Found

I’m Celeste Lesk. Try to say that fast three times. My friends call me ‘Cellesk’. This year has been tortuous for the following reasons: I lost my job (ok, not a great job, but a JOB that paid the rent and kept me in art supplies); I lost my car keys. Not a huge deal except my car had been stolen, I couldn’t make a claim without the keys on a liability only policy, blah-blah; this whole pandemic thing that keeps me from friends and family, making me want to curse at anyone I see without a mask; AND, I lost my sketchbook. That was the crowning touch for this rueful year. I just started sketching two years ago, disappearing into that sketchbook regularly; people, things, places, animals – whatever my heart tugs at my pencil to capture. It was mostly full, as were the four previous books. Full of memories, symbols, figurative thoughts. I don’t take pictures with my phone any more, mostly because I’ve lost two phones (yes, there is a pattern of “loss” in my life), much preferring to capture what my eyes were seeing with a pencil.

On the day I lost my book, I had gone to my park to get away from my roommates Dana and Troy and whoever the hell they had over to binge watch whatever-the-hell it was between beers. The house was a petri dish of infection to me. Always with friends of Dana or Troy, even friends of those friends. I set about loosening the muscles in my neck and peeled open my sketchbook. The park had an assortment of joggers, parents-n-kids, a few couples. I did quick sketches of their eyes, or hands, or what I imagined their expression might be since they were mostly all wearing masks. I turned around on the bench I had claimed, my glance landing on one of the few people not wearing a mask. She was reading a book. Making wonderfully expressive faces as she obviously enjoyed the passages. Her face took me on a roller coaster of emotions from knitted eyebrows of pensive focus, to wide eyes with worried lips parted holding her breath, to contagious grins with her head rolled back in relief as the plot took an evident turn for the better. I sketched hurriedly, trying to capture at least one of these extraordinary facial moments before she turned a page and I had to start over. There were eight sketches in my book by the time she glanced at her phone, redonned her mask and left the park.

The wind had been picking up and I needed to continue looking for a job. About two blocks from home, I shifted my bag from one shoulder to the other and stopped suddenly, abruptly getting rear-ended by the snout of a labradoodle and his owner. Just the labradoodle’s snout, not his human, who barely glanced up from his phone. I realized my bag felt wrong. Lighter than it should. Yep. My sketchbook was gone! “Outstanding, Cellesk!” I sarcastically barked and hurried back to the park. I was frantic. Looking everywhere, realizing I didn’t have my contact info in the book. I began sobbing under the cumulative burden of everything that kept going wrong; digging in a trash can with two fingers, trying not to touch anything while I was, of course, touching everything. My tears soaking into the top of my mask, which was thankfully covering the runny nose from my cry. A voice startled me. I spun round to see a masked man, collar turned up, cap way down, and I shrieked. His eyes widened as he moved to assure me he wasn’t going to pummel me to death with the … WITH THE BLACK BOOK HE WAS HOLDING! MY BOOK! I stepped to him and then we jerked, both repelling in that “yeegawds-we’re-closer-than-6-feet” terror and then we both laughed, relieved, and started talking at the same time. We never really stopped talking over each other as I gushed appreciation and his joy he found who it belonged to. When we finally hit silence, he extended the book to return to me, then pulled back and said “Wait!” Here it comes. The demand for ransom and me with no cash! Could I take this man, grab my book, get away safely? So much went through my mind in less than a second that I hadn’t focused on what he was saying. “Did you do these today?” He opened to the last pages of the lovely bookworm on a bench. “Yes! I did those just a while ago, then promptly lost my book!” He shook his head, gently stepped in to me with the book extended, pointed to one of the drawings. “I’m pretty sure this is my wife! She was here today. Actually, she was waiting for me…” He sped through their missed connection and his hoping to catch her on his way to the park. Finally, he took a breath. “…and I saw this book on the ground. It’s a nice book, looked like something “important” – picked it up and opened to a drawing of Nell! Kinda freaked me out! Then I saw you digging in a trash can, crying – put 2 and 2…. Well – here!” He again paused for a breath, then handed me the book and stepped back. I gushed thanks for rescuing my book, then we wished each other well, laughed again at the events and turned to leave. I was stopped by his voice. He trotted back and cocked his head as his ideas formed. “Would you, … is there any way…. Would you let me have those?” Was this sudden discomfort at the likenesses of his wife in a stranger’s possession? I assured him I would never publish the drawings, but he interrupted to clarify he wanted to BUY the drawings – a unique gift for his wife. “They’re really good! I mean INCREDIBLY good! You really… captured her. She would love those. I love those!” My mind was fluttering, misfiring, taking forever to sputter an agreeable “Yeah! Sure!” We arranged to meet at the same spot the next day, since he didn’t have a careful way to carry them without bending or damaging them. He stuffed his hands up to his elbows in his pockets, rolled back on his heels, nodded like he had just scored tickets to – well, to something that tickets are hard to get for – and I could tell he was grinning under his mask. I sure was! He said a very sincere “thank you” then we parted, and I was so happy that someone was actually impressed by my sketches – wanted to BUY them! OH! But for how much!?? That wasn’t discussed. I readily determined it really didn’t matter. I figured he would make an offer tomorrow and I would be thrilled with whatever sum he felt compelled to give.

