EXcapades by Debra Kay Page A

artist.
    Suddenly, I felt inspired and ready for action. I slipped on my comfortable jeans, red T-shirt, and flip-flop sandals. I applied my makeup basics, mascara and lip gloss. And then I brushed the tangles from my hair and left it to dry naturally. I hopped in my Ford Explorer and headed downtown to my favorite art supply store.
    While walking along the crowded sidewalk, I thought I saw a familiar face. Could it be? Was that Blake, my first love, strolling by on the other side of the road, walking in the opposite direction? I huffed in frustration because there were four lanes of cars zooming between the two sides of the street, obstructing my vision. Plus, it was beginning to drizzle.
    Should I turn around, cross the lanes of traffic, and chase after him? Too impulsive.
    Could it be true? Was it possible that was Blake? No, that must be my wishful imagination playing tricks on me.
    Despite my burning desire to run after him, I decided not to be that impetuous. Maybe it wasn’t Blake, anyway. After all, I had not seen him in years, nor heard any news about him. I had stayed in our hometown, but the last thing I heard years ago was that he had moved away.
    I wanted a fresh start with my life. But wouldn’t that be a step backward if I pursued him? Besides, I broke up with him years ago and I had my reasons that made sense at the time. Right now, I felt a twinge of regret for ending the relationship. But it was best to push those thoughts of a reunion out of my head.
    My destination, the craft store, was located in a busy section of town lined with trendy brick-front restaurants, fashionable boutiques, and coffee shops. My favorite shop was a relic from the past, its wooden door covered in thick layers of chipped paint. A bell chimed as I stepped inside.
    Walking into the historic shop was like stepping through a time portal. The store had remained the same through the decades. It was built before central air conditioning and had fans running in every corner. The air movement only stirred the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and dust. I always wondered how it stayed in business, since the store was usually empty. Today was no exception. I must buy enough glass supplies to keep them afloat.
    A familiar voice greeted me. “Hello, Lila.” The store owner shot me a crooked smile as he approached. Steve had a weathered face. The gap between his yellowed teeth looked as if he’d had a cigarette dangling between them for years. His wispy silver hair was combed back with gel. He didn’t seem to put much thought into his appearance with his rumpled clothes, but his art was perfection. He put his efforts into his paintings and glass work; he was a master craftsman.
    “Hi, Steve.”
    “Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
    I felt the last bit of warmth drain from my face. “I . . . just caught a glimpse of a face from the past, my college boyfriend. It may have been an apparition. Really, I’m not sure.”
    “What, you think your imagination is playing tricks on you?” Steve had dark circles under his eyes. He probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the big box store opened up around the corner.
    My stomach made a tickling flutter from nerves or excited energy. “I had a rough week. And I don’t know what to think anymore. I thought about chasing him down, but I got a grip on myself.”
    We were standing near the plate-glass window that took up most of the storefront. When I looked out toward the street, I saw a shadowy figure glance into the store. By the time my eyes focused enough to zoom in on the face, it disappeared.
    Steve sighed wearily. “A sight of my ex-wife would have me running in the opposite direction.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. I would have joined in, but I felt a little choked from the musty smell.
    “I just got divorced. I know far too well what you mean.”
    “You look like you might pass out. You better step away from the glass section. Can I get you some