Andrew couldn’t sleep, again. It had been this way since he arrived, almost two years ago. Every night, after only two or three hours of sleep, he would just wake up. He wasn’t tired the next day, he didn’t need to go back to sleep, and it was frustrating because everyone else was asleep.
It made his mother worry, and it took its toll on her. After months and months of trying to convince her he was fine, she finally yielded to the exhaustion and began letting him stay up in his room. He started drawing about a year ago, then moved up to watercolors. Now he was experimenting with oils and pastels. His room was filled with tiny masterpieces that exuded emotion.
Some of his art would force a smile on your face without you even knowing it. Some of it would make you laugh out loud. Others transported you to fantastical destinations or just serene places where deep thoughts or perfect harmony resonated in the air. Some of them made his mother cry when she looked into them, and she struggled to understand the source of her little boy’s gift. And these were just the pictures on the wall. Andrew had piles of pictures, sometimes he could finish four or five in a single night.
His favorite pictures were of Kaya. He had painted a new one about a month ago, and the unframed canvas hung on a nail, next to his child-sized art desk and easel. Her eyes would follow him anywhere in the room. He even managed to capture his own silhouette in the light bouncing off her chocolate brown eyes.
It was almost three o’clock in the morning, he was working on a picture of Father and trying to imagine what Kaya was doing; what life she was leading, but when he thought to her, all he got was silence.
That morning, when his mother came in to give him a hug and kiss, she saw the picture of the bearded man in his white robes. The Light emanating from him illuminated the beautifully ornate Fountain to his side. It had been hard enough to explain away who Kaya was, and here again was a portrait of a total stranger.
“He’s fantastic sweetheart,” his mother said breathlessly. “Do I know him?” she asked, tapping at the side of her head. “He looks very familiar.”
Andrew could tell she was drawn to the eyes. He had started with those and worked his way out and from the look on his mother’s face, he had done a pretty good job.
She was leaning in now, trying to see the details of the Fountain, and she asked, “Is he a wizard from a story, or is he right out of your imagination?”
“Of course, you know Him, that’s God.”
Mom flinched like she’d been flicked on the nose and Andrew instantly wanted to take it all back; to have said anything but God, to have painted anyone but Father. But his words just hung out there, awkwardly, right along with the painting.
“Oh…well…that’s wonderful. What’s for breakfast angel?” she asked, brushing away any discomfort that might have entered the room.
“Oatmeal with bananas and brown sugar would be amazing, please.”
His mother’s heart melted, and she smiled, kissed his head and hugged him tight.
“I love you sweetheart, more than you’ll ever know.”
“I love you too Mom,” he said, returning her hug.
Until the accident, Andrew always called her Mommy, but ever since the hospital, ever since he had drowned in the pool, she was just Mom. Part of her wondered where Mommy had gone, part of her didn’t care, and part of her would never forgive herself.
She tickled him lightly making him squirm like a worm. “Downstairs in ten minutes, and wake up sleepy head on your way down please.”
“Thanks, Mom, love you.”
“Love you more,” she said, taking a final glance at the man in the painting before heading out of Andrew’s room.
Later that day, Andrew’s mother called the doctor. Their conversation was brief but direct. Andrew was evidently dealing with bigger issues, and he needed someone to talk to, someone other than his mother or sister.
It was mid-summer, school was out, and Andrew watched Jean swimming in the pool from the back porch. Mom came out with a serving tray of lemonade and sat down on the step next to Andrew.
She handed him a cold glass, and he said, “Thanks, Mom.”
“Still not going in sweetheart?”
“No thanks. I just like watching Jean do her thing.”
Mom always gave Andrew the truth, no matter how much it changed things and today was no exception.
“We’re going to see a counselor today sweetheart, in about half an hour.”
“How come Mom? Is everything all right?”
Jean noticed the pitcher of lemonade and started getting out of the pool.
“I just think you need someone to talk to baby, that’s all.”
“So I’m going to see a counselor, not all of us?”
“That’s right. He’ll be your guy to talk to from now on. Somebody you can talk to about all the things you think about. About all the places you go when we’re asleep, about all the things you want to see and do.”