The next day, the man and his “Nell” were sitting on the bookworm’s bench. He promptly stood and stuck out a hand, then a clumsy elbow, then just laughed and said “Shake – shake!” We considered hands shook and he explained he brought his wife for a more impromptu surprise. I pulled the small folio from my bag with the sketches, carefully removed from my book and tucked safely inside. He thanked me then turned to his wife and introduced his gift. She opened the folio and it took a moment to register what she was seeing. Both he and I began explaining how the drawings came to be in her hands and her eyes misted over in happiness and disbelief. Her husband hugged her and wished her happy “meet-iversary” as they had met in this same park. He thought it astounding to have her captured so wonderfully in these drawings, in their park. She apologized for crying – I calmed her by making a joke about how great masks were for hiding a runny, cry-nose – we all laughed and then we set about introductions. Nell and Josh Nelson gave a brief history of their new marriage, a joke about ‘Nell Nelson’ and then both she and I said together “Try saying that fast three times!” Still laughing, I gave my name, Celeste Lesk, better known as Cellesk to my friends and…. I didn’t have a chance to continue – stopped by the gasp and huge eyes of Nell, who then asked me if I knew Bart Moine? I snort-laughed, and replied “Jeesh, YES!”, and shared a rapid-fire flood of sudden memories of my college sweetheart, who had moved for a job opportunity right after graduation, how we just couldn’t get that long-distance thing to work for us, then froze on the realization she knew Bart. I slowed to ask how she knew Bart? “Did you ever meet his family?” Nell asked in a sarcastic voice. “Just once at graduation – they came down from Toronto and we….” My voice trailed off as Nell stepped back a couple of feet and popped off her mask, pointing at her own grinning face. “Nell. Nell Moine. Bart’s sister!” We laughed through memories of meeting Bart’s family at the graduation, Bart tripping on the stairs up to the platform, total disbelief at this moment of kismet, all while Josh ping-ponged between Nell’s and my reunion. “OHMYGOODNESS! Bart is here! I mean in town right now and we’re going to dinner tonight!” Nell blurted as she made a ‘whattdya-think-bout-that?’ face. Bart. Here. “Wha? With his…family…..or something….?” I tried to form a sentence, but only stammered through my bad attempt to determine if he was still single. Nell’s grin widened as she replied “Nope. All by his lonesome. Just the Bartster. He’s coming for a meeting. Something for his company on Monday. And you’re coming with us! I mean, will you come with us? Can you? Tonight?” Josh finally had an opportunity to edge in a word and added “I could pay you for the sketches then!”. Nell leaned into Josh and they both grinned at me – Josh laughed and popped his mask off to display they were both making the same face with their arms crossed, awaiting my response. “I could do that.” I grinned. “To get paid. For the sketches.” Nell explained it was a patio and everything would be socially distanced, then comically growled “But maybe you won’t WANT to socially distance, if you know what I mean!” We parted, and I don’t really remember going home to primp and change. Bart! Really?? Did this year just get better?

The dinner was truly dreamy. Catching up with Bart, retelling stories, the four of us laughing. Then Nell, with her amazing expressive face, stopped and said “BART! You should use Celeste for the lobby displays for your company! You saw the sketches she did of me! Cellesk, show him your sketchbook!” Bart laughed and said “Oh, yes! Please show me your etchings!” We laughed, leafed through my sketchbook, he told me more about his company. I told him everything I had lost since graduation. He laughed, remembering my penchant for losing things. He touched my hand and shifted the conversation: “I’ve always hated that I ‘lost’ you.” We went from laughing to silent stares. We left the restaurant bade our slow farewells and thankfully made plans to get together again. I jumped when he cried “Let me take your sketchbook with me to pitch my co-owner! I would love to hire you.” I was again baffled that anyone appreciated my work at all. He added “…and the gig would pay $20,000 with rights to all the art.” I choked “Yeah, you can take the book!”

Of course, the book was not in my bag. “Moine, have you seen my sketchbook? We had it at the table!” We jogged back to the restaurant to search. We bumped heads under the table where we had been seated, locked on each other’s eyes and broke into laughter. Me losing things. Again. But finding each other. Again.