Mike walked through the door his father was holding open and moved into the banquet hall. He took three steps and stopped in his tracks, stunned by the sights and sounds before him. Frank stood beside him while their families grouped up beside them.
“This is amazing.” Mike breathed, taking in a deep breath. 
 
“What do you mean, what’s so amazing? What are you seeing?” Frank asked wondering what was up with his friend. It all looked normal to him. A large room with a bunch of rectangular tables and chairs. Women from the community working at setting the many tables. People milling about. What else would you expect at an art awards banquet in a small town like Poplarwood. He had one thing in mind and that was the food that was to come.  
  
Meanwhile, Mike was overwhelmed with it all. The huge size of the room. The sound in the room was new to him, the murmuring of voices soft but steady . The people mingling, grouped up along the display tables of art. And the lights. all kinds of lights which made the room glow like a pond of still water in the moonlight. There were dim lights on the ceiling, candles flickering on the tables, tiny white lights strung out along the walls and down the whole length
 of the display table of art along the side of the room. Pictures of all sizes, splashes of color, framed all along the side of the room. “Look at that art there along the wall,” he said, pointing. “That’s a lot of art. I wonder where mine is?”
 
“Must be there somewhere, let’s have a look.” Frank moved towards the display with Mike following. They melted into the crowd of folk along the row of pictures, all craning to get a look, talking, pointing and excited. Frank elbowed his way through till they got to the table and they began working their way down keeping an eye out for Mikes work. 
 
But Mike could not keep up with Frank. He had to stop and really look at the artwork. He had never ever been to an art show or even an art gallery of any kind before. He was mesmerized by the sheer volume of art hanging on the wall or standing on the table before him. He wanted to stop at each one and examine it closely. He wanted to get into how it had been done. What medium was it? What kind of brush, tool or technique did they use to get that effect? The choices and variety of color were mesmerizing. For Mike the room disappeared as he focused in on each piece before him. Even if people jostled him, he did not notice, he was so engrossed with each piece he encountered. 

Suddenly he was surprised to feel a thump and sharp pain on his shoulder, he was annoyed with the interruption and turned reluctantly, noticing that Frank had punched him. “Hey!” he teased, “did you forget that we are here to eat? Come-on we are gonna start.” 
 
Mike realized, to his embarrassment, that basically everyone had already gone to their tables and he’d been one of the few still gawking at the pictures. “OK, OK I am coming,” he said reluctantly still looking at the picture he’d been admiring as he walked away sideways. 
 
Frank was always the practical one. Sometimes he wondered how he would ever get along without good ole Frank reminding him about things. How Frank, for example knew where their table was he had no idea.
 
The first thing on the program was the meal. Frank enjoyed that, and dug into the food with a lot of energy. Then there were speeches by important people and artists, the audience applauding following each one. It was during this time that Mike noticed something strange about his and Frank’s parents. They seemed almost embarrassed about everything that was happening in the room. They did not applauded with the others. Not really. Why, Mike wondered was that? They did not seem happy like the rest of the people sitting around them. There was a lot of conversation and laughter at the tables near them while theirs was quiet. No
one said much at their table, no one told any jokes. They sure could have used some of Franks knock knock jokes thought Mike.  
 
Then they began announcing the awards beginning with the lower grades, Mike and Frank waiting with great anticipation for Mike’s grade category to be announced. He began to perspire. His parent’s behavior began to be a concern for Mike. They behaved so differently from everyone else in the room. Were they embarrassed
about something? Ashamed? What? Did they not want him to win? Why then had they come? But they had come. It was all very confusing and he was sure others were noticing. 
 
Then, came his category. Third place was announced, a huge applause and the winner made her way up to the front to receive the prize. There was a pause. 

“And second place goes to Mike…” applause broke out in the room like for the others, but no one moved. Mike had begun to stand, but sat back down. His table was almost immobile. He noticed his mother’s eyes were wet but she seemed unsure, kind of cowering, seemingly embarrassed at the attention. Mike, looked at the tables
next to them and people were smiling, nodding, motioning for him to go. He scanned his table again and saw a thumbs up from Frank. His Father also finally made a subtle motioned with his head for him to go. The instant he rose the applause increased and even included some yells as he began the long journey to the stage. 
 
This was a strange new world for Mike. He did not know that it was OK to rejoice in an accomplishment such as this. In his world accomplishments were not celebrated with outward emotions like cheering and applause. Especially from strangers such as this. Despite his inner conflictions, he could not help but respond to the
warmth he felt as he went along. A hint of a smile began to appear on his face in response to the overwhelming encouragement he was feeling from everyone in the room. Even if they were strangers. He had been announced as a winner and he began to smile. It did feel good.
 
