"Anatole! Get back here this instant!"
I pouted as I heard Grandma's voice. I need to go back, or else she'll get angry at me again. I was about to go to my secret hideout but she just ruined my plans. Hmp!
"I'll wash you up, you little brat; go to the bathroom immediately," she said while cleaning the living room.
I did what she told me. I need to follow what she wants me to do so I can do whatever I want later. That's a great idea, Anatole. So smart of you!
"Are the kids still teasing you?" Grandma said while washing my hair.
I nodded. "Yup!"
"Tch. What are you even doing for them to pick on you? I'll talk to those darned kids again. This is all Iseul's fault." she muttered.
"Why is it mom's fault?" I asked, and she started rinsing my hair.
"She should have been here to protect you, alright? Your mom's a pain in the ass. She knows how to stand up for herself, I guess that trait of hers wasn't passed down to you."
"But you're here with me; I don't need mom." I giggled.
Grandma made me wear clothes that she prepared. Then she brushed my wet hair.
"Grandma, can I go outside later?" I asked.
"No, young lady. You just bathed and you are going to take a nap later. Understand?"
I sighed. "Alright, Grandma"
After a while, she tucked me in bed for my afternoon nap. I waited for a while to make sure that she had already left the room. I celebrated inside my head and placed a pillow under a blanket before heading outside through the window. I ran as fast as I could and sneaked out of the house.
"Finally!"
I went inside my hideout and sat on a mat. I organized my materials, like this old newspaper that Grandma bought and the paint that I made by hand. I started humming while painting.
I have loved painting ever since I turned seven. A neighbor gave me a small watercolor painting for my birthday, and that's when it all started. However, Grandma threw them away. She said it's not good to paint; I might end up getting in trouble.
At the age of 8, I started making paint from plants and soil. I continued exploring to create various colors until I reached the age of 9. Kids started teasing and hurting me because of what I do. They threw away the paints that I made and burned every painting that I did. It's so bad of them, I cried a looot!
Grandma never got angry at other kids; she only got angry at me for painting again. She kept blaming Iseul, and I never knew why. That's when I found out about this hideout. It's a perfect spot for painting because nobody can see me.
"Does it look pretty?" I asked nobody.
Sometimes I wanted someone to show what my paintings look like. But it's safer this way. I'm a bad kid, after all, because I paint.
I didn't notice that it was getting dark already. I started painting a girl with curly hair and green eyes, just like me. But I made it look taller and older. After that, I dozed off to sleep.
I woke up, and I started panicking when I realized it was nighttime. I can hear crickets already! Oh no, grandma will kill me.
"Who's this kid?"
I rubbed my eyes when I saw a lady looking at me. She looked like she was glowing, and her hair is like mine. She's wearing a black dress, and it looked really pretty and magestic.
"Mom?" I whispered.
"What are you doing under this tree? Are you crazy?" She said.
I started staring at her, and I looked at the last painting that I did today. "Are you this painting? I must be dreaming." I laughed it off.
I grabbed my artwork, organized my paints, and brushed. I'm screwed; grandma would be so angry at me right now.
"Hey, go home already. It's not safe for a little kid like you to stay here. Tch, where's your mother?" the lady said with her arms crossed.
I stared at her face.
"What are you looking at?" she frowned.
"You look pretty," I said in admiration and went out of the tree.
I left the lady there; I don't even know if I was just imagining that she was there. I ran as fast as I could because our house is far from here. I was catching my breath as I reached our house. I sneaked out the window again and went inside the bedroom.
"Grandma, what are we having for dinner?" I smiled at grandma.
"YOU LITTLE BRAT! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"
"I was sleeping? Didn't you see me inside?" I pursed my lips.
She pulled the sleeve of my shirt to let me sit on a chair. She's glaring at me, and I stared at the floor.
"You are grounded!"
I gulped.
The next day, I woke up from my afternoon nap because I heard Grandma screaming.
"I don't need your help! I never contacted you for years, and you shouldn't have come here. You don't know how much I wanted to forget that day!" grandma cried.
I looked at the door; there was a man standing in front of her. But I don't know his name.
"Iseul is-"
"No! She's dead! She will never return. Don't you ever show your face again, please. I am done hoping to see her again. I am so done hearing things about her. Get the hell out of my house, Howard Brent!"
Howard Brent?
The man didn't speak again. He was about to head out after apologizing. I immediately went inside my bedroom and opened my window to sneak out. I waited for the man to pass by, I wanted to know who he was.
"Mr. Howard?" I called.
The man stopped walking and glanced at me. He looked surprised that I knew who he was.
"Yes? How did you know me?" He sounded like a kind and formal person. He kneeled in front of me so he could see me better.
"I saw you talking to my grandma. I'm just wondering if... if..."
"You were wondering if?" he asked.
"If you know Iseul? She's my mom."
He gasped. "She has a daughter?"
"Grandma told me my mom's name is Iseul."
"How old are you?" he asked.
"I'm ten."
His eyes widened. "I know you, mom, but I wasn't able to get to know her well. Your grandma and I just had a little conversation before. Don't tell her I told you this, okay?" He said and ruffled my hair while standing up.
I noticed his arm. It has dried paint on it.
"Are you a painter?" I suddenly asked.
"Yes, I love painting and I teach people how to paint. Do you love painting too?"
I gestured for him to come closer to me. "I love painting too, but everyone said it's a bad thing to do. Please don't tell grandma; I know I'm a bad kid already." I whispered in his ear.
A smile flashed on his face upon hearing what I said. "What's your name?"
"Anatole."
"Anatole, painting is never a bad thing to do. You are never a bad kid, okay?"
"Really? Is it really okay?"
He nodded. "Of course. Trust me, someday you won't be hiding what you love from anyone.
"I trust you, Mr!" I exclaimed.
"Anatole dinner's ready!" I heard grandma say from inside the house.
"I should go now." I smiled at him.
"Anatole, next year I'll be doing my third art workshop," he handed me a paper where he wrote a date and venue. "I teach people how to paint; you should come."
My eyes sparkled like diamonds. I held on to the paper that he gave me for a year in high hopes that I would learn more about painting.