fingers, hoping for some sort of inspiration to finish up the final piece. Nothing was coming. My painting looked extraordinarily ordinary to me, and I knew in my heart of hearts it wasn't finished. I couldn't get my mind off of my mother's words though.

Maybe those pumpkins did miss me. Maybe I was in desperate need of giving them a makeover again. Thinking back to a few years ago, I couldn't help but crack a smile at how cute they always were after my dad and I got through with them. I had gotten my creative brain from him.

An hour later, I was putting on my jacket and heading out the door.

The cool Oregon breeze nipped at my cheeks and gave them a rosy hue. I dug my fingers into my pockets. It was November now, a little later than we usually bought our pumpkins, but I was hoping there were still some good ones. It was only the beginning of the month, so maybe I would luck out. I could hear my dad's voice clearly.

You're in a brand new apartment! Let's celebrate with some pumpkins!

The drive took about 30 minutes. When I made it, I was surprised by how busy it was. Cars dipped in and out of parking spaces within seconds. Gripping the steering wheel, I saw the opportunity to snag a spot, and parked quickly before anyone else could.

Closing the car door, I exhaled a foggy breath and went up to the front counter to pay. It was a $20 entry just to get inside. It had been cheaper three years ago, before COVID. My dad's hospital bed was now lurking in the back of my brain. I shook the thoughts from my head. I did not want to think about that time. It was going to make me regret coming here.

As I headed inside, I couldn't help but notice how many couples were here. Left and right, kids hopped around while their moms begged them to hold their hands. My heart warmed. They all looked so cute. I loved kids, and when I was younger before my love for art truly budded, I had wanted to be a teacher. I was lucky enough to babysit my sister's kids every once in a while, and they were becoming well rounded little artists because of me.

As far as the couple thing went though, I couldn't relate. I hadn't been in a relationship since I was 23, and here I was at 28 in a studio apartment still doing things solo. The last few flings I had all vanished without a trace, like The Just Judges by Jan Van Eyck.

I walked past several pumpkins, searching for the perfect ones. My dad and I always chose one each, so this year I was going to get two. As I scoured around for my two perfect masterpieces, I ran into a little boy who was alone, on the floor and crying.

My stomach sank as the tears welled up in his eyes, releasing as he let out a soft wail. I took a quick scan of the periphery. Where were his parents?

"Hi," I said in a cheerful manner with a quick wave. "Do you need help finding your parents?"

The boy stopped crying for a second to look at me. He sniffled, and rubbed at his face vehemently.

"My dad said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

I nodded and gave a reassuring smile. "Your dad is right. Is he the one that brought you here?"

The boy nodded abruptly.

"Okay, well, I promise I'll bring you to the front so we can find your dad. Does that sound good?"

He nodded again.

"Okay. Do you want to stand up?"

The boy paused. "...I fell, and now it hurts."

He pointed his finger to his knee, which had a little scrape on it. Poor kid.

"Well, you've got to be strong and get up so your dad can find you. I'm sure he's looking everywhere for you, but can't find you because you're so tiny behind these stacks of hay. Can you be strong for your daddy?"

With a pause, the boy slowly nodded his head yes.

"Alright, come on."

I held my hand out, and he gingerly clutched his own to mine before I gently pulled him from the ground.

"Okay, I'm gonna start walking to the front desk. If you see your dad while we're walking, let me know."

We started making our way across the pumpkin patch, slowing down as everyone passed us with a purpose. Suddenly it felt like I had a purpose too, to reunite this kid with his father. We made it to the front in record time, and the lady spoke out the boy's name over the megaphone. I learned his name was Grayson. He was six.

As we waited for his dad, I asked him some questions to keep him distracted.

"So Grayson, what's your favorite color?"

"Mine's green. What's yours?"

"Hmmm. I like green too. What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to be just like my dad and work as a physic ther-uh-pust."

I cracked a smile at his attempt to say 'physical therapist.' "Oh okay, that's fun. And what does your mom do?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I don't have a mom." He said it casually, as if it was normal for him. Then he quickly looked up at me with a smile. "I like you though. My dad needs a girlfriend, and then you can be my new mommy."

My mouth flew open just as I heard a deep voice state Grayson's name.

"Grayson! I was looking for you everywhere!"

My eyes took in the flushed man with a well kept beard and gleaming dark hair. I saw the resemblance to his son immediately. Then his attention focused on me. Oh no. I melted under the gaze of his warm coffee colored eyes, the perfect shade to make me think of hot chocolate by the fire, or stoneware before being put in the kiln. I was so distracted I almost didn't catch the words that left his mouth.

"Were you the one that found him?"

I cleared my throat. "Um, yes I was."

He gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you so much. I took a phone call for just a second, and then he was gone."

When he smiled at me, I felt weak in the knees. The way his eyes crinkled in such a genuine way made me feel like I was someone important in his life, even though we had just met. Something was tugging at me to get closer to him.

"Your kid is really funny," I started.

"Yeah, he cracks me up sometimes too."

"He said you're a physical therapist and wants to be just like you when he grows up."

With another heart throbbing smile, the man looked down and ruffled his son's hair.

"I also said that you needed a girlfriend, and she's perfect." Grayson pointed his cute little pointer finger towards me with complete seriousness. "I would've been lost forever if she wouldn't have found me. You owe her your life."

His dad's eyes widened as he let out a startled cough. I bit my lip so I wouldn't let out an awkward laugh.

"Maybe you should learn my name first," I started, daring him with a smile that I hoped was cute enough to oblige. What? His kid had said he was single.

A grin displayed on the man's features, and he held out his hand for a handshake. "I guess I should know the name of my son's rescuer."

"Sabrina. Shelly for short," I informed and shook his hand.

"Nice to meet you Shelly. I'm Jayden."

When I got home that night with his phone number saved, I started working on a father and his daughter in the pumpkin patch, him ruffling her hair.