Tagged Page 11

  “Just looking at empty walls. Trying to find one that’s as big as one of my favorite paintings.”

  He looks at me. Lifts an eyebrow.

  “Needs to be twenty-five feet wide and twelve feet tall.”

  He stares.

  “For research.” Sara says. She’s got my back.

  Nod. “It’s all good, Hank.”

  Dialing 612

  Want to tell Mom how cool camp was. Hope she doesn’t talk too much.

  “Hello?” Patrick answers.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Liam. Um. How’s it going, man?”

  “Okay. You?”

  “It’s all good in the hood.”

  He’s talking weird. “What’s going on around the JFKs?”

  “You know. A little of this and a little of that.”

  What’s with all the gang slang? “Where’s Mom?”

  “She took the little kids to the library.”

  “When will they be home?”

  “Yo, Paddy-Boy!” I hear a guy’s voice in the background. “Let’s go, man. We’ve got things to do.”

  Paddy-Boy? “Who’s that, Patrick?” Voice sounds familiar.

  “What? Oh, ah … just a friend.”

  “Who?” Patrick’s nervous. I can hear it in his voice.

  “What do you mean?

  “Who’s there at the apartment with you?” Doesn’t sound like any of his friends. But still familiar.

  “Ahhh. It’s, ummm. It’s …”

  “Give me the phone, shorty.” It’s a guy’s muffled voice. “Hello? Who wants to know?”

  “Who is this?” I know that voice. Tommy? Irish Mafia loser?

  “You first, man.”

  “Liam.”

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t little mister boojie-ass himself. Summering at the lake. Don’t tell me you miss the hood already.”

  Crap. “What are you doing there, Tommy?”

  “Paddy-Boy invited me. What’s it to you?”

  “Put Patrick back on.” He shouldn’t be hanging with Kieran’s gang. What’s going on? “Give the phone to my brother.”

  “I don’t think he wants to talk to you. Besides, we’re busy.”

  “Put Patrick on!” I’ve got to tell him not to mess with Irish Mafia.

  “What?” Patrick’s back.

  “What are you doing? Stay away from him. I’m not fooling around. Tell him you’ve got to do something. Make something up. Get him out of our apartment.”

  “Our apartment? Last time I checked you didn’t live here anymore, Liam.”

  “Tommy bangs with Irish Mafia. He’s a corner boy.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “What’s your problem, Patrick?”

  “You probably already forgot what it’s like, man. You don’t have to walk past Los Crooks every day. They know I’m an O’Malley. Look what happened to Kieran. They’re going to beat the crap out of me. Maybe worse.”

  “What don’t you get? Stop hanging with Irish Mafia!” But I know that he needs the protection. “You can go to the cops. Let them know what’s going on. Maybe they could—”

  “Right. Like they’re going to do anything. They’re too busy busting guys on petty drug charges.”

  “Give me the phone, Paddy-Boy.” It’s Tommy again. “Hey, Liam, go back to your beach chair, man. I’ve got your brother’s back.”

  Click.

  Circling the living room

  Dialing our home number again. Ring. Ring. Ring.

  Pick up the phone, Patrick.

  Hanging up. Mind racing. Paddy-Boy? This cannot be happening. How can he be so stupid? We’ve talked about how dangerous it is to hang out with Kieran’s gang. Now look. I’m hundreds of miles away. Can’t even help him. Why did Mom send me here?

  “SHITE!”

  Dialing. Ringing. He’s only twelve. Doesn’t know enough about the streets. He’s by himself. No one is there in Minneapolis to look out for him, because I got myself sent here.

  Dialing again. Ring. Ring. Ring. No answer.

  Need to get out of here.

  Run.

  Into the studio.

  Pacing, pacing, pacing.

  “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

  Grab a bunch of colored pencils in my right hand. Handful of paper in my left. Out the door. But I don’t run. Walk down to the beach. Then along the concrete breakwater out to the lighthouse. Climb up the ladder to the walkway around the huge light. Find the perfect spot. Sit. Breathe.

  Love the view from up here.

  Can see all around Lakeshore. Kat’s house. Studio. Beach-volleyball courts. Coast guard station. Main Street. Bakery. Hardware store. Theater. Saint Catherine’s Church. Sara’s house. Library. Hank’s house. Harbor. My favorite sailboat. Town hall. Baseball fields at the park. Road to Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts.

  Pieces of my summer. Everything that surrounds me. Like a beautiful painting.

  Open my blackbook. Need to sketch what’s in front of me. What’s been surrounding me the past couple of months. Being in the little town of Lakeshore has been good for me. Wish Patrick could escape to this peaceful place, too.

  As angry as I am at him, I know he would love it up here and down there.

  Graphite pencil in hand. Scrapes across the paper. I sketch this peaceful scene.

  Swimming in lines

  Back and forth. Fifty feet offshore. Straight out from Kat’s. Early morning water’s warm. Calm. Easy to move through. Back and forth. Yesterday was stressful because of that crap with Patrick. But today I keep going. Keep thinking. Have to figure out how to help my brother. If he’s hanging out with Tommy, he might be banging with Irish Mafia.

