Choosing Is An Art Form

Sunny summer afternoons in the city park were Adam’s favourite time of the week. From atop a large hill that looked out over the steel and glass towers in the distance, the park provided enough green space for multitudes to enjoy. For families like the Pushmans, working-class people living mostly in apartments around the city, the greenery, and open space was a temporary haven.

The vistas overlooking the crowded streets below provided a brief respite for hard-working parents. A chance to breathe fresh, clean air, it was a place also to gather as a community.

For Adam, there was always a pickup football match to join with, while his parents strolled the grounds or sat together on a wooden bench. It never mattered if the group of children were old friends or new visitors. Everyone was welcome to join in the fun.

By late afternoon, Adam was sufficiently played out and his parents were ready to go home and prepare the evening meal. They walked together along the paved path that led to the Eastern gate.

As they left the edge of the football grounds, the Pushman family came upon an old woman at the edge of the path. She was seated in a folding canvas chair with an artist’s easel propped up in front of her, facing the open field of play.

Looking rather unkempt with a shock of red hair flecked with streaks of gray, the older woman worked away at her canvas, bony fingers moving swiftly with the brush. She was smallish and lean, not quite to the point of frailty. Beside her sat an old valise with a paint palette resting on the open flap.

Adam’s boyish curiosity got the better of him, so he skipped off the path and around behind the artist to look at her work. He was fascinated and dumbfounded all at once by what he saw.

The nearly completed picture showed an upward view of a triumphant athlete being hoisted on the shoulders of his teammates. He held a trophy high in his outstretched right arm. All the men were dressed in shorts and knee-high socks, and the uniform jersey of a soccer team. A glow came off the trophy as if the sun were just above.

Amazed, the boy blurted out, “Wow!”, and then he asked inquisitively, “I don’t remember seeing anything like that here. Do you paint from memory?”

“Something like that “. the woman replied without altering her gaze.

“Mom. Dad. You gotta come and see this!” Adam called out, and his parents moved in behind to get a view.

“That’s really very good “, Adam’s mother said.

The woman stopped with her finishing touches and looked back at the family. “Why thank you, my dear,” she said sweetly. She then turned to the boy and asked, “Would you like to have it?”

“Would I?”, Adam exclaimed, but his father spoke up.

“That’s very kind of you ma’am, but we couldn’t accept such lovely work for nothing.”

“I’ll tell you what then. If it will make you feel better, I will accept a small donation for charity, “

Adam’s father handed the woman a banknote and she removed the painting from its resting place and handed it to her young admirer.

“Thank you so much. “, the lad said as the family began to depart.

“Enjoy it my boy “, she called out after them. “And take good care of it.”

“ I will.”, Adam promised, just as they disappeared out of the park.

Several summers passed before Adam saw the old painter woman again. He had since grown up and gone to a local college and moved out on his own. When he spotted the old woman sitting in the same manner as their first encounter, she was perched at the top of a downslope, looking out over the city skyline.

Adam had just been thinking about his earlier days, playing soccer on the communal pitch before he graduated to competitive sports in college. He ambled over to the artist and asked, “Hello. Do you remember me?”

Raising her right hand to shield her eyes from the sun, the woman who looked the same as she had years before, turned to look at the tall, handsome young man standing there beside her. “Indeed I do”, she said politely, and then, “My look how nicely you’ve grown. Your parents must be so proud.”

“Thank you”, Adam replied. He shuffled his feet slightly and then continued, “Sadly, they died last year in a terrible fire. I’d only moved out months earlier.”

“I’m so sorry to hear.”, she answered, “One never knows when tragedy might strike, do they?”

Adam nodded solemnly, and the two remained silent for a short time as the woman returned to her canvas. Finally, she asked, “Do you still have the painting I gave you?”

“Yes I do, actually. Funny thing about that picture though.”

“Oh? What would that be?”, she inquired.

