Scribbles

A figure outlined in black rose up from a sea of scribbles on a white piece of paper. The figure, named Man, was now standing upright. His creator was still doodling absentmindedly. Pencil marks swirled around Man’s feet and up his legs.

“Hey!” cried Man, looking down. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

“Sorry.” The artist lifted his pencil.

“That’s right! Don’t touch me again, old man!”

The artist flushed. No one ever talked to God that way. Man turned away, exposing a colorless outline. Despite Man’s earlier protests, the artist shaded in the back of Man’s head with black hair.

“You know,” the artist said to his creation, "I do have a name. I’m Edwin. I also don’t appreciate you calling me an old man."

Man turned around and squinted up at Edwin’s face. “Huh. I thought I saw some wrinkles. My eyes aren’t so great.”

Edwin pushed his glasses further up on his nose. He brought his pencil to Man’s face and made more marks: two circles connected with a bridge that settled on Man’s nose. Two more lines sat on his ears. When Edwin was finished, Man blinked and peered up at him.

“Much clearer. Now I can see that you’re not sixty years old. More like fifty. Still an old man.”

Edwin regretted giving him better vision. He contemplated turning the pencil around and making use of the eraser. But Man was now peering around at Edwin’s bedroom. Edwin looked around as well, trying to see his bedroom through Man’s eyes. The walls were dark blue. Everything was pristine, like the surface of a pool waiting for someone to test its waters. Edwin often spent his days tidying every inch of his house to make his space safe and sterile, compared to the world outside. Man couldn’t possibly have anything to complain about.

“This room is boring,” Man complained. “The walls are all gray and there’s nothing to do in here. You better make my world more colorful.”

“What do you mean, your world?”

“My room, of course.”

Edwin nodded, and brought his pencil forward again. He added a padded yellow couch so Man could sit in comfort. Brightly colored windows, so Man could enjoy fresh air and the sun peeking through the glass. He added bedroom walls, potted plants, a springy mattress with orange sheets. In a small act of revenge, he added a clock, so Man could experience the agony that was time. Edwin found himself enjoying the creative process like he never had before. He was so satisfied with his work that he rewarded himself with a cigarette.

“Smoking’s not good for you,” said Man, eyeing the cigarette as he tested out his new mattress.

 “Are you happy with your world?"

“Don’t change the subject. I happen to know what smoking does to your body. Let’s start with the lungs, shall we? For one, there’s the toxins…”

Edwin closed his eyes and tuned Man out as he exhaled smoke.

“You know, if you poison me with that secondhand smoke, I won’t be able to play my saxophone.”

Edwin opened his eyes. “You play saxophone too?”

“Yeah.” Man smiled as Edwin stubbed out the cigarette in his ashtray. “Give it to me.”

Glad to have another task, Edwin went to work with the details of the gold-plated beast, with its swan neck and arching bell. He hung it from Man’s neck with a strap. He also added sheet music from memory- a series of lines and black dots. 

Man began his serenade. He played all afternoon. Edwin smiled as Man toured the nostalgic classics, and applauded after every final note. He thought about his own saxophone, lying in the closet and collecting dust. He could not remember why he had stopped playing.

Finally, “Careless Whisper” ended, and Man launched into another demand. “Give me a beagle. That would get my spirits up. I’ve always wanted a Beagle when I was growing up.” Edwin refrained from reminding him that he had emerged as a full-fledged adult.

The beagle hopped onto the mattress as soon as Edwin colored in its brown eyes. Man cuddled it fondly. “Her name is Nugget. And she will never bite me.” Edwin began to draw a collar and leash on Nugget, but Man stopped him. “Let her go naked and free.”

Edwin watched the two of them play together.

“Are you married?” Man asked Edwin suddenly.

Edwin shook his head. “I was married. She passed away…a while ago.” Even now, Edwin was filled with a deep sense of sadness and longing. “There hasn’t been anyone since.” He closed his eyes to remember his late wife. She had been a true partner, a soulmate, even. She had the power to write such vivid characters that they literally came alive, much like Edwin’s drawings.

“Make me a wife,” Man said, interrupting his reverie.

“What?”

“A wife. Like yours."

Edwin wanted to lecture Man about being more sensitive to people who were in mourning. But Man’s callousness so far suggested that such a lecture would be futile. He sighed and began to draw again. In a minute, a beautiful woman emerged from the page. She flipped her long hair, scooped up Nugget in her arms, and introduced herself to Man as Renee. Edwin drew a cassette player by a potted plant that played an Astor Piazzolla tango. Man danced by himself, inelegant and out of time with the music. Renee set down Nugget and grasped his flailing arms. Together, they stepped lightly in a duet, with Nugget running in circles around their feet. They danced and danced and Edwin lit another cigarette. To his surprise, he found himself staring at the scene with jealousy. He had never hated anyone more than Man in this moment, for daring to be happy. 

When Man and Renee grew weary, Man looked up at Edwin. “Hey, thanks for everything you did for me today. We’re going to sleep now. You should too.” Edwin drew up a separate mattress for Renee and a dog bed for Nugget. The couple went to sleep on Man’s mattress, entwined around each other. Nugget hopped onto their bed and plopped down on their feet.

Edwin watched the little family with bitterness. He had created a life for Man, only to be repaid tenfold with searing loneliness. Their affection magnified everything that was absent from his own tiny room. Fury rose in his throat, then spilled over into sobs that echoed off the walls. Man, Renee, and Nugget remained sound asleep. Edwin sobbed until he was too tired to hold his head up.

He woke suddenly when the heat singed his hair. “Man!” he choked. “Man!” The colorful scrap of paper was already halfway burned. Man, Renee, and Nugget were cowering in the corner of their room.

“Hurry! Save us!” cried Man. “Get a fire extinguisher! Anything!” Nugget was barking like a fiend. Edwin grabbed a wineglass off his desk and filled it in the kitchen sink. In his haste to get back to the fire, he tripped over an upturned corner of a rug and spilled the water. “No!” he yelled. He ran to refill the wineglass.

When he returned, Man’s face was disappearing into the flames, and Renee and Nugget were already gone. Edwin poured the water over the paper to extinguish the fire, but all he had salvaged was his scorched desk and a wet cigarette butt.  Suddenly exhausted, he sank into his weathered chair. He would have cried, but the tears refused to obey his summons. Instead, he crawled into bed and fell into the deepest sleep of his life.

The next morning, he woke up with a sense of calm. Looking over at the charred scraps of paper on his desk, he remembered the brief time he had witnessed connection. His own loneliness seemed pointless by comparison.

After breakfast, Edwin left the house for the first time in weeks. He walked down the same path he had taken for years to the grocery store, except something compelled him today to leave the path. He let his feet carry him, let his mind wander, until he arrived. Edwin entered the squat building and let the sounds of barking fill him with joy. He walked past cages and looked into the eyes of every anxious creature, until he found one whose gaze he could not let go.

He smiled down at the brown dog and said, “Hello, Nugget."