School Bus Art Festival Road Trip

        I laughed out loud when I saw it. A bright yellow rectangle had a red ironing board jutting out of a hole cut through the metal. It was supposed to be a tongue. Four white squares the size of bread slices hung across the top of the hole for teeth. Green bowls protruding from white saucers mounted above the mouth were bulging eyes. A silver metal tube, flattened on the end, gave the face flared nostrils. I quickly turned around and walked away from the booth. It looked like the author had his entire life's metal artwork on display, so I didn't feel right about cracking up in case he hadn't intended for his art to have that effect. As I turned to leave, I nearly tripped over children playing right outside of the booth. One child was trying to replicate the metal art piece's funny face while her playmate lay on the ground laughing so hard that her face turned purple.

Those little girls reminded me of myself and my best friend, Anna Carrington. If she were here, Anna would have been the one rolling around on the ground. Once we got started, it was hard to stop. One time we were listening to a man singing karaoke, and we had to leave the bar and walk around the block to stop the giggles. I loved that about Anna. She allowed herself to experience life and never held back. The next evening, while arranging the floor seating for a concert, I heard the karaoke man's words blaring from the stage: "Born to be wild! Born to be wild!" When I saw our boss walking toward Anna, I waved frantically at her so she wouldn't get caught. She immediately dropped her voice a few octaves and repeated, "Testing, one-two-three, testing, one-two-three." We laughed again when she approached me with a stack of chairs a few minutes later. I had to walk away before our boss noticed we were enjoying ourselves too much to finish the seating arrangement for the rock concert. 

We always worked together. It made the grind of minimum wage jobs much more enjoyable when you could share it with a friend. Neither of us had much money, but Anna had less than I did. We were both raised by single parents, but my mom had a steady job, and Anna's mother was a free spirit. She was so creative and would make money with her artwork. Anna's grandfather worked with his hands, too. He repaired radios and other electronics. Her mother would use his leftover wire to create jewelry. She once molded copper wire around the base of a piece of driftwood. She twisted the wires to form a tree trunk and made individual branches in a windswept pattern. Several green wires curled around the ends of each branch to form leaves. It was so beautiful, the way she made something from nothing. That is what Anna was like. She had an eye for beauty and could recognize it when nobody else could see it.

Our mothers took turns watching us while the other worked. Anna and I were inseparable. Anna's mother would travel to art shows every weekend, and we would spend the entire time together. We would play hide and seek among the booths and use the money we earned walking dogs and running errands to eat at the food trucks. The artists were so talented. Watercolor prints displayed detailed renderings of landscapes, dogs, and old buildings. Basket makers wove pine needles into bowls and carrying bags. Mixed media artists combined molded metal sheets and wood putty to create fall color collages of maroon butterflies, dark yellow cat tails, brown leaves, and burnt orange dragonflies. We made a clubhouse under the table in Mrs. Carrington's booth. The black sheet reached the ground on all four sides, and two dog beds made a soft floor. Anna brought a string of battery-powered white Christmas lights and strung them underneath the table, where we lay head-to-head and shared dreams about our future under a starry sky.

Anna suggested that we should be roaming artists. She wanted us to create art and explore the world while traveling to different art shows. She didn't think we would have to buy a house because we could convert a school bus into an art studio. We could remove some seats, install sleeping cots, and drive our studio from show to show. I reminded Anna how cold the school bus was in the winter since we were the first stop on the bus route, and the heater hadn't warmed up yet. She just laughed and said we would have to wear more clothes. I told Anna I would drive the bus since I could already tell I wasn't an artist. I was more of a bookworm.

I loved to read and constantly had my face in a book. Sometimes, I read stories out loud while Anna painted or drew pictures. It wasn't until junior high when Anna's grandfather gave her a camera, that I knew Anna wouldn't be riding around the country on a school bus. Her grandfather loved to take photographs, so he taught Anna how to develop pictures. I enjoyed sitting next to the sink and watching the images appear when Anna bathed the photo paper in the developer. I saw a mother's face with her eyes closed as she buried her kiss in her smiling baby's chubby cheek. I admired the shadow of an elderly couple watching a sunset with their hands clasped. I marveled at a field of birch trees that never ended. The feelings that her pictures engendered were unforgettable. They made me put my book down because I knew I was looking at something special. I felt love and warmth. Those things surrounded me daily, but Anna had a way of capturing an image to show everyone else exactly where the beauty was. I could be in the same place and look right past it, but Anna could frame it in her lens.

