The White Canvas

It was like every other Monday. Mrs. X decided to use the firefighting stairs today as she had an unpalatable discussion with her husband on the subject of her gaining conspicuous weight. It wasn’t the first. It wouldn’t be the last either. But whenever that topic was raised, it spurred her to use the stairs the following day. It wasn’t often, so she knew her infrequent exercise was more beneficial psychologically than anatomically. A way of telling herself she was up to the task.

By the time she reached the base of the last flight of stairs that led to the 4th floor, she was clutching the baluster, panting like Mo Farah after winning a marathon. She had never made it past that floor. Something caught her attention: a white canvas. Just beneath it was an affixed wooden slab steadying five paintbrushes and five jars, each containing a different color. She stared, trying to make sense of it.

‘What is this one again?

Startled, Mrs. X turned to see the speaker. It was her friend, fit as a fiddle Mr. Y. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack.’

‘Sorry dear. Forgive my lack of manners. But this is strange, isn’t it?’ He asked. His attention was focused on the curiosity.

‘I believe it is,’ she responded. ‘Do people now decorate with blank canvases?’

‘Don’t we have better things to do with money in this bank?’Mr. Y asked rhetorically.

‘This country is something else.’

Mrs. X and Mr. Y turned to see who the new entrant was. They didn’t know him. ‘Good Morning,’ she greeted while Mr. Y hailed, ‘Chairman.’

‘Good morning, my people,’ Chairman responded before his focus returned to the painting. ‘I wonder why we waste money in this country. And yet we find it easy to blame corrupt politicians. How is this any different from them? A blank canvas, paintbrushes, and colors? Is this supposed to be art?’ He hissed, dissatisfaction lined across every corner of his visage. ‘I have a mind to -’He stared menacingly at the slab and clenched his fists. ‘Well, it’s their company.’ With that, he took the next flight of stairs leading into the lobby and disappeared.

‘The guy took it personal… but this bank though,’ Mr. Y said, shaking his head ‘Let’s go.’

Mrs. X shook her head. ‘I’m using the lift jare. I have lost enough calories for the day.'

Mr. Y laughed and continued his assent.

As Mrs. X mentally prepared herself to take the next flight of stairs that led to the lobby, another staff stopped to observe the canvas. He looked at least 7 years younger than she was.

‘Good Morning Ma,’ he said, though his eyes were fixed on the canvas.

‘Good Morning dear,’ she responded. ‘It is odd, right?’

‘Nope,’ he said. He reached for a paintbrush and dunked it in a paint jar, pulled it out and dragged it across a space of the canvas.

Mrs. X was flabbergasted. ‘What –what are you doing, young man?’ she asked.

He smiled and shrugged. ‘Just leaving my mark.’  

#Leaveyourmark