  One arm in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Keep moving. Got to clear my head. Calm down. Think straight.

  Decide to send my latest sketch to Patrick straightaway. Know it’s not much but maybe it’ll help him remember that he’s not alone.

  Need to keep him out of the wreck.

  Illuminating the face of Mary

  At Saint Catherine’s Church. Kneel in front of the grotto. The statue of Our Lady of Perpetual Help looks down at me. Arms out at her sides. Palms up like she’s saying: What now?

  My stomach’s been in knots off and on for a few days.

  I pray the Hail Mary. For Patrick. What can I do from here? Being in Lakeshore has been a good thing. But it’s like I’ve abandoned Patrick and the little kids, too.

  “Keep all of them safe. Please help me know what I’m supposed to be doing.” I light a candle directly below Mary. Look at her bare feet. She stands on a snake’s head. Keeping evil away.

  Longing to be alone in the studio

  Want to be surrounded by art. Alone with my thoughts. I walk in the door.

  “Hi.” Kat pulls some tools out of a cloth bag.

  “Hey.” Love this place. Would give anything to have a studio like this someday. “Hope it’s okay if I came out here.”

  “I think you know my answer.” She smiles. “Mind if I do some work?”

  “It’s your studio.” She’s working on a complicated metal sculpture. She was working on it when I got to Lakeshore. It looks exactly the same as it did two months ago.

  “Great news! I had an epiphany about my sculpture this afternoon.”

  “A new idea?” Stacks of metal on the table. I stare at pieces of me in the reflections.

  “More like a revision of an old idea. I want to get started straightaway and see what happens.”

  “How do you come up with new ideas all the time?” I say.

  “I’m not sure. I just know that I have to try different things so I don’t get bogged down.”

  Nod.

  “I think of it as traveling light, you know? That way I can keep moving,” she says.

  “Hmmm.” I watch her work. She looks at her sketch. Grabs the calipers.

  What way should I keep moving? Can’t stop thinking of Patrick back home.

  Phoning Minneapo
lis again

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Liam. How are things in Lakeshore?”

  “Good.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Where’s Patrick?”

  “He’s … at the park? I think.”

  “Are you sure?” I don’t want to worry her.

  “I’m more than a little busy, Liam. Two jobs, single parent, five kids …”

  “I know.”

  “Hang on,” she says. “Patrick?” I hear mumbling. “He’s in the shower. He just got home from soccer practice at the park. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Feel relieved. “Tell him to look for something from me in the mail, okay?”

  “Sure. How was arts camp?”

  “Great. I learned a lot.”

  “Did you make some new friends?”

  “Yeah. Bunch of artists.”

  “Were they all painters?”

  “Some were. Everyone was cool.”

  “I’m glad that you had the opportunity to go.”

  “Well, I’ve got some work to do. I guess I better go.”

  “Work?”

  “Sketching. A new idea.”

  “No more graffiti?”

  “Just trying different things.”

  “Not graffiti, right?”

  Give me a chance. “It’s for a mural,” I say.

  “Mural?”

  “Here in Lakeshore.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I want to do something for the town. Like restitution.”

  “As a way to make things right?”

  “Yes. And to say thanks.” That thought just came to me.

  “That’s wonderful, Liam,” she says.

  “I’m going to make a proposal for the town council.” I still can’t believe I even thought about doing this.

  “I’m proud of you. Let me know what happens.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Thanks for calling. It’s nice to hear that things are going great for you.”

  “Okay. Talk to you later.” I’ll phone back in a day or two. To check on Patrick again.

  “I love you, Liam.”

  “I know.”

  Working on my creation

  Moving from vandalistic tags and pieces to artistic murals.

  But still creating something for everyone to see. My way to tell a story in public. A chance to get my work seen by people who might never go into an art gallery.

  Been sketching ideas in my blackbook. Messing around with things I saw from the lighthouse the other day. Have to think big.

  Studied muralists at arts camp. Love the work of Diego Rivera. He painted the amazing mural Detroit Industry in 1933. It’s one of his most famous pieces. Still on the walls of the Detroit Institute of Arts. Kat and I talked about going to see it later in August. I like his attention to detail. But his style was more futuristic and about social realism. A style that would fit better in a big city like Minneapolis.

  I’ll create my mural using abstract expressionism. Like Picasso’s Guernica. Art that’s abstract but also makes you feel something emotionally. Picasso and Rivera created murals to use as social and political tools. Forced people to think in different ways. Just like graffiti writers.

  Now it’s my turn. And my style.

  A mural for Lakeshore. Inspired by Lakeshore. With permission from Lakeshore. I hope the town council goes for it.

  Doing something here will give me a chance to practice. That way I won’t fail miserably when I try to create a mural in my hood.

  Perfect.

  Approaching town hall

  I’m early. Better than late. Heart pounding. Kat gave me a tie to wear. Wish she were here. Got to do this myself if I want to have any chance to paint my mural.

  “May I help you, young man?” a woman says. She looks exactly like our neighbor Mrs. Murphy in Minneapolis. Maybe I should ask her for a cigarette.

  “I’m here for a meeting.”

  “With?”

