Under a Blanket Of Indigo Bubbles

David was a born storyteller. He had never met his father nor had he wanted to. But he was an angry kid. He lived with his mother in the suburbs of Montreal, hated going to school and spent most of his awake time painting. He despised equally his teachers and schoolmates. The former feared him and he gave them reason to. He was sharp-witted as well as sharp-tongued. He also made no mystery of the fact he didn’t like the people of his age. He had nothing to do with them.

His mother was very worried and had tried to convince him to see a psychologist but he rather talk to their neighbor, a retired primary school teacher well into her eighties, than to a shrink. Melanie (that was her name) was a very cynical lady, she always told things as they were, no matter how hurtful they might be.  No one was closer to David than she was, in spite of her age. He adored her, and she had told him she firmly believed in his talent.

He had refused to attend her funeral. All he could feel was dumb anger. Melanie was pretty old and he should have been prepared. And yet. Melanie herself had often spoken about her death. She knew her health was not so good as it used to be and she wanted to be ready. David thought she was the bravest lady in the world. He thought if someone could be ready to accept their own death that person was Melanie. And yet.

He had decided to play nasty jokes on the new neighbors. Just for fun. He didn’t know what to do now. He was bored out of his skull. He was down. He didn’t even feel like painting anymore. The day the moving van arrived, David was ready. After the new neighbors had settled he would enter their garden with a bucket full of paint and write a big “Welcome” on their back door. It was simply genial. No one could have accused him of not being a friendly neighbor.

Everything was ready. He had skipped school and gone back home. His mother was at work so he could take his time to make sure everything was perfect. The house next to theirs was deserted, immersed in silence, unaware. He put on his old trainers, picked up the bucket and went out. The sun was slowly reaching its zenith. He had climbed that fence so many times before he could manage climbing it with the bucket. The back garden was full of empty boxes and garbage, he had to be very careful not to make noise. He walked very slowly and took minutes to reach the door. When he thought he was close enough he put the bucket down and searched for the brush in his pockets. There it was. Now he just needed to dip it in the bucket and…

The back door opened all of a sudden. A skinny girl in her early twenties appeared and yelled:

What the f* are you doing?

For David it was love at first sight.