Freshman year was done by the beginning of March, and Rea was halfway done with her sophomore year classes by the time summer arrived. Her parents had been relieved that the drug therapy was working, and her mind and emotions weren’t so clouded any more. With nothing else to do, Rea spent her time on three things.
School, with the idea to graduate as soon as possible.
Running, because she liked working out and it was something she could do in solitude.
Her art, because it was her escape from the reality of her world.
Of the three, her interest and aptitude in art was the biggest surprise for them. She hadn’t been allowed much while in the mental hospital, but her doctors gave her pencils, pens and notebooks so she could write and draw her thoughts and feelings. The creative energy wasn’t as affected by the drugs she was taking, and she sometimes spent hours just drawing. She was pretty good at it when she got out of the hospital, but months later it was clear she had a real talent.
Once a week Dawn would take her to the District Office building where she would have a two-hour class with the high school art teacher. Mrs. Johansenn was overjoyed to find such a talented and passionate student, and with instruction she rapidly moved on to watercolors and acrylics. Rea would take photos of her work and email them to her for help, said emails happening at all hours of day and night. When inspiration struct her, she might work until they forced her to break for food or sleep.
Dawn and Mark were in Doctor Thompson’s office while Rea was being tested by another staff doctor. “Doc, we’re concerned about the amount of time she spends on her art,” Dawn started. “She can get obsessed on her work, and I don’t know if we should be encouraging it or not.”
“Is she having problems in other areas? School?”
Mark shook his head no. “Actually, she’s in danger of getting too far ahead. She sleeps, eats, runs, studies and paints. She doesn’t watch television, play video games or any of that stuff, and she shows no interest in boys. She has only one friend, and they can only talk and text.”
Doc leaned back and smiled a little. “This is actually good news,” he told them. “On two fronts. First off, it shows that her medication levels are correct, and her symptoms are controlled. If the dosage is too high, she could have trouble focusing or concentrating, like when she first went home.” Dawn nodded, she remembered what she was like then, and things were much better now. “The second thing is that it provides her with an outlet for her emotions. Art and writing are both windows into her moods, her subconscious. What is she painting?”
Mark pulled out his phone, he had taken photos of each of her paintings when completed. Having them framed and hanging in their house wasn’t just to humor her, they were objectively great art. Many of their relatives had been gifted paintings over Christmas. “She has done a wide variety; she started with landscapes, then did some sports. This one she did for her friend Jenny.” The painting showed Jenny after scoring a winning goal, her teammates running in to congratulate her. The photograph in the paper was her inspiration, since she hadn’t attended the game at the end of the last season.
“She’s good,” Doc said. “How long has she been doing this?”
“She started painting after coming home. Before that, it was just drawings.”
He nodded. “I remember, she would rather draw than write her feelings out. They weren’t this level, but she wasn’t always functioning fully while we were finding the right therapy.”
Mark kept flipping through the pictures. “Lately, she’s been doing nature scapes. She’s focused in on wolves, her last five paintings have been of them.” In the last painting, a rust-colored wolf was leaping for the throat of a buck, two black and silver wolves working with it to bring it down.
“Very nice. It is important for you to support her in this, just as much as her academics and athletics. Right now, she’s isolated and frustrated. She’s told me how it feels for her in our therapy sessions; the looks she gets when she runs, the things she hears people say about her. Her art is the one place she can be herself, and even I can see she has the talent to do something with it.” He looked closer at the painting. “Has she sold any of her art? That would look great in my cabin.”
“You’d have to ask her,” Mark said. They sat back, pleased that they hadn’t let things go too far.
“You have to guard against her becoming so lost in her art she doesn’t eat, take care of her hygiene or neglects her other responsibilities. As long as her grades stay up and she stays healthy physically, it’s good. I would suggest expanding her circle using art; there are adult classes at the college, even private instruction. It would be good for her to meet others with her talent, people who don’t judge her already. She needs more than just you and close family.”
Dawn shrunk down a little, close family was still there, but the extended family was still wary of her. They hadn’t been invited to the get-togethers or parties, nor had they hosted everyone. No one really knew how to treat the “crazy one” in their family. “I’ll talk to her art teacher about it. Maybe I can find something over the summer, even up in the Cities.”
There was a knock on the door, and a nurse poked her head in. “Doctor, Ms. Olson is waiting for you in your therapy room.”
“I think we’re done here,” he said. “I’m going to work with her for about an hour, if you want to get some coffee or something. I’ll bring her out to the waiting room, and if there aren’t any issues you’ll be on your way.”
“Thank you Doc,” Mark said as he stood and shook his hand. “The last few months she has been more like the Treasure we remember.”
They returned to the waiting area, and Doc grabbed his notebook and walked through the door to the office he used for his therapy appointments. The nurse left as he walked in, and Treasure took her place on the couch as he sat down. “How was your week, Treasure?”