"I didn't know what to expect," Lennon said. "The way they went about it was weird... but what isn't around here?" The more feathers he painted, the more easily they seemed to flow from the end of his brush. Maybe he'd warmed up.
He smiled faintly as he thought about the lake where they'd spent several weeks for a couple of summers. "The only thing I ever liked better that we did was goin' to art museums," he said. "It was relaxing. Pretty big house-- 'cause there were my parents and three kids. That was before they adopted my youngest sister. My ma cooked three meals a day and loved it... it was stuff we didn't usually eat on a normal day at home. We went swimming, played games, even did corny shit like singing around a fire pit outside."
Would there ever be memories that good again? It was a thought that gave him pause. Everyone said things were different once you grew up, but this was another layer of it.