Renaissance

Renaissance


Justin blinked as he sat up on his brother's musty couch, mildew particles lingering on the cilia of his nose.

"How long is he going to stay here?" his sister-in-law said from the kitchen.

"Carla, lower your voice, he's right in the other room," Adam whispered.

He got up off the couch and ran his fingers through his greasy hair, strand sticking to strand by the pressure of his touch, finally lying flat on top of his head. The musty air seemed to grow heavier. He realized that he could have been a sophomore undergrad by now, but instead he was an unwelcome guest in his brother's home.

He craved fresh air, oxygen-rich breaths without the corrosive influence of mildew or judgment. He didn't bother to change out of his sweatpants and t-shirt as he leashed his black Lab, Bono, and began his walk to Renaissance Park. Outside, a warm breeze brushed his unshaven face. He felt the stiffness releasing from his shoulders. Nature always had a healing effect on him. He was aware of wispy insects scattering as he and Bono walked through the park, and people with their lines cast into the lake, while others relaxed on black, iron benches. He led Bono towards the lining of woods that surrounded the park, where birds sang high on their branches. The scent of honeysuckle swam through the air, conjuring a brief feeling of serenity. He wondered if people were just tissue, bone, chemical reactions, and electrical impulses; the brain merely collecting and regurgitating information; personalities formed solely by genes and previous experiences. His fate predetermined, destined to 'go nowhere,' as his mother said.

He felt the gravity of Bono's pull move him towards a lady. She was sitting Indian style towards the woods with a sketchbook in her lap, staring at the spaces between the trees, then moving her pencil wildly over the paper. He didn't resist the dog's pull. Soon, Bono was next to her, licking her face.

"I'm sorry," he said. She smiled as she stroked Bono ears. He looked down, intrigued by the sketchpad abandoned on the ground. There were trees with ethereal faces appearing out of the lines in the bark, branches stretching up like arms, leaves like fingers, reaching towards the sky as if worshiping the sun. A few trees were wilted and dying, their faces pulling downwards as if melting into nothingness, their bare branches reaching down into the darkness.

"Do you like it?" He looked over; she was smiling at him while absentmindedly petting Bono, her green eyes sparkling against her shabby auburn hair. He was suddenly aware of his disheveled appearance. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The spirits of the trees," she said matter-of-factly. "Everything has a spirit. Look at these Maple leaves." She handed him two green leaves.

As he reached for them, he began to feel as if he was the butt of some inane joke.

"Look at their veins, the designs they make, each one has its own unique markings, like a fingerprint, just like us." He started to feel uncomfortable. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible, feeling a little angry at her silly spectacle.
"Spirits of the trees?" he scowled as he threw the leaves into her lap. Her eyes grew wide, and her smile disappeared. Irritated, he snatched Bono's leash and walked home in hurried strides.

He tried to rest before going to his graveyard shift at the gas station that night. He could hear Adam and Carla talking behind their bedroom door, probably discussing how to best rid themselves of their unwanted houseguest. Curled in a ball on the couch, he pulled the blanket tight around his neck; his thoughts turned to her. He could feel the bile rising up into his esophagus, acid eroding the protective lining, exposing the delicate tissue beneath, the caustic taste of guilt bubbling up from his throat. He rolled on his back, breathing in his own toxic air, seeing the sparkle in her green eyes vanish. Then he saw her as the sketch, her arms reaching up, grasping for something light and good, while he was bent over, disappearing into the darkness. He was what he feared, he was his mother, brandishing harsh words and judgments, wielding them like a sword of truth, though the truth was that he wanted to dream as she did, finding spirits in all things, finding his spirit again.
Every day, he walked with Bono to the park, his clean hair neatly combed, hoping to find her sitting by the woods. Some days he would stand by the trees where she once sat, imagining him sitting next to her, confessing his desire to study medicine. She wouldn't scoff or ask how he expected to pay for it. She would smile, her eyes fixed with conviction, and say there was no earthly obstacle that could divert his dream, that he would be a great doctor. As he walked past the fragrant wisteria that peaked out from the trees, he wondered if he was twice the fool, for believing they would share such moments, and that he could one day be a doctor. Then he turned, feeling the pull of the leash, seeing Bono facing the lake wagging his tail, and there she was, sitting on a bench. His breath caught in his throat; he wanted to turn around, but Bono's pull encouraged him to move toward her. Soon he was standing next to the bench, heart racing. Bono licked her hand; she looked up. He noticed a shade of distrust in her eyes.

"I'm sorry about the other day" he blurted out. He froze, unsure of what to say next.

Her eyes softened. She waited a moment and said, "It's OK."

He exhaled, "I didn't introduce myself before...I'm Justin," he managed to say without revealing the shaking he felt inside.

She smiled, a sparkle returning to her eyes; "I'm Mindy. Do you want to sit down?"