“Well”, he said, “I always fancied myself something of a good athlete, you know. I was looking forward to a future as a professional after college.” Adam placed his hands in his trouser pockets, slouching a little as did so. “You know, ma’am”, he continued. “I became that man in the painting. I scored the winning goal in the College Cup final, and the lads all hoisted me on their shoulders.”

“I’m so happy for you young man”, said the woman with genuine pride.

“Well, thanks. But, from that moment everything went sideways. It wasn’t the future I hoped for.”

“Wasn’t it?”, the old lady asked while she continued to paint.

“No, it certainly wasn’t.” Adam confided to the artist, “While I was busy celebrating after the match is when the fire struck my parents’ building. I should have been there for them.”

The woman stopped painting for a moment and turned toward Adam. “Now son, you could not have possibly known what was going to happen. You mustn’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control.”

“You’re right, of course”, he replied, “But, that was the end of my ticket to the big time.”

“Why, what happened.”

“I became so distracted and angry. I lost so much focus that when I showed up the next season for league tryouts, I had a bad incident. It was entirely my fault, trying to tackle an opponent head-on. Anyway, I blew out my knee, and that was it.”

“That’s unfortunate”, the woman remarked with barely a note of empathy. “Sometimes, moments in our lives aren’t always as they first appear.”

Adam replied quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”

“I know you don’t, dear.” The woman picked up her current work from the easel and handed it to Adam. “Please take this, with my compliments. Perhaps it will ease your pain a little.”

Adam looked down at the canvas. It depicted an overhead view of a large dog resting its head on the lap of his owner who sat cross-legged in the grass. Adam shook his head in wonder. “I don’t know how you do it”, he said. “You must have some kind of inner vision.”

“I never thought of it that way, but I guess you could say that”, she said as the fingers of her left hand came to rest on her chin.

Adam thanked the old woman once again for the gift and went on his way. He wouldn’t see her again for another twelve years.

The second painting gifted to Adam inspired him to get his own dog. He was sure the old woman was trying to tell him that he needed companionship, and she would have right. Just before the onset of the winter following their last meeting, Adam went to the local Humane Society office and adopted a lovely Blond Labrador pup. He called her Millie. That was his mother’s middle name.

The years went by in Adam’s rented townhouse with his faithful dog Millie, always at his side. He’d come home from work each day and they would take long evening walks together, rain or shine. It was always just the two of them when Adam came home.

Adam had other friends, acquaintances really, but none meant more to him than Millie the last twelve years. After losing his passion for football, Adam sought mostly the sanctuary of his home, and his loving pet. Seeking out the love of another human being was the furthest thing from his mind.

Millie was nearing twelve-years-old now, but she still loved her summer weekend ventures to the city park. Adam would run her a bit, but her stamina waned with each passing week. It was a perfect late summer afternoon, the sun just about to make its descent behind the hill.

Adam sat on the grass at the top of the hill and crossed his legs. Millie, who had finally stopped panting, lay down beside her master and put her large head on Adam’s lap. They sat quietly together for a time as Adam softly stroked his dog’s furry mane, and gazed out over the city.

He didn’t realize anything untoward at first, but it suddenly occurred to him after a short time, that Millie wasn’t moving at all. Gently lifting her head, Adam took in the sudden shock that Millie had died in her sleep, with her head cradled in her best friend’s arms. Tears rained from his eyes as Adam moaned and rocked with his faithful dog still on his lap.

Millie was buried in a pet cemetery just outside the city park on a drizzly autumn afternoon. A short ceremony was performed by the cemetery director at the dog’s graveside. Adam was the only mourner present, or so he thought.

Afternoon light faded quickly to a damp and chilly evening. Adam paid his last respects and turned to walk slowly away. That’s when he noticed a figure sitting on a bench at the top of the hill.

There was no easel, no canvas to work on, but the old woman was looking very much like the last time Adam saw her. It hadn’t occurred to him as he approached, that she had been old for as long as he’d known her. And that was some time now.

