Learning To Draw

Danielle rode her bike from La Jolla to Mission Beach. A trip she often took since starting at the University of California San Diego a few years ago. The short bike ride went by quicker today for Danielle, and the gorgeous view of the Pacific ocean felt a little muted. It was still early morning as she pulled up to Mission Beach. The boardwalk already had an electric excitement in the air, but that too was lost on Danielle now. She stopped her bike by a bakery with a green staircase that led up to a studio apartment. This apartment, directly above the bakery, was where her uncle had lived. Leaning her bike against the railing, Danielle took a deep breath, the salty smell of the beach mixed perfectly with that of freshly baked bread. Going up the stairs, she let her left hand glide across the railing.

"Ouch," she said, jerking her hand back. She frowned as she pulled out a splinter from her middle finger that looked like a chip of old paint. She rubbed her finger for a moment and then hit the railing with the palm of her hand. The bang made a noise much louder than she intended, causing her to laugh for a moment and forget the heaviness in her chest. She continued up the stairs and opened the door. The bike ride over here and the warm morning made her t-shirt stick to her back. She suddenly had the urge for an iced coffee.

"Iced coffees are old news," said Aaron, "but I make them better than anywhere else in California." Aaron paced around the apartment, talking with his hands as if addressing a larger crowd. Danielle was leaned over a small black book drawing, not looking up. Aaron stopped walking around the room when the kettle went off and turned back to the kitchenette. This area was divided from the rest of the studio by a built-in counter that doubled as a table. On the other side of the counter was a few barstools, where Danielle sat drawing. It was a cramped but lovely apartment. Aaron grabbed a brown bag of coffee beans, poured a few in a hand grinder, and made enough grounds to fill half a coffee filter. He then put the filter in a cone-shaped funnel and placed it above a carafe full of ice. He then poured the boiling water from the kettle onto the grounds to drip into the carafe with ice. "The Japanese have been making ice coffees like this since the Meiji era, the late 19th century," said Aaron pouring Danielle a glass. He leaned over, interrupting her drawing - sliding the black book over to his side of the counter. It was a portrait of her dad Jack, his brother, working on a truck. "Now, that is a nice portrait," he said, flashing Danielle what she thought was the best smile in the world. That scene took place only a month ago. Here now in 1981, in the middle of July, she stood in the apartment alone. The juxtaposition of current sadness and all the joy she had here was enough to make Danielle feel slightly sick. Next to the kitchenette and the counter where she would draw, a massive bookcase took up the rest of that side of the room. The bookcase was full of novels, records, knickknacks and memorabilia. There was a stand opposite the bookcase where a record player sat. A cabinet and a couple of seabags kept the rest of her uncle’s belongings and clothing. The studio also had a tiny bathroom - which she never saw dirty. The bed in the corner was still made, with an extra blanket folded nicely on top of it. This place was full of stuff, warm, and meticulously clean - giving the impression that the person who lived here enjoyed it. Danielle walked in slowly and closed the door behind her. There were two big bay windows on both sides of the room, facing out to the rest of the boardwalk. The sun came in so brightly as Danielle walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was nothing much in there but a few cans of beer. She took one, opened it, had a long drink and then sat down on a barstool. The counter was empty besides a neat stack of small black books, full of years worth of doodles, drawings, and illustrations. She picked up the book on top and thumbed through it. Danielle and her uncle always shared one of these black books. A pastime they had since Danielle was younger. Danielle finished the beer quickly and looked through the books. Then all of a sudden, she started to cry, a big deep cry. The week before, Aaron had died of a heart attack, right after playing a set in a club. He was only 49, and something swiftly and almost pedestrian took him away.

***

Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly between his teeth. He backed his truck with a trailer attached gradually as close as he could to the green staircase of the bakery, trying to maneuver between the few cars and even more people walking around. Happy with his parking job, Jack let out a sigh of relief and turned the ignition off. He wondered how much packing and cleaning Danielle had finished as he unbuckled his seatbelt. Not rushing to get out of his truck, Jack leaned over and opened his glove compartment, taking out a piece of candy. He unwrapped the candy absentmindedly and popped it in his mouth, then leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He could not believe that his brother was gone. The past week did not even feel real, and the funeral that just happened offered no resignation to losing Aaron. Jack stretched his left arm out the window of his truck and let out a forced yawn.