“Oh,” Andrew said, sounding a little surprised. He didn’t think he’d been quite so transparent, but there was no hiding the artwork; it just flowed out of him and covered every wall in his room. Mom had even put some of the bigger pieces around the house in frames.
Jean toweled off, walked over to the porch and took a glass off the tray.
“Thanks, Mom, you’re the best!”
“You’re welcome, Jeanie Bean. Say, can you get changed, we’re going out in a few minutes.”
“Sure, Mom, where are we going?” she asked, chugging down her lemonade.
“Andrew has an appointment. It’s no big deal.”
She set her empty glass down next to the pitcher and grabbed Andrew’s ear.
In a funny sounding voice, she asked, “Are ya sick?” Leaning down, she looked in his ear and pretended to wave at Mom through his empty head.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi love,” Mom said back, pretending to look through Andrew’s other ear. “How’s it going over there?”
“It’s great!” she yelled into Andrew’s ear, “It’s great,” she echoed.
“Have some more lemonade and go take a quick shower Bean,” Mom called back.
Jeanie Bean poured another glass, gulped it down like a dehydrated desert nomad, kissed Andrew on the top of the head and disappeared into the house. The screen door banged closed.
Andrew pawed at his ear and gently complained about the water Jean got in it.
“You’ve survived worse,” Mom said, with a hug and a kiss.
“Thanks for all the art stuff, Mom, it really helps.”
“Did you meet him in the hospital?”
“It’s sort of complicated,” Andrew said, not wanting to tell any more half-truths to this wonderful woman who loved him with all her heart.
“I’m sure it is, sweetheart, I’m sure it is,” she said reassuringly. “Come on slow poke, finish up that lemonade and let’s get going.”
Andrew flipped his perspective over to his mom’s point of view. He immediately felt her wondering if what she was doing was the right thing. She worried if Andrew was really going to be all right, and he felt the struggle in her to ask the questions she knew would make him uncomfortable. The ones he had avoided answering in the past. The ones his artwork manifested in everyone who looked into them.
The ice clinked into the bottom of the glass as he wiped his mouth. Mom was standing up, when he said, “Thanks for getting me someone to talk to, maybe it will help. The least I can do is give it a try.”
“Seven?” she said, kissing the top of his head. “So strong, so brave, so ready for next steps, but still my little boy.”
Andrew blushed. He didn’t need to flip his perspective to know she felt love and hope.
Doctor Dave started things off with a big handshake and a short speech about how this was Andrew’s time to talk. He said Andrew could talk about anything he wanted, and he wouldn’t tell anybody. He said he’d been talking to kids for fifteen years, and he was there to listen and help if he could.
Andrew had no idea this kind of thing was possible. At least there wasn’t anything in his memory from the Fountain about counseling. “What a fantastic idea,” he thought to himself.
Doctor Dave’s office didn’t feel like an office. He had lots of pictures on the walls, and a quirky bird thing that kept dipping its beak into a glass of water and coming up. It kept doing this the whole time, and Andrew couldn’t figure out what kept it moving.
Doctor Dave didn’t have a desk, just a small writing table off to the side, but he didn’t seem interested in writing things down. He was more interested in talking or maybe listening, it was hard to tell.
When Doctor Dave was done with his speech, Andrew jumped right in.
“So you’re like the best friend I might never have?”
“Sorta, but we’re not going to go play catch or anything like that.”
“So we’re just talking friends, and my secrets are your secrets?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you’ve been doing this for fifteen years?”
“I have.”
“Can you come over to my house?”
“Maybe, what’s at your house?”
“All my pictures.”
“Pictures?” Doctor Dave asked. “Like the ones on my walls?”
“No, yours are from a camera. Mine are from my hands.”
“So you’re an artist?”
“That’s what Mom says, but I just paint what I’ve seen, or sometimes just for fun.”
“I would love to see your artwork, Andrew. If you’d like, I can talk to your mom, and you can bring some when you see me next time.”
“There’s too much for that Doctor Dave. If you want to see it, you’ll have to come over.”
