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

It turned out to be a very different Friday. 
 
Mike had just settled into his desk in the one room prairie school-house he’d attended since grade one. It was the middle of September, and he felt like he was beginning to feel settled into his new grade, grade five. His best grade had been grade one, because then he had sat next to the windows of the huge classroom. Now, four grades later, he was in the middle of the room and the windows seemed a long way off. But, they were huge and so he could still enjoy the prairie sky, the ever changing clouds and the vastness of the universe.
 
But on this morning, he didn’t need to wait for the teacher to get to his grade before actually paying attention to her. He was brought out of his window watching with a start, for he suddenly heard the
words, “art contest!”
 
His body jerked into an upright position in his desk, his head snapping toward the teacher, eyes and ears riveted. He was not sure if he’d heard everything but she mentioned that the theme was healthy bodies….she repeated herself for emphasis, “Remember, everyone, the theme is ‘healthy minds, healthy bodies’.”
 
Immediately, he went into overdrive. He began flipping through his mind, seeing pictures relating to minds and bodies…healthy ones. Very healthy ones. Meanwhile, he could hear the teachers voice in the distance giving details like giving details, like the grade categories, his being grades four to six. ….Hmmmm healthy bodies….images came and went. Then he heard that October 30th was the deadline and all had to have their artwork handed in by that date. Oh, and also one per student.
 
There was more, but her voice disappeared completely when suddenly the image of his picture he’d made of a woman which had been inspired by what he’d seen through the mirror, while trapped under his mother’s bed. It was his best work, but he realized of course that this was a drawing he could never use for the contest. Whenever he thought about it, his pain returned. He still wondered where it was, who had it and where would it show up and embarrass him to no end. End his life as he knew it. 

But there were other works of art in the sketchbook which he could use for the  contest. Perfect for the theme. It had gone down the row of boys in the pew and disappeared! Drawings, perfect for this contest had been in that sketchbook. For all he knew it was probably destroyed by now. He could see it, ruined in some garbage dump. For the fact was that if anyone like a pastor or janitor from the church had found it, that’s where it would go, he was sure!
 
“What if it’s not “lost”! What if one of the guys still has it!” he whispered to himself. He turned sideways in his seat facing his best friend Frank across the isle, he whispered, “We have to talk,”
motioning for him to come as he rose walking down the isle as if he had to go to the bathroom. Frank understood, counted thirty seconds and also left, crouching a bit so it looked like he really had to go badly.
 
When Mike, waiting in the basement saw him coming down the steps he led him into a cramped hiding space behind the furnace. When they had squeezed themselves in Mike began, “Do you think one of the guys has my sketchbook?” he blurted out in a whisper. 
 
“What do you mean?” Frank blurted out. “Shhhhh…”hissed Mike, “I mean the the sketchbook that got lost at the church. I think maybe it wasn’t lost, I think it might have been stolen and that
one of the guys still has it!”
 
“Wow, that’s so great, let’s just ask him for it and he’ll give it you you….” His whisper faded away to nothing. Mike just looked at him with that look of “Can you hear yourself…do you know what you’re
saying?” But of course he said all that, just by looking at his buddy.

“Yea, you’re right Mike, by the way I do have an idea, let’s start with the guys that sat at the far end of the pew, beat every one of them up, one after another and the guilty guy will confess!” he broke into a snicker!
 
Mike cracked up, convulsing in squelched laughter, losing his balance. Crouched in the cramped space he fell against the side of the furnace. The metal gave way bending with a dull bong, but when he regained his balance taking his weight off the tin it came back with a loud “twang” which seemed to reverberate through the whole building. They both gasped waiting in silence for what might happen next. They could hear the teacher voice go on upstairs. Their smiles and laughter returned.  
 
“You better get back up there.” Frank whispered as they began inching their way out from behind the furnace. “We have to make a plan,” Mike said straightening up, “Let’s talk Sunday when you come over, ok?”
 
“OK”. 
 
Mike hurried back up the stairs.
 
More often than not, their two families visited one another on Sunday afternoons. Mike and Frank were third cousins, so it made sense that their parents would spend time together. On this particular Sunday Frank and his parents ended up at Mikes place.
 