As he walked up the stage steps he saw his drawing prominently displayed on an easel at the front of the stage. But It was as his teacher was giving him his rolled up award that he saw something that brought his world to a standstill. The winning art pieces were being brought up onto the stage from the display table, lined up in
a row waiting to be shown as each winner was announced. He recognized the next picture that would win first place. He broke into a sweat. 
 
It was his lost nude drawing! He did a double-take, it could not be true. He ignored his teacher, fixated on the drawing, something like huge fear gripping his insides, turning his stomach into a knot. There it was framed and looking so... so.... amazing. And it's a nude! Now everyone would see it! His mother would see it. What if she recognised herself in the picture? How did it get here? He was so confused. What should he do? But it's a nude! His father would kill him if he found out he'd drawn his own mother. He felt like running. ‘Think…think…’ he told himself, but every option seemed wrong, crazy even…his mind became overwhelmed and would not work. He wished for a hole he could jump into. He stood dumbfounded with the scroll she had given him, stuck to his sweating hand, his mouth open, staring, immobilized. 
 
His teacher was whispering into his ear trying to tell him to go back to his table. No response. The crowd began to respond in laughter as they assumed he was stunned by his winning second place. She noticing the giggles, and responded by playing it up, raising her hands and face in mock frustration. Laughter erupted from the crowd. Finally, she took him by the shoulders, turned him towards the stage stairs and give him a gentle nudge. But he did not seem to get the hint and remained there standing like a statue. Again, playing to the crowd with exaggerated movements she took him by the shoulders and literally walked him to the stage steps. Now he responded and with a sideways glance back at his nude, went down the stairs and back to his table, the wrong way of course. People began pointing and motioning, even nudging him, helping him towards his table. The applauding and laughter followed him all the way back. His parents actually kind of smiling as he slipped, embarrassed into his chair. 
 
Then his partial nude was placed in full view for the audience to see. Mike, waiting to see the response, was truly surprised when he heard not only exclamations of surprise, but a few verbal cheers and a sprinkling of appreciative applause. 

But, more than that, he was watching his parents carefully for any signs that they might recognize the picture. So far so good. He was mired in guilt and could not bare looking up at the drawing.

“And, ladies and gentlemen," the MC continued, "first place for this most courageous and unique work of art goes toooo…. Bobby N…Immediately applause burst out in the room, the audience rising from their chairs in appreciation of the winner and the piece they saw before them. 
 
‘Who is this Bobby guy?’ mouthed Mike at Frank in the midst of the din. Frank, just shook his head. They had no idea who he was.

Meanwhile, Mike could not help but notice the audience's excited and loud response to his nude picture. They were now standing as one, clapping and hooting for Bobby as he made his way to the front. When he got there and was given his scroll, the head curator of the event stepped up to the mike to make a comment. When the applause died down she began to explain how this piece of work was the first of it's kind in that the artist used the human form to express the theme of the contest in their work. How excited and pleased the art committee choosing the winners had been, first of all for the courage of the artist to go to the 'nude' in their expression, and secondly for the amazing skill this drawing represented. Skill in the actual drawing of the human figure and also in expressing a full range of emotion in the work.

She ended by congratulating Bobby for his courage and his special giftedness in creating such a great piece of art. She went over and shook his hand congratulating him, saying she was excited now to see what he would be working on next. 

The room again erupted in applause and cheers for Bobby as he made his way back to his table. 

Mike became aware of something he would never had learned anywhere else. He realized now that he could never claim that picture as his. His community could never stand behind a work of this kind like this community did. This community appreciated every part of this work of art. His family and Franks family were not standing. They were not clapping. They were not cheering. They had made themselves stick out as one's who did not support this expression of art. They were the only table sitting down, in the middle of a crowd on their feet cheering. He felt embarrassed.

Mike suddenly realized that he felt kind of glad for Bobby, whoever he was.
 
(To be continued)

English Gardens, Winnipeg MB
Photo by: Cliff Derksen
September, 2013

“Knock Knock.” said Frank grinning.

“ughhhhhh” groaned Mike…not wanting to play the game, he was so miserable.

“Come-on Mike, it’s a knock knock joke, say it already.” Encouraged Frank.

 “Who's there?” Mike groaned

“Atomic!” Frank declared delighted.

“Atomic who?” Mike responded slowly, reluctantly and in a painful way.

“Atomic ache!” Frank responded laughing hilariously.
 
“It wasn’t that funny, really.” Mike mumbled, annoyed with Frank’s over-the-top joy.
 
