Sailboats.

I’ve had the same painting of sailboats on my wall since before I can remember. I know the exact number of boats in that harbor: ten. And I know the exact number of the buildings towering behind them: fourteen and one eighth.

Probably a staple of nursery décor back in the nineties, this painting has been an indispensible part of my two-tone walls my entire life. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve counted the multicolored boats on that river and traced their sails up to where they prick windows above. It has an air of mystery about it, one I’ve only just begun to realize. I don’t know where it came from or how it ended up on my wall. I don’t know how my mother came to choose that particular painting out of all the other possibilities. I’ve only recently bothered to peer closely at the scrawled handwriting in the bottom right-hand corner to learn the title and artist’s name. The first time in seventeen years.