After lunch, Mike decided that since they had to talk, they would go to a private place behind the barn. Frank had been here before and could not wait because he know this was where Mike stashed his
home made swords and they could practice sword fighting without being found out. The swords were not really swords, but metal piping Mike had found in the blacksmith shop one day. Mike had spirited them away to this hiding place. Then he’d persuaded his sister Geraldine to join him in the art of sword fighting. Of course, in a few minutes he learned that their hands were vulnerable, so to make sure Geraldine would continue the “sword play” game with him he had “borrowed” some work gloves to provide protection for their hands. 
 
In a few minutes they had their protective gloves on and were facing each other, swords crossed. 
 
“So, Mr. Samurai warrior,” said Frank smiling, rattling his sword against Mikes, “How are we going to find your thief and get that sketchbook back?” He lunged forward, their swords screeching
against each other. They stood chest to chest their swords crossing in front of their faces. 
 
Mike pushed off, they separated now circling, swords tapping. “We are going to be spies,” he said in a horse whisper. “We will check each cloakroom every day and eyeball each pile of books, check every bag, look under any coats, to see if someone tries to bring it to school secretly!” With that Mike made a move, attempting to swing his sword down and touch Frank’s thigh with it. Frank arched his hips away to the right, lowering and angling his sword down to stop Mikes swinging motion, the swords clanging together. Frank raised his carrying Mikes weapon up and they faced each other again swords crossed, breathing hard.
 
“Like the ‘Man Against Crime’ spy guy on TV who never carries a gun?” Frank asked. Mike extended his arm and sword, taking a
few quick steps towards his opponent.  Frank mimicked his move, stepping back exactly the same number of steps. They did this a few times, like linked dancers, back and forth, always staying the same distance away from one another, their swords tapping and scraping together. 
  
Then Frank just ran at Mike, sword  extended. Mike backed up, jumped sideways to the right, raising the tip of his sword and pushing Frank’s sword out of the way to the left as he run by him. “Exactly,” he said, “we will be undercover secret agents, and no one will be the wiser!”
 
They heard Mike’s mother calling them in for desert. They needed no second call, stashing their weapons they were on their way, playfully pushing each other’s shoulders as they went.

To be continued.

 “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone.”    Roman’s 12:17

Photo by Cliff Derksen - English Gardens
Winnipeg MB  September 2013

Doll snorted as Mike jerked the reins, bringing her head up from grazing alongside the bush they were hiding in. Mike's plan for escaping the embarrassment of his  friends seeing him ride a horse with blinders on, was to wait till the first  bell had rung and the kids were all inside the school building. He felt quite  smug as he watched the kids move off the yard and into the one room school  house. It was time to go. By the time he got there, they'd be inside.

He entered the yard, passing a knot of parents talking. Being the first day of school, a lot of parents who had first graders had descended onto the schoolyard bringing their kids to school. By this time though most of them had left and no one really noticed him. He crossed the yard, and as he neared the barn passed an assortment of buggy's and waggons standing around. He stopped in front of the open barn door, Doll snorting and neighing in response to the horses already in the barn. 

He concentrated on making sure he had a good grip on the reins as he led his horse between the two rows of horses on each side. He tied his horse on in an empty stall, removed the offensive bridal and hung it on a hook as he left the barn. He was now thinking of how he'd get off the yard without his buddies seeing this bridal with the blinkers on it. He could just imagine the laughter, the scorn and the finger pointing. 

With lunch-pail in hand he walked towards the one-room school.  

Upon entering the building through the huge double doors, he was hit with the very familiar smells of chalk, books and old wood. Memories of grade one assailed him and he was glad he was back. He hung his jacket on the lower row of hooks alongside multicolored rows of kids coats.  

He paused before he entered the large classroom of about thirty kids. He could hear the teacher going through the role-call, moving from one grade to the next. He wondered if his name had already been called. He could see the huge furnace vent at the back of the room and some of the older kids in the last rows near his door. A few of them saw him, snickering... one of them whispering, "You’re late!"
 
He knew, from last year that the grade ones sat right along the far wall from where he was standing. The grade two's would be next to them. Suddenly he remembered he'd know them from last year so would know where to sit. Unfortunately, he'd have to walk right across the whole room to get there.  

The teacher, caught sight of him skulking along halfway across the back of the room turned out to be very nice. She was new and was trying to get to know each student as quickly as possible. She seemed very attentive and interested, asking questions and talking the whole time as she settled him into a desk in the grade two section. She'd placed a reader before him to read as she finished going on through the names of the higher grades.
 