“Then let’s talk for a while and when we’re done, I’ll speak to your mom and set something up. Does that sound like a good plan?”
“That sounds perfect,” Andrew said with a sigh of relief.
“You seem relieved. Can you tell me why?” Doctor Dave asked.
“I don’t think you’re ready for the conversation I want to have with you right now Doctor Dave. We’ve just met, and I’m carrying around a pretty heavy load.”
“You sound like you’re seven going on forty-seven. Has anyone ever said something like that to you?”
Andrew closed his eyes, thought about it, and said, “No, but I don’t really talk to a lot of people right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m only seven, and all the kids I know are about the same age.”
“What’s wrong with being seven?”
“Nothing, I guess. Actually, I was excited about it when Father first told me I would be five again, but that wore off pretty fast. I’m just having a hard time relating to seven, or six or five for that matter. Don’t get me wrong, being seven is great and all, but I can’t tell a seven-year-old what I’ve seen or why I’m here.”
Doctor Dave leaned in from his chair until he got to Andrew’s eye level on the couch. “You’ve got a lot on your mind don’t you?”
Andrew nodded.
“So where can we start? What feels safe to you?”
Andrew stood up, walked away from the dark green fabric couch and stood in front of the red, bobbing woodpecker thing. It kept dipping in and out of the little glass of water.
“How does it work?”
Doctor Dave pushed his rolling chair over to Andrew, and said, “The beak on this end soaks up a little bit of water with each dip. The water runs down its body into this round bulb.” He pointed to the round bulb on the opposite end from the bird’s head, “Every sip makes it a tiny bit heavier than it used to be. That makes the bulb drop and the head go up. When the head goes up, it has to bob back down because of gravity, and when it does, it takes on a little bit more water. The whole thing can go on for about an hour, or until it either runs out of water or fills up its small bulb.”
“Osmosis?” Andrew asked.
“Brilliant!” Doctor Dave declared. “We’re not but fifteen minutes into our first meeting, and you’ve brought up a physical law that’s generally taught to high school students with an interest in chemistry.” He patted Andrew on the back and told him to take the bird home at the end of their session.
Andrew wandered around the room looking at all the pictures and objects.
Doctor Dave just observed, and eventually, he said, “It’s not osmosis. It has more to do with the capillary action of water than anything else.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Andrew replied, not paying much attention.
He was staring at a picture taken from atop a very high building. It was looking out over the horizon with all the smaller buildings below.
“Have you been here?” Andrew asked, pointing at the picture.
“I took every picture in here, so yes. I’ve been there.”
“I don’t believe you,” Andrew said flatly.
“You don’t have to. It doesn’t change the facts.”
“You’re a liar Doctor Dave. You didn’t take any of these pictures.”
“Why do you say that Andrew? I’ve already told you I took them. The pictures out in the lobby, I took those too. It’s my hobby. I’m a photographer.”
“Liar.”
“Interesting,” Doctor Dave replied.
“Prove it!” Andrew demanded. “Prove you’re not a liar. Prove to me you were there!”
“I’m not sure how to do that Andrew. What can I say to prove these are my pictures?”
“Nothing!” Andrew snapped back. “There isn’t anything you can say or do to prove you’re not lying.”
“Then I guess we’re just left with my word.”
“What’s that worth?” Andrew demanded, sounding rude and impudent.
Doctor Dave was a taken-aback by this brash young man. He thought about the question and finally replied, “It’s all I have. It isn’t worth anything, except the conviction and honesty I put behind it.”
“Are you a liar?” Andrew asked.
“No.”
“Do you promise these are your own personal photographs? That you took every one of these pictures because it’s not only your hobby but because you were there?”
Doctor Dave grinned. “I think we’re going to get along just fine you and me, and yes, I promise,” he said, holding up his right hand, “that these are my pictures, taken by myself when I visited these places.”
“Great!” Andrew said, jumping back onto the couch. “When are you gonna come over to my house?”
“Tonight maybe, if it’s all right with your mom.”
“Let me go ask her if you can come to dinner.”
