Sketches

The bus stop was full today. A group of college kids must have just gotten out of class. It usually was empty this early in the afternoon. The emptiness had been the reason why Sam had often chosen this spot for his break or for when he got out of work. He waited for the youngsters to get on the bus; and once they did, he stepped over to the bench and had a seat.

Samuel Wiseman gazed out at the cars that passed and at the park across the street where businesspeople and future doctors spent their own breaks. He once had stories for all of them, sketches of all of them.

But they had outgrown his art in their ambitions.

He glanced away from them, reaching for his phone so that he could busy and quiet his mind with the latest videos on his multiple feeds. As he took hold of it, his eye's periphery caught the motion of someone sitting beside him. He paused in his actions, quietly peeking over. A boy around fifteen or sixteen sat beside him in jeans, a t-shirt with a blue graphic on it, and headphones wrapped around his neck instead of around his ears. On his lap was a green folder of some kind: a folder covered by the newcomer's arms.

Sam stared at the teen a moment, almost chuckling at what he saw. He shook his head and parted his lips, mindlessly setting his attention ahead again. "I used to have a shirt like that—Mohawk Rockstar Cat."

The boy peered down at his t-shirt as though confirming the image described by the man. "Yeah, it's so vintage," he said, turning his head to the other. "My dad said it used to be a pretty badass cartoon."

Sam did let out a small chuckle this time. "I think I saw pieces of an episode, but the posters and merch were everywhere. I liked his image and the songs he'd sing. My sister and I would pretend to be in a band while jamming out."

"Holy shit, that's what me and my sister did too!" The boy cleared his throat at the language. "Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We did it outside once, and one of the neighbors threw a shoe over the fence to get us to shut up."

Sam turned to him with a partial smile and a raised eyebrow. He took a good look at the kid and was about to ask something, but instead, he cleared his throat. "Where you headed? Don't think I've seen you around here before."

"Rafael's Art Academy. One of the teachers saw my work at the theater around that way. She gave me a call, asking if I was interested in attending. You bet I was interested, so I told her yeah. We scheduled a time to meet, and she told me to bring in my best work. If she likes it, I get to meet Rafael himself!"

Sam let the boy's words settle in his mind for a moment. The energy and excitement and over-explaining reminded him of someone, but he couldn't recall who. "I should have figured you were an artist." He peeked down at the folder. "You mind showing me a couple of your pieces?"

The teenager rubbed the back of his neck again, putting on a shy smile. "Yeah," he said, stretching out the word. "I'll show you." He opened up the folder and pulled out the first piece: a sketch of a man playing fetch with his dog on a lakeshore.

Sam studied the image, lips parting shortly after. "Most people would think this should be in watercolor instead of charcoal. You must have chosen that medium for a purpose."

The boy chuckled. "Yeah, a lot of people've asked me why I didn't do it in color. It was a cloudy day, and if you see the position of this guy as he's throwing the stick: it's almost as if he wants the dog to get away from him instead of bringing back the stick. Like he's running away from happiness."

Sam raised another eyebrow. "Kind of deep there." He released an amused breath. "I like it though. Because of that deepness, something tells me you've got a watercolor in that folder somewhere for contrast. Instead of it reflecting happiness though, it probably reflects the anticipation of it."

Soft laughter left the youngster this time. "Only another artist would come up with something like that." He set his charcoal sketch back in the folder. "You're right though. It's one I called 'Waiting'."

Another humored breath exited Sam's lips. He turned and faced forward again. "Not an artist," he stated. "I just...used to be into it. When I got my first job, I did little doodles here and there as a hobby. People-watching always inspired me. Art schools didn't care for my drawings though, so I ended up majoring in art history just to have a degree. Not doing much with it at my accounting job though." He chuckled mirthlessly.

No...he wasn't doing much of anything. He just passed through life, existing, distracting himself from existing with TV, social media, and random videos.

The teen stared at him a moment. He had already received one rejection from an art school. What if Rafael's said 'no' to him too? He chose not to think on that. Instead, he said, "Sorry to hear that. I'm sure it'll get better."

Something Sam used to say to others too. How funny this conversation was.

He exchanged glances with the youngster. "You actually reminded me a lot of what I used to do. I hadn't thought of my drawings in...pfft...over a decade." He smiled a bit, thinking over how he was probably going to go home and search for his old artwork and probably reflect on how excited it all used to make him. He remembered telling everyone that they would see his work in a museum one day.

"Maybe thinking of them will inspire you again," the teen said in reference to the man's drawings. "There's a lot of ways to get them seen now."

Sam nodded slowly, a sense of déjà vu coming over him. Nowadays, people posted their work on social media, and many even got paid for it. The thought had never come to him until now, despite having seen plenty of artwork online.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "That's true. Maybe I'll take a look." He gave a partial smile. "Listen though, I gotta go. It was nice talking to you. Good luck on the interview. Hopefully it goes well with Rafael the Ninja Turtle."

The teen laughed. "That's what I think too when I see his name. I wonder if he's named after the turtle or the artist." Another few chuckles escaped him. "Anyway, take care. Nice talking to you too. And thanks"

Sam stood, put his hands in his pockets, and glanced down at the other. "I have a feeling you're gonna do okay. This is probably a dream for you, huh?"

"Definitely. Been dreaming about it since I was eight years old!"

Sam nodded. "Whatever happens...don't let your eight-year-old self down..." He held the teen's green gaze a moment before turning and walking down the sidewalk and away from the bus stop. His own emerald eyes scanned the people and views in front of him. If he had his old headphones, he would have unwrapped them from his neck and placed them over his head to silence his surroundings. So many ideas running through his head in regards to what he might first digitally draw and post on social media. For fun of course.

Yeah...for fun. At least for now.

The teenager briefly watched the man leave: a man he felt he had always known but didn't know at the same time. No, he couldn't have known him because he had never seen him before. He was more excited now though after having spoken about art and Mohawk Rockstar Cat. He released a breath of anticipation as he awaited the bus, looking down at the top of his folder. It was a folder that had a sticker that read:

"Art Portfolio by Samuel Wiseman, 1989."