The Author and The Illustrator

There I was, gripping the book in my hand after all those years. It was just as I remembered it: a rich black, buttery soft cover, creased from my grandmother’s deeply lined hands. She used to read to me from that book every night, molding and forming the pages, etching lifelong memories in my mind. She was the only person who ever loved me. Well – not quite. She was the only one who never left me. Never, that is, until she died of cancer.

Let’s go back to the beginning – or, at least, my beginning. I was born to two addicts who were in and out of jail for drug-related crimes. Sometimes, the crimes were violent because they’d stop at nothing to get their next fix. To their credit, they surrendered me to my paternal grandmother before the courts forced them to.

My grandmother, Carmela, was born in Sicily and immigrated to the U.S. as a teenager. She endured through wars, depressions, the tragic death of her husband and her only son’s descent into addiction, despite all her attempts to help. When she took me in, we were literally each other’s last hope. She was my angel, and I her little cherub. I was a chubby-faced, rouge-cheeked boy, so I even fit the Renaissance painting stereotype.

“Call me Mel,” she instructed in her soft yet authoritative voice, and I obeyed. It felt weird at first, but I think it made her feel younger and it helped her feel closer to me. Each night, as I climbed into bed and she tucked me in, Mel read from this beloved black book. Given its small size, I was amazed at how many stories were crammed in there. Every time she read from it, it was a different story.

Nodding off to sleep, I heard about pirates stealing ships and digging up buried treasure, police capturing bank robbers after dramatic high-speed chases, young women fleeing from murderous Nazis in World War II, a family huddled together by candlelight when the father lost his job and they couldn’t afford the electric bill, a beautiful princess who fell in love with Prince Charming and lived happily ever after, another beautiful princess who worked her way up the corporate ladder and didn’t need a man to make her happy, a rescued mutt who heroically saved her owner from a burning house … and more and more and more. I waited excitedly for bedtime to hear the next story.

“Mel?” I asked one night.

“Yes, dear?”

“Can I see the pictures?”

“Oh, no,” Mel replied. “There are none in here. But I want you to close your eyes. Close your eyes and you’ll see everything you need to see.”

She was right. The characters sprung to life in my mind, sword-fighting and singing and dancing the night away. Mel was there for me when no one else was, and those people in the stories were always waiting just behind my eyes. I didn’t have any friends back then. The kids at school weren’t mean to me. They didn’t bully me. They just ignored me. I was invisible. Mel and the characters in the stories saw me. They were there for me when no one else was.

Another night, I asked Mel if the world was really like the stories, where there’s a good guy and a bad guy.

She leaned back in her wooden rocking chair and smiled, her brown eyes gleaming in the warm lamp light. A ringlet of silver hair cascaded onto her face.

“Henry,” she began, “There is always a good guy and a bad guy. They’re both right here.” She leaned forward then and pointed an index figure at my heart.

“I’m a bad guy?” I asked, my eyes widening.

“Everyone is good, and everyone is bad,” she explained. “That’s why it doesn’t make sense to hate people or judge people. We are all human, and we’re all a mix of many different things.”

“Aren’t my parents bad, and all the other people in jail?” I asked.

“No, dear,” Mel replied, gently patting my youthful hand. “They have done bad things. They have made bad choices. They’re being punished for what they’ve done. They have good and bad inside of them. It’s up to each person to decide what to do with what they have.”

“Mel?” I asked sleepily.

“Yes, dear?”

“Can you read me another story?”

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That night feels like a lifetime ago. Here I am, a grown man who’s actually made a decent living so far. I go to work every day, keep my head down and my nose clean. I’ve stayed away from people who might be negative influences. Actually, truth be told, I’ve stayed away from almost everyone.

My parents both passed away years ago. I can’t say I miss them because I never really knew them. But when I heard the news the other day that Mel had passed – it felt like a knife through my heart. She was the kind, loving presence who literally saved my life. I worked through my abandonment issues with a therapist and made a lot of progress. I’m grateful for all that’s good in my life and accept that some days will be worse than others. I’m not perfect and never will be, and that’s okay. Slowly, I'm learning to love myself.

Mel left me everything in her will, including her life savings of $20,000. I would’ve paid back every cent in a heartbeat for one more moment with her. And as I stood in her bedroom, I spotted the little black book. It was the most genuine connection to her I could have on this side of Heaven; I clutched it hard as my eyes welled up with tears. All of the stories flooded back in my memory, as I heard her voice reading them with such passion and devotion. Would they be the same as I remembered? Would I read them to my kids if / when I ever had any?

I collapsed onto the bed, my legs unable to hold me anymore, and I flipped open to the first page. It was blank. The second one, blank. In a frenzy, I turned over every page in the whole book, faster and faster. Not a single word, line, ink mark … nothing.

“Mel,” I whispered, tossing the book aside and sobbing into my hands. “Mel!”

I closed my eyes, and she came alive in my mind, smoothing my hair back and tucking me in. She didn’t leave me. She was right there with me, inside the book with the pirates, princesses, policemen, criminals, parents and children and everyone else who carried me through my loneliest days. I loved them all. With my eyes closed and my mind open, I saw everything I needed to see.