Andrew hopped off the couch again and was making for the door, when Doctor Dave said, “Slow down, big guy. We’ll have plenty of time for all that when we’re done.”
Andrew had his hand on the door handle and twisted. He looked back, and said, “This is as slow as we can take it, Doctor Dave. If I sit back down on that couch and spill the beans, like my sister does about everything, you won’t want to come to my house. You’ll want to run away from me and pretend like this never happened.”
“I wouldn’t do that Andrew, it’s not how I do things,” he said, with a wink.
Andrew released the door handle and flipped his perspective over to Doctor Dave’s point of view. It felt like honesty and sincerity with a little surprise and excitement. He flipped it again, and from overhead everything felt pretty ordinary.
Andrew flipped back into his own point of view, and Doctor Dave asked, “Why don’t you head home with your family? I’ve got your address. Just tell your mom I’m coming over for dinner tonight, I’ll see you at six o’clock.”
Andrew reached for the door handle again, when Doctor Dave said, “One last thing Andrew.”
Andrew turned from the door, his little seven-year-old face was a mask of innocence.
“You’re not a liar are you?”
“Doctor Dave, I’m probably the only person you’re ever going to meet that you can trust completely. I give you my word on that.”
“See you at dinner Andrew, I’m looking forward to getting to know you and your family.”
“See you at six. The house is dark green with white trim, and it’s a two story. If it feels like you’re lost in an orange grove, you’re in the right place.”
Doctor Dave smiled, and Andrew went out to the lobby.
Andrew was kicking a soccer ball around the yard when he heard a car coming down the road. It was a few minutes before six, and Doctor Dave waved as he pulled his sleek, black convertible into the driveway.
“Is this an OK spot?” he called out.
Andrew gave him a thumbs up, and Doctor Dave killed the engine.
He got out wearing his work clothes and noticing he still had his tie on, he loosened it, took it off and tossed it in the front seat.
“That’s better,” he said, with a grin.
Andrew kicked the ball over to him, and he rolled it onto the top of his shoe, flipped it up to his knee, bounced it a couple of times, let it fall to his other foot and passed it back to Andrew.
“Did you use to play?”
“Use to?” Doctor Dave asked, sounding shocked. “I still do.”
Andrew kicked the ball toward the front door, and said, “Cool.”
“What’s for dinner?”
“Mom made pot roast with mashed potatoes, gravy, and broccoli with cheese.”
“That sounds fantastic!”
“It’s my favorite,” Andrew said, opening the front door for Doctor Dave.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You're very welcome my good doctor, won’t you come in,” he said, with a bow.
“Seven?”
“Going on forty-seven,” Andrew said, following in behind.
“It smells amazing,” he said over his shoulder.
“Just follow your nose and you’ll wind up at dinner.”
Mom poked her head out from around the corner, and said, “You’re just in time. Dinner is ready.”
“Thank you for being so gracious Mrs. Sutton. I don’t think I’ve ever invited myself to dinner before.”
“Please, call me Emily, and thank you for taking an interest in someone as special as our Andrew.”
Doctor Dave smiled, grabbed a water glass in each hand and followed Andrew and his mother into the dining room.
“Andrew sweetheart, can you please get the Bean?”
Andrew sidestepped his chair, walked a few feet out of the room and yelled at the top of his voice, “Jeanie Bean! Dinner is ready!!”
Stepping back into the dining room, Mom sarcastically said, “Charming. Thank you.”
A moment later the sound of a bowling ball tumbling down the stairs shook the picture frame on the wall, then Jean swept into the room. She plopped herself into her chair, chugged down half her water and looked up at Doctor Dave.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and said, “Hi I’m Jean, I’m eleven, just finished the fifth grade, love yellow, play soccer, swim like a fish, drink like a whale, and Mom and I both think you’re handsome, want some potatoes?”
“Yes please,” Doctor Dave said, taking the potatoes.
“Are you also the Bean?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot that part. Everybody says I just “spill the beans” when I talk, so my nickname is Bean. Do you have a nickname too?”
He scooped the potatoes onto his plate and made a volcano-like hole in them for the gravy.
