Stir crazy
The cool delight of spring was being beaten back by the heavy heat of summer. Dillon fixed the hole in the fence. Now they were laying out a separate driveway with a fence for Hillbilly Yoga. In the back of his mind, Dillon prayed this wasn’t a waste of time and resources.
Every evening, Bradley was visiting, fillin’ Dillon in on the investigation. In Evie’s presence. The team from Frankfort wasn’t getting in the way. They were running with the new information they had received.
Dillon was pacing like a caged animal. Evie smiled, “my husband please change into some old work clothes.” He did so full of curiosity. After he had changed, she led him to the upper barn where the goats and cows called a dry place and was now home to Hillbilly Yoga. Up to the top of the barn where she had made a plastic cubical with drop cloths, there was all kinds of paint on a stump she was using as a table. And the largest piece of canvas he had ever saw resting on a well used easel. She gave him a pair of rubber gloves and goggles.
As she put on a pair of gloves, straightened her goggles, she filled him in. “We have no objective here. Other than to release stress.” She got a hand full of bright pink paint and threw it on the canvas with all her might. Its splatter hit the bottom corner of the canvas. “Was never good at sports,” she shrugged.
With great reluctance, he got a hand full of black paint. “This feels wrong.”
“All the more reason to do it.” She encouraged. His fist full of paint hit bullseye center in the middle of the canvas. “All that target practice.” She winked. There were squirt bottles full of paint. She put red paint on a paper plate; covered her hands, then punched the canvas like it was a punching bag. “Not too hard, you’ll bust through the canvas.” She gently remarked.
She removed her gloves as she walked behind one of the plastic sheets. The first song that started playing was a heavy metal song from their childhood. Then hard rock. Some hardcore instrumental music Dillon didn’t even know existed. The music fueled his need to get his frustrations out. Get out of his own head. Each song took him to the edge of the madness in his brain. Would let him release, before building him up again.
After about an hour, his arms were starting to burn. The music stopped but he was still going. It took him 10 minutes to realize the music had stopped. He took his gloves off, in true CPR fashion, not getting a drop of paint on his hands, took the goggles off. Evie was sittin’ on one of the stumps watching him catch his breath.
She smiled, “feel better?”
“You are so beautiful.”
She blushed, “thank you.”
“Yes, I do feel better.”
She walked over to him with an artist paint brush, dripping with white paint. “Sign your masterpiece Mr. Pace.”
“Where?” He asked, still catching his breath.
“Any where.” He chose the bottom left hand corner; DJP
“Perhaps this should be part of Hillbilly Yoga.” He sighed.
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