The doors parted as she stalked into the hardware store. The clerk nodded in her direction without removing her attention from the bucket of screws she was sorting. She turned past the lighting fixtures into the outdoor section.
She didn’t have time deal with peeling paint. You would think a major university could hire undergrads for this sort of thing. Didn’t the observatory have a groundkeeper or something? 9 years of college and she was picking out paint.
The outdoor section was pretty glum. There were only a few plants remaining from the planting season and they were not thriving. There was an old feeling of transition as snow shovels stood next to leaf rakes in the general chaos that hits seasonal section with the passing months.
Amy approached the vested attendant and asked for whitewash.
“What like, paint?”
“Yeah, like white paint. But it has to be weatherproof and pretty thick.”
“Are you painting a boathouse or something?” The attendant lowered her right eyebrow.
“No. It’s a brick wall up at Letonah. There must be holes in the mortar because I can feel the air at night sweeping through the walls.”
“Oh. Are you the new astronomer then? I had heard Gary was replaced. He was the nicest guy. Always use to come in for odds and ends, bits of wire, tape, glue, he had a thing for sunflowers. They don’t do well out here but every spring he would come in and buy a bunch of seeds. All different kinds. Said they reminded him of Texas.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t do well with plants. You have paint?”
“Oh right. You won’t find any paint out here, they should have some good strong outdoor paint over next to lumber. So the old telescope is a little breezy is it?”
“Gary may have taken care of the sunflowers but I’m guessing he wasn’t much of a painter.” Amy turned on her heel and headed back into the proper of the store.
Everyone here was like that. First names, knew everyone’s hobby, loved Gary—you would think the man was like some kind of Santa Claus with rosy red checks and a bag full of mints. As far as she could tell from the state of the observatory he was more like a pack rat with OCD. She had never seen such well-organized piles of junk.
She reached the lumber and saw the paint sign a few aisles ahead. She hated shopping. She liked clear simple solutions. She needed paint, she wanted paint; plain, simple, white paint to stop the air rushing through the cracks in the bricks of the observatory. She didn’t care if it had gloss or satin finish, she just wanted paint. She had given up going to the regular grocer because she was sick of sorting through 5 brands of peanut butter all of which had almost the same claims. If they were all the same it would have been easier, she could just go for the cheapest brand and call it good. But some added sugar, others added salt, some were creamier and others chunkier and usually they were all the same price.
The truth was she had to know she was getting exactly the best option. So when confronted with all those choices she would spend hours sorting through all the variations of ketchup, bread, jelly, milk, toothpaste—why did there have to be so many kinds of toothpaste?
So when she turned into the paint aisle and found the entire thing devoted to white, outdoor paint, she knew she was in for a long evening. Gritting her teeth she skipped the small buckets and went for the large ones on the bottom row.
Eggshell, ivory, country white, cool whites, warm whites, off whites…what did it all mean? Her initial investigation made it rapidly apparent that she was going to be here a while.
35 minutes in she had made her way halfway down the aisle and had eliminated most of the buckets. She had her notebook in one hand with square footage and price per ounce calculated for her top 5 brands and with her other hand she was scrolling through a Wikipedia page on titanium dioxide which was advertised on the bucket in front of her.
“Looking to start a paint mixing business?” a voice rumbled above her.
“Nah, I’m actually trying to steal the metal out of the paint on my front porch, there has to be a better use for titanium than white picket fences.” She glanced at the thick leather boots next to her bag.
“Oh, not much for idealized domiciles?
“I love fences, I just find it isn’t tall enough to keep everyone out that it needs to.”
“Well, I usually look in the lumber aisle when I’m trying to build a fence, but I suppose if you got enough paint that would work too.”
“Some kind of expert on paint are you?” She followed the boots upward to faded jeans and a thick plaid shirt like the ones that everyone else in town wore. Her eyes met two dark bluish grey eyes that held a hint of sparkle in them, though it seemed contained behind clouds of some kind. They were deep eyes, as though they could peer through mist or people without trouble and frequently discovered disappointment there. Yet there was the sparkle of good natured humor there too. He had perhaps a two week dark brown beard that covered weathered skin although he didn’t appear to be an old man. In fact on larger inspection he seemed not much more than 30, although his eyes betrayed someone who had experienced too much for so few years.
“Well, I’ve painted a house more than once. Out here painting has to be done every few years. The rain wears things out so fast.” He stepped back a bit as though startled by her inspection.
“Then why don’t people use thicker paint? Or better yet why not build everything of stone or brick and save yourselves all this trouble?” She allowed her hostile stare to leave the man and return to the paint bucket before her.
“I suppose we still like the white picket fences, even if they are too short.” He paused a moment and shifted his feet as if about to leave. “What are you painting? Maybe I can help?”
“I’ve already talked to the attendant over paint and had her call her superior. If they can’t answer my questions why do you think you can?” She huffed a bit, she had a stack of articles to work through and did not want to spend her afternoon hustling through small town folk who thought they knew everything about everything.
“Well, maybe I can’t. But I do paint my place every year and you happen to be using my color of choice so perhaps my years of testing paint brands can be at least interesting.”
She looked up at him again and was once more struck by the layers in his eyes. She softened a bit. “I’m painting the observatory at Letonah. There are cracks in the mortar and I was hoping to find a thick white paint strong enough to keep the wind out during the night when I’m working.”
“Oh, you’re the new astronomer.” He scratched his hairy chin, “I didn’t think they would send…but you’re so young…”
“But here I am, fully trained astronomer with a Ph’D in astrophysics. I know what I’m doing, do you know what you are doing?”
“Uh, right. You probably should look at those blue cans over there. They hold up the best against wind and water. I particularly suggest the elastomeric stuff, it’s the same stuff I use. Plus they have one kind that reflects light remarkably well, good for a high profile building like the observatory.”
She looked at the blue cans that she had already passed over. She could take his advice or she could spend another 50 minutes finding the perfect paint. She looked at his face again and saw honesty gleaming in his eyes. She decided she could trust this local. She pushed her paint bucket back into place and pulled herself off the floor. She walked to the blue cans and saw they were recommended for dock usage. She had passed over them because ocean spray was not an issue at the observatory but she could see how a paint designed for salt spray could probably work well against the wind.
She looked back at the man, “Okay, I think I can accept that. Thank you…”
“Mitch. I’ve had good luck with it. I’m actually here to pick up another can for some touch up jobs.”
“Well, you’ve been helpful and that will help me get back to work.” Amy turned away and stalked off to find a cart.
Mitch stared after her with a curious expression then picked up a can of the white paint and walked away.
An hour later, after selecting precisely the right paintbrush Amy left with four buckets of the paint. In the checkout the clerk left her bucket of nails to ring her up.
“What did you think of Mitch?” she asked glancing at the paint cans. “He doesn’t often talk to people that don’t know him…well, he doesn’t often talk to people that do know him either but…well… we all have quirks..“
“Oh he was very friendly, like everyone I’ve met here. He seemed to take his paint seriously, is he a contractor or something?”
“Oh no, Mitch keeps the lighthouse, He keeps that building spotless. He’s always coming in to touch up a spot here or there. He doesn’t say much but everything he does say is so nice. He is one of the gentlest men I’ve ever known. I’m not sure he could swat a mosquito as it drained the blood from his hand.”
“Lighthouse? Well, I guess the observatory will get some good paint then”
She paid the bill with her university charge card and pushed her bounty out the door while humming a tuneless song.
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