“People just call me Doctor Dave. It’s sort of a nickname, but not really.”
“Nope, it’s not,” Jean said, drizzling gravy over her pot roast and filling in her potato volcano. “It doesn’t tell you anything about your personality, so it doesn’t really count.”
Doctor Dave nodded as he put pot roast on his plate.
“What about you Andrew,” Doctor Dave asked, “do you have a nickname?”
“The kids call him Teacher. I think it’s cool, but the Rock doesn’t like it.”
“Jean!” Mom corrected with authority. “That is not acceptable, and you know it.”
Jean knew it. “I’m sorry everybody,” she said, with her head down. “It just slipped out.”
Doctor Dave looked at Andrew, then at Mom and shrugged his shoulders.
Andrew looked at Doctor Dave, and said, “A few years ago, when I was five, I drowned in the pool. When Jean found me, I was on the bottom, you know, like a rock.”
Jean was still staring at her plate.
“Jean, why do you think your mom dislikes the nickname you just used?”
Jean looked over at Mom, and Mom said, “What’s this gentleman’s name?”
“Doctor Dave,” she said hesitantly.
“And why is he here for dinner?”
“Because Andrew invited him?” she said questioningly.
“Remember what we talked about, and try again please.”
Jean fidgeted with her napkin, moved her fork around on her plate, and finally said, “He’s here to listen, he’s here to learn, and he’s here to help.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, now please answer Doctor Dave’s question, even if it hurts.”
Tear’s welled up in Jean’s eyes. She tried to look at Doctor Dave, but all she could do was stare at her mashed potatoes.
Her nose got stuffy, and she blurted out, “When I call Andrew the Rock, it takes everyone back to the day he died in the pool, and the time we spent in the hospital, and the whole time we didn’t know if he was gonna make it, and it makes me feel horrible for not being there when it happened because I had to use the bathroom, and left him out there by himself, and it’s not even funny, but I still call him that sometimes, and I know I’m not supposed to and…,” she said, looking up at Andrew, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Jean,” Doctor Dave said.
“Thank you, Jeanie Beany,” Mom said. “Now please go to the restroom and blow your nose.”
Jean excused herself from the table, and Doctor Dave took a bite of the pot roast. The satisfying sound of “Mmmmmmm,” rolled out of his chest as he slowly sank back into his chair. He closed his eyes, and Mom smiled.
“Told you,” Andrew said.
“Delicious.”
“Thank you,” Mom said. “It’s an old family recipe. I’m glad you like it.”
Jean plopped back down and fired down most of her plate without saying another word.
“What’s with all the orange trees?” Doctor Dave asked the table.
Mom smiled, but it didn’t fill her face. The sadness in the corners of her mouth seemed to stop it just before it was genuine. “My husband,” she started out, “their dad,” she had to clear her throat and take a drink of water. “He planted these trees twenty years ago. Our little hundred eighty-acre farm has been in the family for almost seventy-five years.” She looked at Bean, then at Andrew and finally back to Doctor Dave, and said, “He died five years ago next week. There was a terrible accident, and he didn’t make it. It’s just the three of us now, and we keep going, even when it hurts. Isn’t that right guys?”
Andrew and Jean only nodded while Doctor Dave fit another piece of Andrew’s puzzle into place.
“Mom, can we be excused. I’d like to take Doctor Dave up to my room.”
“Of course, you may. I’ll call you boys down for dessert in a little while.”
Doctor Dave thanked Mom for the wonderful dinner. He offered to help with dishes and got rejected; learned they were having chocolate mousse pie for dessert and accepted. Then he was quickly escorted upstairs to see something nothing could have prepared him for.
Andrew flipped the door open to his bedroom and kept walking down the hall, “Go on in, I’ll be there in a minute. I have to use the bathroom.”
Doctor Dave cleared the top step and found himself thinking about all the waxy drawings he had seen over the years. Their subtle honesty, their crude lines, and the story each one told about their young artist. Not that he mentioned it to most people, but the interpretation of these subliminal glimpses was something he had taken a keen interest in during his entire career. He considered it a perk to be able to review and interpret the scratch work of his clients. Especially those with talent, the ones who liked details, the ones who could wield a stick of color or a pencil in a way that most could not.
