Short: Gary And Mary: The Artist and The Magic Paint Brush, Part 2.
Of course, Gary didn’t know his life would change on a warm June morning. How could he? No one knows when fate will step into our lives- the last time we play in street with our childhood friends, the last ‘I love you’ to a parent, or meet a being who will say and do what we can’t. All any of us can do is what Gary did: put ourselves in the best position to receive what fate has has to offer. And, when Gary grabbed his navy blue backpack and loaded it with clean paint brushes and tubes of red, blue, and yellow oil paint, he thrust himself squarely into the path of his destiny.
To Gary, the morning was as normal as he came to expect of south Brooklyn. The sidewalk was mad as commuters dashed up and down 7th Avenue and Gary weaved his way through the mass to his favorite bodega for an egg and bacon sandwich. After paying for his sandwich, he ate his breakfast inside the shop while staring at passersby. Nothing in south Georgia compared to the pace and hustle of the City in the morning and every morning Gary took a moment to observe the movement and chaos as though it was his first encounter with it. This city is hectic and mesmerizing he thought and wondered how to capture such feelings on canvas. Just then Gary heard a faint muffled voice behind him and when he turned to see who was there, he saw no one other than the usual cooks and customers going about there predictable transactions, then he looked at his phone. Time to go he thought.
A beat later Gary climbed the steps to the F Train headed to Manhattan and slipped his headphones over his ears. He smiled as he took out his phone and pretended to pick a playlist. Gary loved what his headphones said to the world, that he wanted to be left alone and he used this to his advantage on his ride to school. The headphones gave him the ability to observe his fellow commuters without being disturbed or questioned. When the train arrived, Gary worked his way through the passengers already on board to spot in the corner at the back of the compartment, then he scanned the car for anything worth watching.
At the East Broadway stop, a mother and two young girls stepped onto the train and they caught Gary’s attention. Most of the other commuters were glued to their phones or trying to catch a few bits of rest before work, but now as the train entered Manhattan life was at work on the train. The two girls laughed and giggled though Gary could only speculate as to why. All he knew was their world was small and uncomplicated, and he hoped it would stay that way as long as possible. And then Gary went into his own world where he was safe and uncomplicated. And he thought about the world of a child and he glanced up to notice the contrast of the two spark plugs opposite everyone else on the train.
How do I capture childlike wonder with paint he asked himself. And then, for a second time that morning, he heard a muffled voice behind him. Startled, Gary spun around, bumping his backpack into the curly haired man to his right. The quick movement drew a hard look from the confused gentleman, and Gary lowered his head in retreat. Of course, Gary saw no one. And had he thought for a second, he knew their was nothing behind him but the bland walls of the train. He was in the corner for Pete’s sake. Bewildered, Gary found humor in the confusion and laughed quietly to himself. The mother and children exited the train a few stops later and the car returned to a state of quiet commuting.