It was recess. Frank and Mike were sitting in their favorite spot along the fence, in the deep grass, under a tree on the edge of the school yard. Mike was miserable because his “topless nude” drawing was still missing. Someone out there had it. The frightening thing was his sketchbook had mysteriously re-appeared, in the guys cloakroom, which made him very afraid about where and when this drawing might also just accidentally re-appear.
 
“What if that drawing” Mike groaned, “will one day show up, laying on the teacher’s desk? You know then I would be in deep, deep, deep trouble!” 
 
“The problem is we have no idea who left the sketchbook in the cloakroom.” Frank said. “We don’t really even know how long it might have been laying there before we saw it.”
 
“Great spies we are.” Mike mumbled. 
 
“But we know the thief is in this school and that he left it out in the open away from any other school books and stuff.” 
 
“Very smart of him to do that you know, now we don’t know who he is.” 
 
There was silence, except for birds singing and grasshoppers buzzing. Frank loved this kind of "detective" talk where you tried to figure out what the bad guys were thinking and doing. He wanted to be a policeman some day so this just down his ally. When he took the time to think about it he realized something interesting.  “I think," he said, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, "he actually made it kind of easy for us to see it, wouldn’t you say?”
 
“I’ll bet he wanted us to find it!” Mike exclaimed. “He really did want us to find it!” he declared slamming his hand on his knee.
 
“And, he purposely kept the “bad” picture.” Frank added, “someone right here in this school is just playing with us!”
 
“Probably watching us right now.” Mike whispered, putting his head down a bit and slowly looking towards the yard as if he might see someone with peering at them from over a rock or tree. Frank did the same instinctively. They sat there, two guys immobile, just staring out onto the schoolyard. All seemed so normal, kids playing soccer, or kids on the swings or just walking around. No one seemed to notice them at all. It was hard to believe that someone they knew, right in this school had done this. He could be sitting right next to them in class! It made them nervous and suspicious of everyone, even people they liked. Who could this be?  
 
Without moving Mike spoke. “What are we going to do about someone watching us and messing with us like this?” Frank noticed he said it in this weird monotone kind of whisper.
 
Without moving a muscle, eyes scanning the yard, Frank used the same flat tone, “You know you have a drawing to finish, its due day after tomorrow you know.  Maybe you need to work on that, finish it up and hand that in before it’s too late. Then we can think about what to do next.”
 
“Let’s wear camouflage tomorrow!” Mike said. He had no idea where that came from. Probably something from TV.
 
Frank did not move, “I like that, let’s do it.”
 
Mike had had a hard time getting anything camouflage for the next day. His family was not into hunting of any kind. They had a 22 rifle but it was used just for shooting whatever on butchering day. They also shot gophers once in a while, but that was it. 

The best he could come up with was a T-Shirt in a green color, which he wore under one of his checked red and blue shirts. He also had a pair of pants in a kaki green that did not match the T-Shirt or his shirt. His mother thought he looked terrible.
 
When he got to school, he rode his horse across the yard towards the barn. He noticed the barn door was open so ducked his head and rode right through the open door into the barn. His horse 
“Doll” knew her stall and went right into it. He slid off, tied her up to the manger, loosened her saddle and came out walking in the centre of the isle out towards the open barn door. 
 
Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement in the shadow of an empty stall and could only yell as something launched itself right towards him. In a second it slammed into him, taking him right off his feet. Doll, hearing him yell, jumped in fright. Mike landed on his back with this wild “thing” on top of him. It knocked the wind right out of him and he couldn’t breathe, he tried to fend it off, his arms flailing in panic as he fought for air. Slowly he began to hear a voice “….it’s me Frank, it’s me, hold it it’s just me!” It sounded like Frank’s voice, but he wasn’t sure…he began to get some air and saw a weird streaked face, inches from his own face, grinning at him. Then he heard the voice and recognized it as Franks!

Frank finally rolled off him and he sat up gasping, holding his throat. The two boys sat across from each other on the barn floor, straw sticking to their clothing, looking at one another in wonder. Frank wondering about Mike’s breathing and Mike wondering who this was that sounded like Frank but didn’t look like Frank. 
 
This Frank had a face streaked and smudged with something like black grease. Only the whites of his eyes and teeth stood out. He looked so freaky. His streaked face was surrounded by a camouflage, tuque and hood. Then he noticed that his whole body was covered with camouflage! “Wow Frank, is that you?” Mike gasped when he could finally talk! “You are crazy man, just crazy!”
 
“See,” Frank said, “you could not see me could you? This camouflage stuff really works eh? This guy who’s watching us will
not see me today. Your idea of wearing camouflage is going to work really good, you didn't see me at all did you? Ha!” He was all excited at his success in sneaking up on Mike. 
 
