9. the world is our canvas
" Comon hurry!" I whispered. He grabbed y bag and we snuck out into the night. I grabbed his hand as we ran down the empty street.
"What are we doing? And what's in the bag?" He asked. "Shhhh" I told him as we turned slowly and then I could breath. "Can I talk now?" He whispered. I nodded. "Thank you" he said in his normal voice. I looked around. "Berniece...what are we doing?" He asked as he began to unzip the bag. "No not yet" I stopped him. He stopped and looked a little disappointed. And the. I saw it. It was perfect. I grabbed Evan's hand and we ran toward it. But then I saw a gate. "Great!" I said upset. "Well let's go" I said. I rolled up my sleeves and started to climb it. "What are you doing?" He asked concerned. I took my jacket off and covered the thorns at top. "Throw the bag over!" I told him as I jumped down from the other side. He threw it and looked at me waiting for me to say something. "Comon!" I said. He shook his head. "Fine" I said as I began to walk away. "No wait" he said. I turned "Comon". He jumped over and fell on the other side. I smiled and helped him up. "You okay?" I asked. He nodded. We ran over up to the big giant wall. It was perfect and beautiful. "Now it's time!" I a smiled big as I opened the bag. EVAN's Pro. She finally opened the bag. It had cans of spray paint and cutouts. Did she do street art? "Wait, you do street art?" I asked. "Since I was fourteen" she nodded. "Your my watch okay?" She said as she rolled up her sleeves again. I nodded and sat down on the floor watching her put a cutout up to the wall and start. She was so focused, so into it. I smiled big. "Who knows?" I asked. "About?". "This". "No one, but you". "Really?". "Yeah so don't tell anyone" she smiled. I nodded as she continued. After it was done it was beautiful. It was a beautiful lady looking down at a red rose. The whole picture was black and white except for the bright red rose. I starred at it intently. She watched me. "It's my mother" she said. I quickly turned to look at her. "From home?" I asked. She shook her head as she sat down, trying to take the paint off her hands. "That's my stepmother...my mother died when I was four". I sat next to her. "How come you never told me this?" I asked. "You never asked. And I didn't want people to know my dad chose that skank and wasn't stuck with her". I wrapped one arm around her. "I don't remmeber what she looked like...my father said she looked like me and gave me a picture of looking down at her shoes". I looked over at her to see her eyes were watery but she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the wall. "My mother used to call me her flower. So I guess I feel like she's watching over me. Making sure I'm okay" I say. I finally understood that street art isn't just street art. It isn't just a picture. It wasn't just shapes put together. It wasnt just vandalizism. It was a meaning. It had heart and meaning and love and past in it. I was suddenly so close to her. I looked over at her to see she had been crying. Her eyes sparkled so dearly. I wanted to just grab her and kiss her passionately. She shook her head and wiped her tears and picked up her stuff and stuffed it in the bag. We ran over and I grabbed her hand. She smiled. We jumped over the gate. "Do we tell anyone?" I asked. She shook her head. "Why graffiti?" I asked. "You know what they say....the world is our canvas".