art · slice of life

The Purple-Haired Brother

I pride myself in arriving on-time or early for appointments and when I pick them up from anything. However, my on-time arrival backfired this afternoon.

“Hi, Iz!” I called from the art room door.

Isabelle dropped her paintbrush.

“I’ll wait while you finish up,” I said.

“I’m finished,” she replied.

I looked at the background of her watercolor painting. “Are you sure you’re finished? Looks like you’re still working on the background.”

“I’m finished,” she insisted.

I looked at her art teacher and shrugged.

“You should come five minutes late,” she said.

I chuckled. “No kidding. Maybe she’d finish if I did.”

We took the watercolor painting with us as we walked out.

“Who’s in your picture?” I asked.

“Me and Ari,” she replied. “The big one is me and the little one is Ari.”

I studied the picture closely. I noticed my blond son’s hair had been granted artistic license by Isabelle. “Why is Ari’s hair purple?”

“I don’t know,” she giggled.

Maybe she would’ve finished the background if I had been late, but you know what would’ve remained the same? Ari’s purple hair.


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