The scratching sound, if you didn’t know, you might think it was a rodent or a sick small dog.
Ray turned the corner, leaned on the doorway.
Rachelle was drawing like she had a deadline, fast, obsessive, like she always did.
There were colored pencils and regular pencils and fancy drawing pencils Vonda bought her about every six months moving across sketch pads, images coalescing from weird angles.
Ray had gotten her some computer art software, but she was an analog, old-school artist, and the most focused 11-year-old Ray had ever met.
Every holiday Ray could remember, Rachelle excused herself after dinner to draw.
Tonight she had just nibbled at her dinner. A green bean here, a chunk of yam there, then run into Vonda’s office.
When she spent the weekend and he and Vonda took Rachelle to Cedar Point, she’d draw in the van on the way home.
Ray and Vonda were forbidden to hang any of Rachelle’s artwork in the house, forbidden to have it framed. Rachelle had even forbidden the use of the great American Grandparent Gallery-the refrigerator.
“I’m not good enough yet” Rachelle had been saying since she could talk.
Tonight’s entry was some sort of space warrior.
Vonda had sent Ray in to see if Rachelle wanted pie, and he had forgotten to ask, immediately pulled into the image of the futuristic armor, menacing helmet, the glowing wristbands that seemed to be a weapon of some sort, the smoking remnants of a crashed craft.
Ray nodded, though his granddaughter was unaware of him and staring at the sketch pad, hands and wrists moving, making marks, thumb-smudging them, the top of a boot taking shape.
“That guy looks like the type of badass we need to save the galaxy, Ellie.”
Rachelle looked up at Ray. She rolled her eyes.
“It’s not a guy. It’s Liyzantha, she’s part of a warrior race I created.”
“I’m… I’m sorry sweetheart, I couldn’t tell.”
Rachelle set down her art utensils and sighed, rather heavily, Ray thought.
She spun slowly in Vonda’s desk chair.
“ It’s okay, Poppy. The Collordian Armor hides all typical gender traits, though the gray obtuse triangle insignia on the breastplate identifies her as female for both intergalactic lodging and post-mortem organ harvesting.”
Ray shivered. These concepts seemed way too advanced for a kid her age.
He recovered and said, “Now when I see a grey obtuse triangle on an armored breastplate, I’ll know it’s a woman.”
Rachelle nodded, smiling just slightly.
“Poppy?”
“What sweetheart?”
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“The kind where I draw you a warrior woman with big boobs and rippling muscles and let you hang it out in the garage where you work on your Mustang, as long as Grammy says it’s ok.”
Ray blushed, failed at suppressing a laugh, then asked Rachelle “What’s my end of the deal?”
“When I come over to visit and on holidays and stuff, I don’t want any more dead animals on the plate. Ever. Promise, okay?”
***
I enjoyed the story, Jimmy, especially the dialogue between the characters. And that sounds like a fair deal to me!
I love this kid!