Stages of Artwork

Chapter 1: Crayons: For the messy ones
Chapter 2: Colored Pencils: Just learning phase
Chapter 3: Markers: Building up some trust
Chapter 4: Paint: Making your own decisions
Chapter 5: Pens: Permanent ink

My hand pushed the car door gently shut as a drop of rain fell onto my nose. Step by step, my feet went over piles of leaves that had fallen earlier that day, and over small puddles. More rain drops began to fall, hitting the ground around me. I stood stiff for a few moments staring up at my house. Rustic colored bricks lined the whole outside of the small two-story home. Other houses lined up both sides of the street. The streets sounded silent, and all I heard was the dripping of rain drops on the pavement below me. I turned the large antique appearing door knob, opened the door ajar, and pushed the door all the way open, gliding my hand across the wall until I reached the light switch. As the lights flickered on, I tossed my shoes by the door and hung up my jacket right above them. Within seconds, the door closed on its own with a loud “wack.” Slowly, I trudged over to the middle of the brightly patterned couch that stood pushed up against the wall farthest from me and I fell right down onto it. My body instantly relaxed as I shut my eyes for a just a few minutes. I opened my eyes and looked around the room for a while—focusing on the old television set and some plain rugs. My grandma had knit those rugs for me when I was a little younger.  Glancing over at the neutral colored walls, I saw many photos of family reunions, and high school friends. As I began drifting back into a dreamy slumber, I awoke to Jake—my husband. I heard him mumbling to himself about his day as he walked inside the house.
Happiness arose as I thought back on how we had met for the very first time. Who knew that running into someone’s mailbox would ever turn out for the best. One day, I was running. It was summer. I happened to trip and fall into a random guy’s mail box, causing it to fall over. Full of shame and embarrassment, I walked up to this mans’ house and rang his doorbell. Jake answered and laughed after hearing what had just happened. We have been talking ever since, and look at where we are now.
Twitching back to reality, I stood up from the couch and started walking into the cluttered kitchen. I heard Jake walk through the creaky front door, and soon after, he appeared in the kitchen beside me with a large grin on his face. I asked him how his day had gone, and all he said was “good.”  I knew that meant that he had a rough day, and he didn’t want me to know about it. He kissed my cheek, poured me a nice tall glass of water, and we began making our dinner together. We have been doing this for the past few years of marriage; I guess you could say that it had become a nightly tradition. A little while later we had finished making and enjoying our meal. We stood up from the table, grabbed all of our dirty dishes, and cleaned up. I washed the dishes and he dried them as this too was one of our nightly traditions. Once we were finally done cleaning up, Jake poured me a glass of wine, and we walked over to the television. Both Jake and I  grabbed a nice and fuzzy blanket to put over us as we curled up close on the couch.  The rest of the night was spent talking, laughing, eating, and drinking. Not a worry in sight. Not one.