With all this in mind, he stepped through Andrew’s bedroom door and stopped.
From floor to ceiling, and even on the ceiling, and scattered across parts of the floor, there were pictures. Some looked like they had been taken with a camera, others looked like pen and ink. There was a whole section of sketches and finished drawings in pencil. On another wall, there were brilliant images in drawing wax and watercolor. Oil paintings hung on the walls, and the shelves were filled with tiny sculptures made from modeling clay; they looked absolutely real. Pieces of origami floated on a mobile above the bed, and Doctor Dave gasped.
He looked down to make sure he wasn’t going to step on anything, then waded deeper into the sensory overload of Andrew’s room.
Andrew was at the door now. It was exciting for him to be on the brink of sharing his secrets, it was also a bit frightening, but he was anxious to begin.
He flipped his perspective to Doctor Dave’s. It was a mess. A complete jumble of overwhelm and trepidation, the discovery of a lifetime. Andrew’s room was light years beyond Doctor Dave’s expectations. The poor man didn’t know where to begin.
“I’ve got to slow this down for him,” Andrew thought. “I’ve got to give him time to process.”
Andrew stepped next to Doctor Dave and took his hand. Doctor Dave flinched, almost pulling away. His mouth was open when he looked down at Andrew, so Andrew reached up with a single finger and pushed it closed.
“It’s kinda hard to explain Doctor Dave. Would you like it from the beginning or would you like to look around for a while?”
“Andrew, I…,” he started to say but trailed off as he got pulled into Kaya’s eyes. “How do you do this? Have you always had this gift?”
“The answer to your question would put my explanation out of order. Why don’t we do it this way,” Andrew said, as he started collecting different pictures from around the room.
He carefully took things off the wall, from the floor and out of the stacks of work that seemed to challenge the capacity of the bedroom itself.
“Can you bring her with us, Doctor Dave?”
“What?” he asked, knocking into the easel and its wet painting. It rocked backward and started falling.
Doctor Dave grabbed the picture from the easel as it fell away, smearing the paint with his thumb.
“Oh my God!” he cried, looking at the painting.
“Let’s bring Him too,” Andrew said with a smile. “I like that one.”
Shuffling his artwork into one arm, he started pulling on Doctor Dave’s belt, saying, “Come on Doctor Dave, we need to get you out of here, it’s not helping.”
“What? What do you mean it’s not helping?”
“It’s way too overwhelming. I’ve never done this before, and I wasn’t sure if this would work. Grab the picture of Kaya off the wall, we’re going outside.”
Doctor Dave grabbed Kaya off the wall and with a couple more tugs, Andrew had him backing out of his bedroom.
Mom heard them coming, and asked, “Is everything all right? That didn’t take very long.”
“I don’t know,” Doctor Dave said.
“We’re good Mom. We’re just going outside to talk. We’ll be in the grove.”
“All right sweetheart, just holler if you need anything.”
Andrew was now pushing Doctor Dave toward the front door as he called back, “Thanks, Mom.”
Andrew sidestepped Doctor Dave and backed into the screen door, pushing it open.
“Come on Doctor Dave, we’re going this way,” Andrew said, heading to the side yard where the endless grove of orange trees made row after row of cool, calming shade.
When they were about a hundred yards into the grove, Andrew stopped. He set down his armload of pictures and took the other two pictures from Doctor Dave. Then he asked him to sit against one of the trees.
When Doctor Dave had situated himself, Andrew flipped to his perspective.
“Calmer,” he thought. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Doctor Dave I’m gonna give it to you straight from the top. I’m sure we’re going to do this a bunch more times, so don’t worry if the details slip away.”
“I’m ready, Andrew. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re not ready, but here it comes anyway.”
Using the pictures from his room, he took Doctor Dave on an epic journey from the orphanage, through the Hero’s Chamber, across time with God Himself and right into the orange grove. He’d never told the story before and even