Pen to the Page

Pen tore the sketch from her book, hating what she saw. Her teacher, Professor Gunner’s voice continued to ring in her ears.

“Your work is bland and uninteresting. Don’t bring me something unless it has something to say.”

Pen brushed an angry tear aside. She was angry. Definitely angry. Not defeated, not depressed, and definitely not thinking that she should give up on the only thing that gave her any peace, the only thing that made sense, that helped her to cope through all the mess that her life had always been. No, she was definitely not feeling the wave of hopelessness overcome her. No, she was angry. Pen scrubbed her cheeks, trying to erase the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. But she couldn’t sketch. Couldn’t imagine her next piece. Her entire career, all the art she had ever created and all she had ever dreamed of creating had now become a wasteland. Pen flung her sketchbook from her. She couldn’t work in this condition. She needed to clear the air. A good long walk would help to sort her thoughts out and then, well, and then she could decide the rest of her life.

Pen stepped out from her tiny apartment and out onto the street. A light mist had started and Pen squinted up at the clouds, her hand out to test the rain. Deciding the light mist might help her mood, Pen decided to leave her umbrella and let the mist coat her hair and jacket. She shoved her hands into her pockets and began to walk. The blocks passed quickly until Pen found herself at the water’s edge. A pathway with a strip of green abutted the water and Pen felt the misty wind brush through her hair as her walk continued. The wind picked up and soon the slight mist turned to a steady rain. Pen crossed back to the neighborhood of houses as the steady rain became a downpour. Pen was soaked in seconds and began to run home. Pen darted across the street and a car horn blared at her. She jumped out of the way and the driver rolled down his window to yell as he passed by her. Her heart thudding in her chest, Pen checked the street and when she was sure it was clear, she crossed over.

On the other side of the street were small, local businesses and a woman came out of one, a tea shop if Pen recalled, umbrella in hand.

“I saw that car almost hit you!” the woman said by way of greeting and shared her umbrella with Pen. Pen nodded as her body continued to tremble.

“Please come in for a cup of tea, you are drenched to the bone!” the woman said and ushered Pen into her small shop. The shop was small and cozy, teacups and teapots lined the shelves, and nestled amongst them were books on tea and English gardens and cottages. In the center of the shop was an electric fireplace and Pen watch it with longing.

“You have a beautiful shop,” Pen said as the woman shook her umbrella out and moved behind the counter, “but I left my wallet at home. I’ll have to take a raincheck on the tea.”

“Nonsense!” the woman exclaimed as she bustled around and began fixing the tea. Pen stood at the entrance and looked around, fully aware of how she was dripping water into a puddle at her feet. The woman disappeared through a door to the back and emerged with a blanket. She tucked it around Pen and let her to an overstuffed chair in front of the fire. The fireplace gave off enough heat that Pen could feel it radiating towards her from the chair and start to warm her up immediately.

“I’m Pen, by the way,” Pen said she sunk into the chair.

“Pen, that’s a good name. Short for something?” Asked the owner as she fused with the fireplace.

“Short for Penelope,” Pen answered and the woman nodded.

“Nice to meet you Penelope, I’m, Oops!” The teashop owner said as the whistle of a teakettle pierced the air. “Better go grab that, be back in a jiff!” The owner hustled off and as the heat warmed her, Pen felt herself start to grow sleepy and nod off.

Pen blinked her eyes and realized she had fallen asleep. On a small table beside her was a steaming cup of tea and a muffin.

“Hello?” Pen called out and stood, looking around the small shop. The shop was empty and Pen realized she had been asleep for a while because her clothing was now dry and the rain had stopped. As Pen moved around the chair to look for the mysterious owner, she noticed a small note beside the cup of tea. It read:

Dear Penelope,

It was wonderful to meet you today! You fell asleep and I just couldn’t find it in me to wake you. I apologize but I have been called away on an errand. Please feel free to enjoy the tea and muffin I left you. If you could lock up when you leave, I would greatly appreciate it. Hope to see you soon!

Your Friend, Cathy

Pen read through the note and set it down beside the tea. And took a sip of the tea. It was just warm enough to comfort, but not so hot that it would burn. Pen sat and ate the muffin and drank the tea. When she was done, She wandered around the shop, hoping her mysterious friend, Cathy would return. When it seemed clear that Cathy would not be returning any time soon, Penelope found a marker on the counter and scribbled a note on the back of the letter Cathy left, thanking her and promising to return soon. Pen then left the shop, making sure to lock the door as she left.

Pen walked into her apartment feeling refreshed, and ready to sketch something. Maybe the image of the steaming tea and muffin Cathy left. Or even better, a quick sketch of the woman herself! Pen looked around for her sketchbook, which she usually left on the table, but the recalled she had thrown the book in a fit of temper before leaving the apartment this morning. She found the book, cast aside, leaning against the wall, looking sad, forlorn and not a little defeated.

When Pen picked it up, the pages had been smashed down and bent at awkward angles. Pen smoothed the bent pages and pressed the book to her chest. Pen sat and opened the book to a blank page. She pulled her favorite (number 2B?) pencil from her cup of pencils and began a soft, long stroke down the page. Her eyes lost focus and her hands began to work from memory, first sketching out the image of what was to come, and then bringing in shadow to define larger areas before focusing on the minute details. Hours passed as Pen continued to add shading and detail throughout the image until she added the last stroke, a dark, bold stroke to sharpen the beak.

Pen blinked and looked down at the page. Before her was a very real image of a barn owl staring back at her. Pen blinked and for a second she could have sworn the owl blinked back. Pen dropped her pencil back into the mug and rubbed her eyes, glancing at the clock only to see it was going on 2 in the morning. Pen yawned then looked back down at the drawing. It was, Pen thought, her best work. She wouldn’t be sharing this with Professor Gunner. In fact, she decided, she wouldn’t be sharing any of her work with that crummy professor.

Pen looked back at the drawing. The more she looked at it, the more real it seemed, until she couldn’t help but reach down and stroke the feathers on the wing of the bird. As she stroked the feathers, the wing stretched and emerged from the page, followed by the rest of the bird. It gave a small hop on the page before hoping onto Pen’s hand.

“Oh,” Pen gasped and stared at the small owl as it seemed to be inspecting her. It’s head swiveled to take in the rest of the room, and then it gave another small hop to turn and face it’s body to the room and leapt, flying across the room to land on the lampshade.

“Well this has definitely never happened before,” Pen told the owl as she opened the window for it. The owl glided over to the window sill and peeked out at the city beyond before looking back up at Pen inquisitively.

“You can come and go as you please,” Pen assured the owl. “But you won’t be happy just hoping around in this tiny space.” Pen looked around at her small apartment and realized what was true for the owl might be true for her too. She looked back at the owl but it was now looking at the image of the city stretched out below. It gave a small hop to the edge of the sill before spreading it’s wings and giving an experimental beat. It then beat it’s wings and lifted up into the air. It quickly caught a rising updraft and began to soar up into the night sky. The moon’s light seemed to reflect off the owl’s feathers, causing the bird to shimmer in the night air. Pen watched it until it was a white speck in the sky and then crawled into her bed, burrowing under the blankets piled on her bed, and fell asleep quickly.