“He’s searching for something, and I don’t think he knows what it is.” Charles sat down in his chair. “This is one of the hardest things when you’re a parent. You can see when your child is hurting and can do nothing about it. Devon has to find his own way. I really want to help him, but I can’t.”
He understood. To him the path was so easy, but maybe that was his path, and Devon’s future did lie on a different one than his. Or maybe their paths were the same, but the way to get to the beginning wasn’t as straight as either of them would like.
“He’ll find his way,” Enrique said. “If for no other reason than he wants to so badly.”
“I hope you’re right,” Charles said and leaned back, closing his eyes. Enrique took care of the dishes and checked his watch before going to find Devon.
He was standing in the same spot by the lake. “I keep trying to see what you see,” Devon said when Enrique approached.
“Don’t. Just see what you see and feel what you feel. That’s all you can do. You can’t see through my eyes and feel through my heart. You have your own for that. Untie them and let them soar on their own.” He wished he could stay longer. “I have to get back to the Trading Post before my relief leaves for the day. But I’ll see you tomorrow at the kids’ story time art class.” He patted Devon’s shoulder, enjoying the feel of his muscle under his hand.
“Yeah. I’ll see you then.” Devon turned away, and Enrique stood still, willing Devon to turn back and see him, but eventually he went to his car and back to the Trading Post to go to work.
ENRIQUE WAS very excited. He had his adopted grandfather’s stories to tell the kids, and then they could draw something from the story. It was simple project, but they always loved it, and Enrique wondered if the drawing drew them or the story. Not that it mattered.
“Afternoon,” Devon said with a smile as he stepped into the room.
“You look happier,” Enrique said, hoping that meant Devon had figured out some of what he was looking for.
“I’m looking forward to your story.” His smile faltered, and Enrique realized that Devon was just as lost as he had been the other day. Not that he should have been surprised. There wasn’t a quick fix for what Devon was feeling. Those kinds of doubts and the soul-searching he seemed to be doing took time. Enrique should have known that and not expected to be able to snap Devon out of his funk with one pearl of wisdom. But he hadn’t understood the depths of Devon’s lack of inspiration.
“Sit wherever you like,” Enrique said.
Devon took a seat at one of the back tables, not touching any of the art supplies. The kids arrived and came in, talking among themselves, each taking a seat. Enrique knew all of them, as well as their parents. Life in this little town meant everyone knew everyone else and watched out for them. He also knew that his art class was a chance for the parents to take a breather from the kids, and most of them would head over to the Trading Post for a drink or just to socialize and spend some time with other adults.
“Okay,” Enrique said, and the room grew quiet.
“Are you going to tell another Raven story?” one of the boys asked. Those were always a favorite. Raven was one of the primary characters in Athabaskan lore, and there were many stories of his cunning and bravery. When Enrique was a child, one of his father’s friends, Grandpa Kallik, had related these stories to him, and Enrique had been just as fascinated then as these kids were today.
“How about the one where Raven defeats the whale?” Enrique asked, and to general agreement and excitement, he told the story of how Raven used his cunning to defeat a whale that was terrorizing a local village. He could have heard a pin drop in the room as he spoke, but mostly Enrique found himself speaking almost directly to Devon, hoping he would get something from it. Enrique liked the action and added as much drama as he could to keep the kids entertained. “Okay. Now that you know the story, we have papers and colored pencils.” He spent a few minutes demonstrating how to draw Raven, as well as a whale, and let the kids take a turn.
“You’re very good,” Devon said to Joey, Craig’s oldest boy, who sat next to him. He seemed to have some minor mobility and coordination issues. They shared a smile. Joey obviously had talent and was good at drawing; it just seemed to take him longer than the others.
“But the wing is wrong,” Joey said of his drawing, and he and Devon worked together to “fix” it, while Enrique moved through the room.
“Tell us another story,” one of the girls asked.
“You know the rules. I tell you a story, and then you draw it.” Enrique was a soft touch, though, and started another story about Raven. The kids had heard the Raven warrior story before, but he told it again as they worked, their heads down. Afterward Enrique found himself wandering over to where Devon had taken up his own drawing.
Without even thinking about it, he watched as a version of Raven and the whale emerged on the sheet of paper, but in abstract form, with light and color bursting off the page. Enrique didn’t disturb him but was fascinated as to what would emerge next.
“That doesn’t look like the story,” Joey said, but Devon barely looked up from his work.
“It’s how I see the story when I close my eyes. You don’t have to draw things literally. I’m trying to draw what the story means to me and how it makes me feel. See, lots of color because Raven won and that made me happy.” He continued working, and soon the others all gathered around, watching and not making a sound, which was rare for eight-, nine-, and ten-year-olds. They jostled for a place to see as they watched the drawing taking shape minute by minute. Enrique couldn’t look away either as the water became more violent, with deeper blues and blacks, punctuated by the places where the white of the paper showed through. The movement was stunning, and after working for a while longer, Devon lifted his head and seemed to realize that everyone was around him.
“Go on back to your work and leave Mr. Devon to do his,” Enrique chastised gently, knowing he should take his own advice and leave Devon alone, but he had trouble doing that. Devon seemed to draw his attention, and Enrique knew that was something he was going to have to work to overcome. It didn’t matter that Devon’s intensity and focus rolled off him like the water in his drawing… and that was as attractive as any magnet. Devon was only staying for a few weeks. Enrique was not going to let himself be drawn into his orbit. But no matter how much he told himself he should keep his distance, his attention drew him to the other man.
“But I want learn to do that,” Joey said earnestly. “That’s so pretty.”
“You can. It takes some time. First you have to be able to draw the basic things, and then you can learn how to shade and add colors to make them blend together,” Devon said softly, and every head turned toward him.
“How?” Joey asked.
Devon smiled and stood up, each head in the room following him, including Enrique’s. “See those windows? It’s a beautiful day. So I want to ask you, what color are the clouds?”
“White?” Helena answered in a rush.
“Are they? Look at them closely and tell me what colors you see,” Devon asked her. “What do you really see?”