Mike relaxed, enjoying the huge class-room. The thing he liked best about it was the blackboard. This was no ordinary blackboard. He had one at home in the house, which his dad had put up for him to do homework on. But, mostly he drew pictures on it. Also, it was small. This one was huge. As high as the teacher could reach when she stood on her toes, and stretched across the whole front of the room, passed behind the teacher's desk and on. It turned the corner at the far side and went along the next wall, past the girl’s cloakroom door, going on till the boys cloakroom door he'd just entered at the end of the wall. 

He loved this backboard. Last year he'd been asked to draw Christmas decorations for the Christmas program the school put on for the parents. He'd used coloured chalk to draw Christmas candles on the blackboard. He remembered he'd been given large sheets of paper to draw the candles on that first, with his pencil. Then the teacher had suggested poking holes through the paper along the lines, which was then used as a stencil for each candle. He remembered holding the paper against the blackboard and tapping the brush over the holes, chalk dust rising in the air around him. When the paper was removed, the dust having gone
through the holes revealed the whole candle....

He jolted upright in his chair as a new thought splashed across his mind. Later, he would remember the experience, likening it to seeing a sudden, surprising bolt of lightning in the night sky. Like the whole bolt, every aspect of it. All the branches of it, even the glow of light on the clouds around it, everything. 
 
For the rest of the day, Mike disappeared. I mean, at recess. He was there for every class, intense and excited. But for recess, he was gone. No one asked for him and no one noticed. 

At three-thirty pm the school bell rang announcing the end of the school day. Mike was strangely relaxed considering his concerns of the morning. It was like he'd forgotten all about his anxiety about the bridle with the blinders. 

He chatted with the guys as they made their way across the yard to the barn. They would all now hitch up or mount their horses and be on their way home. Mike could not help but smile as he put the bridle with the blinkers on his horse in the stall. He mounted using the stall wall and burst out of the barn door, leaning back in his saddle, working the reins trying to keep the eager, cooped up Doll under control.  

Every horse was always excited to get home after a day in the barn, this was no surprise. But each of his friends stopped what they were doing as their off-hand glances towards him struggling, turned into stunned stairs and then outright laughter and general excitement. Kids began to run and call ahead as he moved along.  Everyone began to crowd around to get a better look. By the time he went past the school building on his way to the driveway, the new teacher was standing on the steps watching as he went by. She laughed and waved. He tried to respond with a wave but ended up with a half panic wave, as his hands were full trying to control his horse, keeping her moving slow enough, so kids could keep up admiring the blinkers on his horse!  

"Be careful Mike," he heard her call. He nodded and smiled broadly as he relaxed the reins, letting his horse break into an eager gallop home as he exited the yard.
 
All the way home Mike replayed the drama in his mind. How he’d pocketed the tin of paints and brushes. How he’d emptied a tin holding coloured pencils, laying them down neatly where the tin had stood. Then stopping to fill the tin with water at the pump outside on his way to the barn. There, in the middle of the isle, he planted himself on the floor with his bridal and the paints. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, so began immediately covering the very black blinkers on both sides with several coats of white paint as a background. He had not finished his work when the bell rang at the end of the lunch hour. 
 
He'd been so immersed in his work, he'd forgotten all about lunch. It wasn't until he went to the barn again during the afternoon recess that his stomach reminded him he was  hungry. He actually bit into a sandwich, but again in his rush to finish before the end of recess, forgot all about eating. 
 
He’d finished the one blinker during the noon hour, so now all he needed to do was finish the other one. Since he’d done the background at noon all he had to do now was paint the large eye in bright blue, outlined in black, on both sides. When he’d finished that and the bell had not yet rung, he had, as an afterthought added long generous eyelashes on each of the four eyes.

He knew he’d have to explain all of this to his dad. What he would think about it, he had no idea. All he knew was he’d changed something embarrassing into something funny. Exciting even. Everyone had loved it. He decided it had been worth it and was willing to pay the price, whatever that might be. 
 
His heart was bursting and he just could not stop smiling all the way home. His horse apparently felt the same as he did, moving along at a steady trot all the way home, not even thinking about stopping to graze anywhere all the way home.

 "So Mike, tell me about the blinkers." his father said, as they were putting feed into the troughs for the milk-cows that evening. 

"The lamp of the body is the eye, Therefore when your eye is good, your body also is full of light."       Luke 11:34