Semi-Daily Scribbles

Previously…

Darla's truck was hum-rumbling over patchy asphalt. 35 was her comfort zone through this bumpy stretch to the Prairie View, but she went for it anyhow, got the speedometer up to 45, and caught up to the rest of traffic that eschewed the Interstate. Darla whistled nonsense notes as she honed in on the mental picture of her booth set up and ready for the day's transactions. She had a few new items to add to her wares and hoped shoppers would respond favorably. There was no way to tell what was a hit or a miss until you laid it all out on the table. People liked dartboards and Darla brought a couple extra of those along. Darla had two more miles to go before she could unpack and pray for good receipts when she heard a thunk-thunking in the back of the pickup. A quick look in the rear-view mirror didn't reveal anything amiss but Darla signaled and eased her truck over onto the shoulder. She turned the engine off and carefully stepped out of the cab to examine the bed full of goods. Darla's preference for frontage roads meant she didn't have semis swooshing past her, or garbage thrown at the back of her head (happened more than once) as she yanked on cords and patted down tarp. It was a quiet morning with the birds off on business elsewhere. There was nothing loose or damaged from what Darla could tell until an unexpected sound broke the stillness. Darla was an inland dweller but she nonetheless heard big waves crash against rocks. The sea roiled and heaved and Darla's pulse quickened as her armpits got damp. She closed her eyes and swallowed the urge to gag/scream/cry, especially when a barn owl hooted after each thunderous wave. Darla pulled back the big blue tarp in search of the source of the sounds. She found the noisy apple crate (also for sale) and gently lifted out the one picture that was silent, or at least had its volume turned down. This was the reason why Darla set aside the oils and took a very long break from painting, even though she knew full well people who liked dartboards also liked 14.5" x 10" seascapes, barnyard scenes, and kids playing with puppies in a wildflower-filled meadow (three themes that looked good in basement game rooms, usually on the opposite wall from the dartboard.) Paintings were living, breathing things in Darla's hands. Oils tended to be louder than watercolors, but they all had a voice and they all wanted to be heard. Funny thing, though, when Darla thought about it. The pictures (Darla's "few new items" by the way) were quiet as mice back at the house. She definitely would have left them there had they raised this big of a fuss while she was loading up the truck. As Darla's anxiety leveled off just a hair, the yellow Lab puppy in the painting she held in her sweaty hands yelped. He was surrounded by bluebonnets, nestled in the lap of a doe-eyed, red-overalls-clad girl. She cooed and giggled at the puppy.

"We don't want to be sold," the dog said to Darla as the girl shook her head back and forth vigorously, long dark braids whipped across her cheeks. "It's not right." Darla worried this might happen.