  “The town council.”

  “Let me check today’s schedule.”

  Wait.

  “Are you Liam O’Malley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Looks like you’ll be meeting in Room 101. Down the hall, second door on the right.”

  “Thank you.” Looking for the room. 101. Hear a commotion.

  “Why are we even thinking about letting an out-of-towner—a criminal—do something like this?”

  Did the meeting already start? I’m late. Loud voices. Definitely coming from Room 101. Great. Already talking about me. This will not go well. I want to leave and go back to Kat’s. No. Chest tightens. Tug on my holy medal and whisper, “Saint Brendan, pray for me.”

  A man walks out of the room. “Are you here about the mural?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liam?”

  Nod. “O’Malley.” Shake his hand.

  “Come on in. We’re just waiting for a few more people.”

  I enter a conference room with a big oblong table in the middle. People already seated. Hank salutes from the far end. Two other men and three women are scattered around the sides. Where am I supposed to sit?

  “This is Liam O’Malley.”

  Silence.

  “Let’s wait for the others to get here before we do introductions.”

  All stare at me. Check my fingernails.

  “Have a seat right here, Liam,” the man from the hall says. “You brought a sketch of your proposal?”

  “Yes.”

  Last four members of the town council wander in. Everyone introduces themselves. Meeting officially begins.

  “I’m going to ask again,” says a woman wearing a Lakeshore Is for Lovers sweatshirt. “Why are we considering letting a summer resident do this?”

  “Graffiti isn’t art; it’s a crime,” a man in a button-down shirt says.

  I look down at my fingernails.

  “We don’t even know who this young man is,” another says.

  Forget this. Stupid to think that I might stand a chance.

  “I’m sorry. Why don’t we listen to Lenny’s proposal,” a woman says.

  Enough. I want to quit.

  “Liam, the floor’s yours.” Hank speaks up.

  What’s the point?

  I feel like I’ve swallowed a golf ball again. I use magnets to attach my sketch to the whiteboard. Wanted to let my artwork do the talking. Walk over to the podium. We had to give artist-statement presentations at camp. But this isn’t a group of fellow artists.

  “Thanks for agreeing to listen to my idea,” I say. Hate this. “I’ve been living with Katherine Sullivan this summer. I’ve met some decent people here in Lakeshore. When I first got to Lakeshore, I committed a crime. I painted a graffiti piece on your property.” I think about how it did bring some energy to this boring little town, though.

  “I’m sorry,” I continue. “Since then, I’ve made the decision to better myself. So I went to camp at Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts where I studied the visual arts for two weeks. I discovered that I’m very interested in murals like Diego Rivera and Pablo Picasso created. I’d like to have the opportunity to paint a mural for the community of Lakeshore as restitution. I’d like to show you that I can do something decent.”

  Too much talking.

  Assisting Kat

  We move the base of her revised sculpture out of the studio. I’m trying to stay busy. Waiting to hear back from the town council.

  “Dammit, this is heavy. Stop for a minute.” Kat sets her end down.

  “Where’re we going to put this?”

  “Over there.” She points toward the old oak in the backyard. “See how the sunlight hits the ground between the big trees?”

  “Very cool.”

  “The metal waves will really reflect the sun in that spot.”

  “Why not the front yard? On the sand. Sun shines all day out there.”

  “I like the play between light and dark,” she says. “Good and bad.”

  “Yeah, I
guess.” I’d still put it in the front yard.

  “Okay. Let’s give it another try.”

  I lift my side. Heavy. Glad the backyard is closer.

  “Thank God you’re here, Liam.”

  Daydreaming of Guernica

  Massive.

  Dark colors.

  Cubism.

  Powerful.

  Serious.

  Anger.

  Danger.

  Violence.

  Distress.

  Panic.

  Death.

  Patrick.

  Shouting at the door

  “Liam!” Hank’s on Kat’s porch. “You home?”

  “Yeah!” I go to the door.

  “Can ya give me a hand, Liam?”

  What now? “Sure.” Helped him unload a shipment yesterday. All day.

  “Got something that needs getting done. You’re the man for the job.”

  “Okay.” No big deal.

  We walk down Kat’s sand-covered street. Talk about the weather. Past the public beach and the boring white wall on the bathhouse. To the movie theater. Stop at the sidewall.

  “How big do you think this wall is, Liam?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s exactly fourteen feet high and twenty-eight feet wide.”

  And? “Hmmm.”

  “The council met again,” Hank says.

  What’s this have to do with me? What needs getting done?

  “This wall will probably work just fine don’t ya think?”

  “Hank. I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Think you could paint something decent on this wall?”

  “Wait a minute … You mean …”

  “Yessir, Liam.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s true. Lakeshore wants a community mural. And they decided to let you be the one to make it.”

  Staring at my canvas

  My sidewall.

  No bandanna tied around my mouth and nose. No hoodie covering my head. Daytime. Just me and this wall.

  Empty. Waiting for my creation. To see what I have to say.

  Blackbook out of my backpack. Checking my revisions. Happy with the final sketch. Vision is crystal clear. Scene. Colors. Emotions. True and beautiful. Modernism and my own style.