“Don’t worry Frank, our teacher, for one thing, will see you real clear and you’re not going to like what she has to say about your get up. You’re going to have to take all that grease off your face and let us all see that ugly mug of yours again!
 
That day Mike chose a picture from his scrapbook for the contest. It was one of his parents and sister eating lunch out on the field during harvest time. They were sitting on the back of their half ton truck tailgate, the dinner set up between them. Their combine stood in the background against the prairie sky. He thought it fit the theme pretty good. After a bit of added work here and there he handed it in to his teacher. This picture surprised her as she’d been watching him in class, working on the drawing of a horse. She pointed out some features of the work, complimenting him on his shading technique and so on. She also remarked on how it was just perfect for the theme of the contest. 
 
Mike appreciated her comments but was unsure about how to take them. Since hardly anyone else in the community ever encouraged or complimented him on his art, was she being truthful? Possibly she wasn’t lying, maybe she did not really know much about art and was just being nice. If he was actually that good, others outside of the school should also be noticing. It was all very confusing for Mike.
 
A week later his teacher announced the  winners from their school who would have their art entered into the provincial art contest. Mike’s was one of the three chosen for his grade category. His artwork had advanced to be in the provincial contest. 
  
Mike found it hard to celebrate because he was worried about his stolen piece of artwork.
 
Frank tried his best to encourage Mike. “Knock Knock," he said.
 
Mike tried to ignore him. "Hey, listen Mike, knock knock…” he insisted.

Mike groaned, “Who's there?” he said reluctantly.

“Avenue!”

 “Avenue who?”

 “Avenue heard the good news?” Frank yelled with glee!
 
“Awe shut up and go grease your face Frank," Mike could not help grinning, "that’s awful!"

(To be continued)

English Garden, Winnipeg MB
Photo by Cliff Derksen
September 2013

(Please note, faithful reader, to be true to the characters in this story I had to make some revisions to, last weeks instalment, the first of this series. My characters do sometimes distract me and I forget some story and character details. My apologies.)

That night, Mike could not get to sleep, his mind kept going round and round about his missing sketchbook. He was thinking about the many drawings, especially the “racy” one that no one should see. But there were others that would have worked so well for that crazy art contest theme, “Healthy Mind, Healthy Body.” He rolled over to his other side in frustration. He could not believe how life seemed to go against him sometimes. Here just when he actually had a few drawings an art contest comes up that fits exactly for the
stuff he’d done, except the whole lots gone missing, stolen, lost whatever. The more he thought about it the more resentful he felt. It was not fair. Life was not fair! 
 
He turned onto his back, stiffly looking straight up. He raised
his two fists into the air shaking them at God. “It’s not fair.” He exclaimed at the ceiling, covered with shadowy moonlight. He waited, but God did not seem to be saying anything and he let his fists fall to his sides in frustrated resignation. He turned onto his side mumbling about God not really caring about his problems after all.
 
The next morning he hung around by the front steps of the school
waiting for Frank. Frank never got to school early. He had a lot of brothers. In comparison, he only had one sister so he understood. Except, his one sister also took a lot more time to get ready for the day than he did. He could not imagine what it would be like if he had as many sisters as Frank had brothers. He figured then he would not get to school till noon!
 
Then Jason showed up with his two buddies. Mike knew that he only pretended to like him. He himself never seemed to do anything bad but he knew Jason always made his buddies do all the bad stuff for him. Today, the two bullies came up to the stairs ahead of Jason, pretending they did not see him and bumping into him on purpose, anyone could see that. “Oh, sorry we didn’t see you there, girlie artist.” After they were finished pushing him back and forth
between them, Jason came sauntering along. 
                 
“How’s the drawing for the art contest coming along?” he asked in a high voice sarcastically, “sucks when you’ve lost all your drawings and have to start over eh?” He paused. Mike just looked at him. He was not about to give him an answer, he wanted this conversation to be over as soon as possible. “Well, I hope you find it before the deadline comes!” He walked to the first step with a smirk on his face, all the while keeping his eyes on Mike as he went up the steps. Mike stared back saying nothing. He waited till they had all gone up the steps and into the school, then heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
Mike felt weird about those comments. How did Jason even know his pad had been lost? He did not think he’d told anyone that would be talking to a guy like Jason about it. Yes, that was
weird.
 
A few minutes later Frank arrived.
 
