Picture Makes Perfect: Part 1

To relieve the stress of her day-to-day life, Meg Griffin of Quahog, Rhode Island decided to take up painting in secret. After picking up some paints from Goldman's Pharmacy and an easel from a nearby Wal-Mart, she began to paint ongoing artworks every day in her room while no one was around. This was per request of a therapist she went to in another town who suggested taking up a hobby to reduce her anxiety. She wasn't really into all the suggestions that he suggested for her, but he did mention that it didn't matter what the way was, as long as it worked. For the following month, Meg tried a lot of things to try to reduce stress. Nothing really worked, except for painting. She remembered painting some pictures in elementary school and in kindergarten, but those ones were pretty crappy. She later watched a small tutorial series on YouTube on how to paint well. Now, she's been working on her eighth canvas picture. Normally, she would look her door on her room so none of her deranged family could come in and critique. She could imagine her dad Peter just laughing and setting the canvas on fire. Her mom Lois would try to say something nice, but would probably laugh even more hysterically than Peter did. Her youngest brother Stewie would hate everything about it and destroy it. "What the deuce is this? My eyes are bleeding!" he would say. Meg pretends that she doesn't understand her infant brother talking, but she always knew that. It was really Brian, her dog, who gave the most advice and kindness about her hobby. He looked at her sunset picture and praised her use of colors and shades to emphasize the realism, or would say that the grass in her African Savannah picture had a real, gritty quality to it and that he liked how he didn't put on kid-gloves over the violence of her picture of the kid who was beaten up by a street gang. Her painting process was slow, sometimes even spending all day on one picture. Once she even spent an entire weekend on one art project.

Today was different however. Meg was making her newest work as perfect as it can possibly be. This was because she saw a poster at her school, James Woods High, advertising a nationwide art contest. It said that if you send canvases to the address on the poster, then you could be amongst the ones they select in Rhode Island to compete in New York City for the grand championship. The deadline to get the paintings in was that Saturday. The qualifications were nature-themed paintings, but it said on the poster that if they were selected to compete in the finals, then there would not be a theme. Meg recalled a special postcard she saw the other day while in Goldman's Pharmacy that featured a forest in autumn with all the birch trees' leaves a variety of colours. It also had mountains and a river flowing by. It said on the postcard that the picture was taken in Canada. Meg never went there, but now kind of wanted to.

"Hey, Meg," said a voice. It was Brian. Normally, she would shoo away her family of naysayers who form a rabid disdain for her work, but Brian was the only person who openly said he liked her paintings.

"Oh, hey, Brian," she said, continuing to paint. Her apron, which she knitted herself, added another paint blob to its collection as a bit of blue paint from her brush accidentally landed there as she was speaking to Brian.

"Is this the painting you're submitting for the art contest?"

"Yep!"

"May I see?" Meg wasn't quite finished, still having to add the finishing touches before submitting her canvas to the contest. After all, the deadline ended in a week.

"Sure, just a sec." She turned the canvas so that Brian could see her work. She still had some of the water to complete and she didn't start on the clouds in the sky, but other than that, she was about ninety percent finished.

"Oh my God, Meg! This is great!" he said with enthusiasm after his eyes lit up.

"You really think so?"

"Of course. I mean, it's like I'm actually there, like I'm seeing the real thing."

"Oh thanks. You're so sweet."

"So, hey, I'm just curious," Brian said changing the subject, "did you tell your parents about this?"

"Uh..., well..." Meg said slowly.

"You didn't tell them?"

"They are so judgmental and narrow-minded. Besides, they never liked any of my stuff I worked on." Brian was going to say 'That's not true' until he realized that she was correct. "The only person I trust in madhouse is you."

"Aw, thanks." Meg recalled how her parents were never there to support her in anything, even in kindergarten when the kids made stuff out of paper and glue, Peter would usually destroy him and laugh. It was that turmoil that she didn't want to go through again. It was time for her to no longer be the shit of the family and to start branching out.

"Hey, did you fill out your entry form?"

"Oh my God!" Meg realized she had to fill in the entry form, and then send it with the painting if she was going to enter. After all, if she made it through to the finals, how would they get in touch with her? She grabbed the form from her side table next to her bed and a pen. "I will do that right now."

"Oh, and Meg... good luck,"

"Thanks again."

"You're–" Brian was then interrupted by Stewie in another room. "Come on, Bri. Quit talking to Megan, put on this dress and play 'tea party' with me." Brian then sighed exasperatedly and obediently went into Stewie's room. "That crazy kid," Meg thought.

The first thing she had to fill in was "Name." She thought of writing in her real name, but stopped after writing 'Meg' on the paper. She deliberated that if anyone from James Woods High saw that her name in the finals list or knew she made it in to the finals if she made it, then they would give her their "congratulations" in crappy gifts. She especially thought that if her bully Connie D'Amico made it in that she would ridicule her to no end, or kill her, whichever comes first. She also didn't want all the negative criticism from the family, so she decided to write an alias. She wrote 'an' at the end of Meg so it said 'Megan' on her name. She figured that because it was a popular name, that no one would be the wiser. She thought of using Lois' maiden name, Pewterschmidt, but quickly shot that down because it was too long. Then she realized that if she got rid of the 'pewter' from the name, then her alias would be Megan Schmidt. That, to her, had a good ring to it, and it sounded perfect. The other stuff was standard. Address, Email address, Age, etc.

After thirty more minutes, she finished her picture. She got out a cardboard box big enough for her canvas in the basement, put the entry form in it, packed it with Styrofoam and set off for the Post Office. It closed at 6 and it was approaching 5:30. Peter was sitting on the couch watching some crappy show on television. Meg had to carry this big, cardboard box, and for a 5-foot girl without a lot of upper-body strength, this was a bit of a hassle. She got about halfway to the door, when she heard something.

"Just a minute there," it was Peter. He muted the T.V. and slowly walked over towards Meg until his shadow was over her completely. Meg was sweating and her heart was beating like crazy; she was so worried that she had been caught. "Just what-cha got there, missy?"

"Got where?" Meg said hesitantly. Lying wasn't her forte.

"In that box there. Seems awful big for one so... ugly." 'Again, with the ugly bullshit' she thought. She knew she had to make something up and quick. Then it hit her...

"There is a live capybara in this box and I am going to bring him to the zoo and use the proceeds to buy a DeLorean." Peter just stood there, and didn't change his facial expression.

"Is this true?"

"Yes?", she gulped. After a long pause, Peter turned around. "Lois, I did it. I was a good dad today."

"Good for you, Peter," Lois said in the distance. "Come over to the kitchen and have some cookies."

"Yay!" Peter giggled like a little kid, clapping and jumping up and down. Meg just stood there, dumbfounded that he bought it. But that quickly changed when she reassured herself that her father is an idiot.

Meg managed to get to the post office and mail her painting to the contest. Now only time will tell if she would move on, or face a deafening blow.