"Nope, not ready yet," Jack said out loud. He had never been here to his brother's apartment. He was shy of visiting Aaron here, even though they were closer than most brothers. Now that Aaron was gone, there was now this large vacuum for him and Danielle. Jack leaned his head back and closed his eyes, half waiting for Danielle to spy him from the window and fetch him. He did not want to go up to his brother's apartment; instead, he paused to think about Aaron. Jack and Aaron left their hometown in Nevada during the Korean war to join the Navy. After the war, Jack left the Navy first when his enlistment was up. He stayed in California, the place his ship was stationed but moved to Las Mesa. There Jack fell in love with Danielle's mother, married and worked as a repairman. That time was comfortable for Jack, a world bound to rules he understood. A few years later, Aaron left the Navy but stayed in San Diego, moving to Mission Beach - where the joyful spirit of the boardwalk made him feel at home. Then when Danielle was three, Jack's wife died unexpectedly in a car wreck, changing the lives of Jack, Danielle and even Aaron. Before Jack's wife died, Aaron worked as a cartoonist for a few local newspapers and supplemented his income by playing piano in neighbouring bars; but, when Jack's wife died, he moved in during the week to help take care of Jack and Danielle. Aaron would do most of the shopping, cooking meals, cleaning, laundry, and later help Danielle with her homework. Jack would see Aaron work on his comic strips at the dinner table and often tried to convince his brother to move in full time and find a better career. Aaron would always smile and say he was happy, happy with the life he lived. Aaron would stay with Danielle and Jack during the week but take off back to Mission Beach on the weekend, playing any piano gig that would come his way. That was how the three of them lived until it was time for Danielle to go off to college.

"Enough of this," said Jack to himself, rolling up the window and getting out of his truck. As he climbed the green staircase leading up to Aaron's apartment, he paused. Jack took a knife out of his back pocket, flicked it open and scrapped the railing with the backside of the blade. Someone needs to redo these stairs, thought Jack, as he watched flecks of paint and rust chip off. He folded the knife close and put it back into his pocket, continued up the stairs and opened the door. There was his daughter asleep at the counter with her head in her arms. He walked in quietly, taking off his boots and putting them by the door. He walked towards where Danielle was sleeping and picked up one of the black books opened around her. On the page was a picture of Danielle smiling on her bicycle. The style of drawing was Aaron's. Jack gently tore the drawing out of the book, folded it nicely and put it in his shirt pocket. He then laid the book down on top of the stack of others. Jack had watched them draw together for years, in front of the television at night or even during the rare family road trip back to Nevada. He was a little jealous over the hobby his brother and daughter shared but never said anything negative about it. Jack reached down and ruffled Danielle's hair gently. "Wake up baby," said Jack.

"Hey, Dad," said Danielle, rubbing her eyes.

"Is there any more of this," asked Jack, picking up the empty beer can and shaking it.

"In the fridge," said Danielle. Jack helped himself to a beer and rummaged around the room.

"He had a nice place here," said Jack.

"Yes, he did," replied Danielle.

"Dad, I want to talk about something," said Danielle standing up off the barstool, "I want to change my major from economics to visual arts." Jack frowned for a moment and then stopped to look out the window.

"You are almost finished with school, baby," Jack replied.

"I know, and I know you worked so hard to save money for school, but that program is not for me," continued Danielle, "I am going to get a part-time job to pay for the rest of school and take out a student loan." Jack rubbed his forehead and then reached into his pocket to pull out an envelope.

"If that is how you feel, I can still pitch in some more, but we should let your Uncle help out too," said Jack, handing Danielle the envelope.

"What do you mean," asked Danielle, opening the envelope, "Oh my God." Danielle covered her mouth with one hand and tried her hardest not to start crying again; in her other hand was a twenty thousand dollar check.

"That is from his life insurance policy; he left that for you," said Jack. Jack then walked over and hugged Danielle, squeezing her tight for a moment and then letting her go. He then walked over to the counter and picked up one of the black books again.

"Hey, this is a picture of me," said Jack, smiling.

"Yeah, that is you," said Danielle, choking back tears and smiling back.

"You know Danielle," said Jack, "your inheritance from your Uncle is more than that money - it is also in these books and drawings you did together."

"He left me a lot," said Danielle, walking back over to the counter and stacking the books up neatly. Jack reached over and picked up one of the books.

“Let me hold on to one of these, and try my hand at it,” said Jack.

“You are going to draw Dad?” asked Danielle, surprised.

“Yeah, if you are willing to give me some pointers,” Jack replied.

“Sounds wonderful,” said Danielle.