“Look at this.” Frank said in a whisper, once they were seated
alone along the edge of the schoolyard. “Close your eyes…close your eyes.” He whispered with urgency, waiting for Mike to do it. Mike just looked at him strangely, wondering if he wanted to play a trick on him, embarrass him somehow. He knew Frank, he sometimes liked to play tricks on you if he could. “Come-on, close your eyes already, I promise I won’t do anything to you.” He already had his hand in his jacket pocket impatiently waiting for Mike to co-operate. He closed his eyes.
 
He could hear Frank shuffling around with something, then mostly
silence. Just when he was thinking of the grasshopper sounds in the grass around him he heard Frank’s voice. “Ok you can open your eyes, what-do-ya-think?” 
 
When he opened his eyes, he was shocked because it seemed like
Frank had disappeared and someone else was sitting in front of him. Except he had Franks jacket on…then he could see the freckles on his chin and when he looked into the eyes he realized that it was still really Frank. He’d put on a black "Lone Ranger and Tonto" mask. “Wow Frank, that’s a great mask, you had me fooled there for a second, that’s for sure,” he explained. “But we have to talk about how we are going to find my scrapbook Frank…” his voice trailed off, wondering if Frank really wanted to do this thing at all.
 
“But that’s what this is for Mike, being a spy,” he rasped, excited, “If we wear this mask no one will know who we are and we’ll find your pictures in no time. Here I have another one for you too.” He dug into his pocket and dropped a second mask onto Mike’s
lap. We'll be like the Lone Ranger and solve the crime of the stolen sketchbook.
 
That’s what Mike loved about his friend, he could come up with
the greatest ideas and surprise everyone, even himself sometimes. In a few minutes Mike had his mask on and the two buddies were sneaking across the yard, running low, pausing every once in a while, crouching, looking around to make sure no one was seeing them, then springing up again running towards the school and their target, the boys cloak-room.
 
They spent the whole day, every recess, donning the masks and
hiding in and around the cloakroom. They crouched outside the doors, they stood motionless behind hanging jackets, they took turns lying under the benches behind boots and shoes. 
 
Any students who did see them, just ignored them, thinking of
them as crazy kids living in another world. No one cared or suspected anything about their real goals. The two spies had disguised themselves as kids at play with great success. 
 
Mike even forgot to take his mask off when the first period after
lunch started. Frank got his attention from his desk across the aisle motioning, trying to communicate the problem by holding up his hands to his face, his thumbs and fingers circling both his eyes. Mike understood instantly and ripped the mask off his head, shoving it out of sight into his desk.
 
It was so much fun “hiding” that they actually forgot why they
were doing it that whole first day. If felt good just to have fun. Mike forgot all about his “racy” picture and the “what ifs” should someone actually find it. It was good to forget about the whole sketchbook thing for a little while.
 
Having no success finding the sketchbook, he began a new drawing during the art classes leading up the deadline day. Two days before the deadline, when they had all but given up on any success in ever finding the sketchbook, they found themselves looking at it sticking out over the edge of the top hat shelf in the cloakroom. Frank pulled out the bench and Mike stepped up onto it reaching up to pull it off the shelf. He lifted it tenderly and slowly off the shelf, confirming it was his sketchbook as more of the pad
  revealed itself. Once he had it in his hands he turned it over and looked at the cover. He was now certain it was actually the one, it was his long lost sketchpad. He stood on the bench pressing it to his chest a huge sense of relief washing over him. 
 
Watching through the door from their hide-out in the girls cloak-room across the hall, Jason and his two bullies watched with
satisfaction. “Finally he whispered, we’re free and clear, hope that preachers kid enjoys that picture we gave him.”

"Yea, maybe he'll even learn something ha ha!" There were high fives all around. 
 
After a moment, Mike looking down at Frank whispered quietly,
“but is that racy drawing in here?” He jumped off the bench and both boys ran down the stairs, hit the landing, turned right and ran down the long length of stairs as fast as they could go, stumbling in their rush as they hit the basement floor. Then off to their spot behind the furnace. Both of them were breathing heavily as Mike opened the pad, paging through the drawings moving quickly from one pate to the other.  When he got to a blank page he knew the
truth. They sat looking at each other, Mike’s eyes wide. “It’s not there is it?” murmured Frank. Mike, began again, from the beginning, turning each page. When he reached the blank page he looked up slowly meeting Franks questioning gaze, “It’s not here Frank! Someone has taken out the one drawing I’m worried about.
  I’m so dead.” He groaned falling backwards against the furnace. It responded with a “bing.” He looked up heavenward in exasperation. “It's over, it's so over, uuuuuhhhhh!”
 
To be continued.
 
“Why, Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hid yourself in
times of trouble?”     Psalms 10:1

English Garden
Photo by Cliff Derksen, Winnipeg MB
Sept. 2013