A midsummer encounter

She was eyeing his notebook from the bench across the main cross walk in Central Park. The curiosity was burning within to find out what the subject matter was. Just who inspired whatever was being penned down onto the opposite side of the cover so fervently. It took all that was in her not to make her way over to take a peek. Curiosity was further kindled for he kept gazing toward her direction every couple of minutes or so, followed by a deep dive back onto the page.

Due to her parent’s passing, the last years of her life were spent on the streets for she couldn’t bear the thought of being placed into foster care. Life was difficult, however the freedom that came with it was worth it to her. The bustling of people around the city filled her imagination with stories.

Recalling happier days from her childhood, penning thoughts onto paper had always mesmerized her and over the years the goal solidified to perfect the art of storytelling by sketch. She was a natural born artist. The library of her mind was filled with ideas, however, the physical medium was a distant reality, for she only owned the clothes on her back. Despite her pitiful circumstances, her spirit remained elevated for she could escape into that creative world in which limitless opportunities presented themselves.

But here she was, unable to distract herself from looking at that mysterious figure seated not ten yards from her. He exuded a strange sense of authority with utter calm.

As the noon clock declared its position, she emerged from her slumped state and took a couple of hesitant steps toward the mystery man. Glancing up from his notebook, he motioned for her to come and sit beside him. Having such a deplorable appearance, she would never expect someone of such poise who would want to come anywhere near her. Alas, she took a leap of faith and hesitantly seated herself on the edge of the bench in case a rapid flight might need to be taken.

The man closed his notebook and commenced by asking her which part of the city she enjoyed people-watching the most. A bit taken aback, she hesitated and gazing at the black leather binding of his book, considered her answer.

Slowly she started to describe the park and the observations she had made over time on how nature’s life cycle changes and human daily routines evolve over the year.

To her great amazement he listened intently, giving her a voice as an equal, a totally new phenomenon in her world. He asked detailed questions on lighting during the different times of day and angles to be drawn from in order to portray a true image of what the park looks like in person. Unsure why he was granting her, a homeless person, the time to share opinions in the realm of art, she asked for the reason of such kindness to have been shown by a total stranger.

After a deep sigh the truth was revealed that he was a master artist, whose name she immediately recognized. He explained how something in her countenance had struck his attention weeks ago upon spotting her along the lane, gazing upward into the sun-lit canopy of trees and drinking in the suns’ rays. He explained that he could tell that there was something special about her and that an untapped potential was roaming about in that mind of hers.

Utterly shocked and amazed at such a revelation, she could hardly come up with an appropriate response. For so long now she had grown accustomed to being looked down upon, ridiculed and ignored, that receiving any form of kind notice was an other-worldly phenomenon.

Abruptly he stood up and stated that he must go, but before taking off he encouraged her that by having such a special perspective of the world she need not fear, that life is bound to take a turn for the better and that she must persevere at all cost. With that he placed his notebook onto her lap with a pencil and disappeared into the bypassing stream of crowds. With shaky hands she opened it and found a twenty thousand dollar scholarship to one of the city’s most prestigious art schools. Whose founder and main patron happened to be the man himself. She recalled seeing a feature of the institute just the previous week in the paper and so longed to be a pupil there one day.

Along with the voucher was a handwritten note stating that she is most certainly capable of achieving anything with the paper and graphite that sit before her.

The neighboring page revealed a sketch of the landscape from that exact viewpoint. On the bench she sat, depicted not as a ragged beggar—but as a carefree, confident woman reflecting the sun’s radiance.

In that moment, the sun began steadily warming up the black cover in accordance with her heart.

The End.