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long before the cell. She’d taken to art from confidently say that I believe she wanted any
toddlerhood, her abilities encouraged by help at all.
her parents. Despite their absence, their
lucid moments proved supportive. Art was “We lost touch for a long time. I severed
there before it all. She had always preferred communication. I couldn’t watch her do
painting: elaborate, vibrant colorful canvases that to herself. But when I found out she
on which she manifested wild dreamscapes was incarcerated again I reached out. I had
and evocative impressions. But for so long to reach out. I would write to her, send her
she’d not been restricted to lined notebook books. I thought reminding her of the good
paper and a simple No. 2 pencil. The officers on the outside would make her want to stay
on her block lent her the supplies for two in it longer once she got out. But, I can’t
hours after lunch. She hung some up, but confidently say she had any real intention of
most of them were tucked between the pages staying. I don’t know if you’re supposed to
of gifts from the outside: Bradbury, Hawking, be this honest at someone’s funeral service,
Bradley, Vonnegut, and L’Engle, which were but, I think, of anything she would want from
propped up on her small dresser. Her last us, honesty with each other is somewhere at
drawing was destined for Lily, who’d gotten the top of the list. She was always so brutally
in touch Esther’s second week in jail. honest, even if it meant walking out of a
room mid-conversation because she just did
A young woman with a Mona Lisa ambivalent not want to be around someone anymore.
mouth and eyes searing with sorrow, sat on Unabashed, unapologetic honesty. And
the ground with her back against a large oak love; ferocious love. I don’t think I’ve ever
stump at the foreground of a barren forest. met someone who loved as strongly as
Her long sleeved, round neckline maxi dress her, especially despite the overwhelming
covered most of her, and in her outstretched shadows of her doubts in loving herself. I
hand was cradled her own beating heart. remember one time a few of us were out
She swore she’d heard Kali Ma Kali Ma and some guy got in our face. I think she
Kali Ma whilst she drew. She’d turned the probably would have attacked him had we
paper horizontal to have a wider lens for the let her. Esther was always the one to put
scene. Even her subject was behind bars. herself between us and everyone else. She
probably could have taken on the world
When she’d got out she returned to painting. under different circumstances.
But not even exorcising herself through art
could keep her tethered to Earth. “She constantly called herself evil,
consistently claimed she was damned. I know
― many of us tried to convince her otherwise.
“Before I came up here I thought I was ready “But I also remember the soul and emotion
to do this. I’m not ready to do this. I don’t in her voice when she sang, always
think anyone is ever ready to do this. I don’t uninhibited. I remember many instances
think Esther would want us to dwell on our during which she’d disappear from the
sorrow, even though that’s one of the easiest group and throw her headphones on and
emotions to access right now. I wish she had just start belting out Nirvana. I could never
been more open to accepting help; but I can’t see how someone evil could sing like that
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