My art is me.
How I breathe.
What I think.
How I feel.
***
We all sit at the table. The order properly restored as dad sits at the head and Mark sits across from me. "So...," Dad looks at Mark as he looks back at him. "How was it?!" Dad laughs, slapping a hand down on Mark's back before turning and laughing with me. He's excited. Excited by what he sees in his son. Mark grew. Within the month that he was gone, his muscles developed some. I take in the fading yellow on his cheek and the new cut above his eye. "Good," Mark grunts it out in a way that has dad and I looking at him in suspicion.
I look at Mark. Giving him the look. He's going to have to lie better to dad. Mark sees me and clears his throat, "It's hard. I'm not going to lie dad. But I just need to get use to it. I advan