The woman patted the empty seat on the bench beside her and said, “Come and sit for a moment, won’t you Adam? I’m very sorry about your dog.”

“How did you know my name?”, he asked as he joined her on the bench.

“Oh, I’ve always known your name lad.”

“Should I know you from somewhere other than the park?”, he asked looking puzzled.

“No”, she said frankly, “I just make it my business to know the names of my…friends.” Then she added, “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“I’m not sure”, replied Adam. “I mean, you’re very kind and all. Don’t get me wrong but, the only other two times I’ve met you, you have given me paintings that seem to predict my life.” He went on without interruption, “And each time, the circumstances have ended badly.”

The pair sat quietly for a few seconds, and then the woman simply said, “You know, Adam, every moment in our lives has infinite possible outcomes. No one can really predict the future.”

“Then, how did you…”

“I didn’t.”, the woman said interrupting his thought. “Not really. What I paint merely suggests. The rest, of course, is entirely up to the individual.”

“I guess you’re right”, Adam replied without conviction. He stayed quiet for a very long time.

“We all have to take ownership of our circumstances, Adam”, the woman said, breaking the silence. “We’re the only ones who can change our lot.” Then she added, “As I said before, sometimes though, there are circumstances that are just simply out of our control.”

With that she leaned forward and reached under the bench, bringing out a package wrapped in brown paper and string. She handed the flat bundle to her young friend and said, “Please accept this one last gift from me. I hope it will bring you some joy in your life.”

Adam took the package and started to pull at the string. The old woman stopped with a softly placed hand on his. “Wait until you get home to open it, please. I would not want it to be ruined in the rain”, was her excuse.

“Won’t I see you again?”. Adam asked as she stood to leave.

“No, I’m afraid not, dear. I’m very tired. I shan't be making any more paintings.” She could see the look of worry that came over the younger man’s face as he stood to face her. “You mustn’t worry about me, child. I’ll be alright.” The lady took Adam’s hand in hers and, stretching up on her tip-toes, she kissed him on the cheek.

Adam remained frozen in place while he watched the old woman disappear down the darkened path. “Thank you”, was all he said, but he couldn’t be sure if she heard him. He pulled up the collar of his raincoat and turned to leave. It only just occurred to him he never knew her name.

About one year after his last encounter with the old woman, Adam was sent to Paris on a business trip for his firm. Quite alone and with nothing else to do in the evening, he took strolls along the Seine. Around midnight, he stopped at a rampart to look out at the water.

The place he had chosen was a widened section of the cobblestone path, with park benches across from the short stone wall beside the river. The water was bathed in soft moonlight, and the only light on the path came from a single coach light. The scene looked almost exactly as depicted in the old woman’s last painting she gave to Adam.

Just as in the artwork, a young woman stood under the coach light, looking along the path. Adam peered out at the water, barely aware of the woman’s presence. Then, simultaneously, and nervously, the two strangers turned slowly to look at one another. Adam made a choice.

Many years later when Adam was well into his eighties, he and his beautiful wife Amy who he had met in Paris that night, gifted the three paintings to a local museum. They added to a collection of the old woman’s work which was already on display, but nobody ever knew who she was. She never signed her work.

This story is inspired by a visit made to Kenwood House on Hampstead Heath, England, about fifteen years ago. There was a certain painting hanging in the Yellow Room, I believe. The work seemed incongruous to the other art on display, and perhaps that’s what struck me.

To this day, I'm not sure of the painter's name or the title of the work, but it may have been by the Irish artist, Francis Danby. The piece displays a silhouetted night scene on a patio or path near the water. The two lonely figures are barely discernible in the moonlight., one male, the other female.

The picture seems to suggest what might be if only one of the subjects turns to face the other. If you happen to stumble into Kenwood House one day and happen upon this piece, I would be grateful to hear about your finding.

This story originally appeared on Medium by Stuart Englander

I hope you enjoyed reading it.

All tips are gratefully accepted for my future musings.