Anna made my life better because she taught me to search for the beauty right before me. When my daughter finally fell asleep after crying for three hours, I would spend a few minutes marveling at her perfect fingers instead of running out of the room to finish writing the medical notes for the patients I saw that day. When our children laughed so hard at dinner that one of the girls sprayed milk all over the table, I could savor the moment instead of being distracted by the long to-do list of lunches, baths, homework, and bedtime stories. Anna was so excited the first time National Geographic published her photographs. We laughed when she described living in the wilderness for weeks while waiting for the right picture. Anna sent me brochures from every photography exhibition. I would text Anna from my bunk when I was supposed to be asleep at the hospital during my call shifts. I would laugh out loud as she sent me photographs of school buses converted to mobile homes, perfect for our never-ending art festival road trip that she still wanted to do.  

I had just finished my fellowship in oncology the year before Anna's mother called me. Anna was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of breast cancer and had waited too long to see a doctor. I also knew Anna would rather chase the stars than sit in a hospital room with chemicals infusing into her veins. I suspected that Anna waited until the last minute to seek medical care because that's what she wanted to do. Anna was a free spirit, just like her mother. I assumed the worst when Anna's mother didn't call me back. Her mother said Anna was having difficulty breathing and was acting confused, so I believed the cancer had spread to her lungs and brain. Instead of crying, I thought of Anna traveling the world to capture its beauty. Anna knew what was important in life.

We loved the Edom Art Festival. We grew up in a small town near Edom, Texas, so Anna and I went every year. In high school, we worked the booth selling Mrs. Carrington's jewelry. Anna said we would have to work at this art festival every year when we did our school bus tour. When I walked by booth number 27, I couldn't help but look under the table to see if little girls were hiding, planning their future. I sat down to rest under a large canopy and listened to a man singing "Rose Colored Glasses" by John Conlee. I had to take a red eye to make it to the festival because I was on call the day prior. I could hardly keep my eyes open when I heard her voice.

"I knew you would come," said a familiar voice.

"Anna?" I asked. I stood up and turned around to find my best friend in front of me. "You look beautiful."

Anna looked twenty years younger. I hugged her, and she felt strong. I stepped back to look at her more closely.

"You look so good. Did you have surgery?" I asked, trying to understand how someone so sick a few weeks ago could be standing before me and looking so healthy.

"I did. You know I wouldn't let you go on our bus tour without me," Anna smiled.

"I'll never be without you," I said. "I will always have your pictures."

My head jerked, forcing me to open my eyes. I looked around, searching for Anna. I couldn't see her but noticed a familiar image in the corner booth. I saw the photograph of the mother kissing her baby's cheek. Anna took that picture years ago. I walked over to the booth and saw over a hundred prints of Anna's pictures from all over the world. I picked up a card from the table in the booth. All proceeds from photograph sales went to the Anna Carrington Foundation, which provided scholarships for young artists.

"Dr. Angela Mathews?" asked the woman in the booth.

"Yes," I replied, still looking around the booth for Anna. "How did you know my name?"

"I have a picture of you and specific instructions to provide you with this print when you stopped by," she replied, handing me a package.

"Thank you," I replied. "Is Anna here?"

"No," she said. "I'm sorry, but Anna Carrington died last week."

I looked back at the seating area where I spoke to Anna and then at the package. I tore away the brown paper wrapping and knew I was looking at one of Anna's photographs. It was a close-up picture of two young girls holding hands while running through a field of dandelions. There was a key taped to the back of the picture.

"It's right behind this booth, " the woman said. "Anna said you would recognize it and didn't need instructions."

I looked up from the picture and smiled at the woman. I walked around the back of the booth and saw a white school bus. I climbed up the steps and found a beautiful tiny house on wheels. It had a full kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. My favorite part was the sleeping nook for the children with a large overhead window so they could dream under the stars. A placard inside explained that the bus belonged to the Anna Carrington Foundation and provided lodging to the representative who traveled around the United States showing Anna's pictures at Art Festivals. Anna pinned a postcard inside the bus explaining that she instructed her foundation to contact me every year before scheduling the festival tour so I could pick two weeks to use the school bus. The foundation would pay for any gas and upkeep of the bus.

Five years later, I climbed the ladder to the sleeping nook inside Anna's bus to kiss my children goodnight. We parked on a potato farm just outside of Great Sand Dunes National Park, where the Milky Way was in full view from the overhead window. I took a moment to marvel at their beautiful ringlet curls cascading over their pillows before I gave each daughter a goodnight kiss.

I slid into bed and snuggled next to my husband. I pulled the blankets around me and gazed at the ceiling. Darkness enveloped the potato farm, so Anna's tiny white LED lights above the bed looked like the night sky. Feelings of warmth and happiness reminded me of laying head-to-head with Anna under her mother's display table at the Edom Art Festival. Moments later, I was running through a field of dandelions and smiling at the familiar sound of laughter. I squeezed the small, soft hand of my best friend. "Thank you, Anna," I whispered in my sleep.