The Mystery Painter

He painted the walls layered in a thin sheen of cold water droplets, I sat behind him just beyond the line of light coming from the towering street lamp, masked in the dead of the night while his artwork glowed beneath his paint stained knuckles. Tilting my head slightly to my right a strand of my dark hair fell across my face and I stared not at the beauty of his creation, but rather the mysterious wonder and intent of those curved lines and bright colors he used to convey his developing message. Of all of the people i’ve watched to make a desperate attempt to leave any kind of mark to be recognized, his presentation struck me as unique and striking. His choice of clothing was, for this particular event, odd. A pair of sharp black slacks, a whi                                                                                                                                          te button down with the sleeves rolled up along his slightly muscled arms, a tuxedo jacket thrown over the top of the wall to the left of him, a matte black bow tie around his neck and perfectly shined dress shoes. His hair expressed signs of his frustration by its almost wild style sitting along the top of his head, as he reached to paint a new area. His button down white shirt clung to his damp skin gleaming with sweat under the light.  

I wondered what the painting would become as he desperately continued to paint. It was late, almost eleven pm, i’m not sure why I decided to go for a walk so late in the evening alone, I was always told not to do so since I was a little girl. I had gotten off of work late this evening because my boss decided to hand me three new manuscripts to create first chapter summaries  for. My eyes were exhausted from reading for hours. 

Having been lost in thought I failed to notice the mysterious artist placing a cap on his last can of spray paint. He stepped back from his work. My eyes widened in shock, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on the wall. My own face was looking back at me. The man threw his cans into a nearby bush and picked up his suit jacket. He stood in front of the painting and nodded in satisfaction. 

I stood up, curious to see who this man was and why he was painting me. I slowly began approaching him, but he began to walk down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and his jacket draped over his arm. I quickened my pace, but then hesitated, should I even approach him? It was now eleven o’clock at night, I looked around and saw no one else on the street. Was I safe, how did this man know me? For all I knew he could have been stalking me. Lost in thought again I wasn’t paying attention to the man in front of me, he was no longer a comfortable distance away, but only several feet in front of me now. I stopped in my tracks finding it better to maybe not interact with him but maybe wait it out and report it to the police the next morning. But as I stopped I stepped on a dry fallen leaves on the path and he stopped dead in his tracks. My eyes widened as he slowly turned to face me, his mouth fell open in shock to see that the subject of his painting was standing a few feet from him. He slowly began to approach me, I was too afraid to move away, frozen in my tracks. He was now standing a foot away from me.

“It’s you.” His voice came out wearily, his eyebrows pulled together as he tried to find something to say. 

“Who are you? I saw what you painted on the wall earlier, it’s me, I don’t know who you are, I've never met you before, have you been following me? How do you know who I am?” I take a step back as I spoke out to him. 

“No, no. It’s not like that at all. It’s hard to explain, it’s strange really, and I frankly don’t understand it very much but, I can explain, I can explain everything.” He holds up his hands. “My name is Thomas Smith, I just came from a Gala, really it’s all a long story, could we maybe go to a cafe and talk about it? It’s a little cold out.” I don’t know how to respond to all of this, he may have given me his name but I knew nothing about this man. But I wanted to know, so I thought against my better judgement and nodded yes to his offer. 

-

We sat across from each other in a small local cafe, each sipping on a hot coffee, nervous about one another. He finally broke the silence, 

“It all started about a year ago. I got these visions, or well at first it was my dreams. I would wake up in the middle of the night with just the image on your face in my mind, and immediately I needed to draw what I saw. Each day after that, your face was in my dreams, and I just drew what I had seen. But then it got worse, those dreams at night that woke me became daydreams, when I was in the middle of working you would pop into my mind and the urge to draw you grew strongly. It was only today when I was at a business gala, and I ran out, bought spray paint cans and painted you.” He sighed and drank from his cup. 

“Okay, so you’ve never seen me before that?” 

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair. I was confused, what was I supposed to think of this? 

“I know it all sounds strange to you, it’s strange to me, but I feel as if it’s some sort of calling sent to me.” 

I thought back on what the past year has been like for me. I had an open daily routine, i’d wake up, eat breakfast, go to work, have some free time to either read, write poetry, or walk alone through the calm streets just observing. Nothing ever broke me from the routine, I was calm and content, I never wanted anything more than that. I’d never indulged in things like going out with friends, or even going out on a date. 

I was alone in the busy world around me, and it wasn’t until I heard his suggestion of a call by fate that I realized this. I wondered if it was right to even consider taking a chance on a complete stranger. I’ve never been spontaneous, I never had the urge to be, but as I looked across me at the man, I was drawn to him. Maybe it was the same call that he had in his own mind. 

“I’ve never done anything in my life. Its been the same routine day in and day out. I don’t know anyone, the only family that I have left doesn’t talk to me, and it's just been me for a long time. Maybe it’s stupid but this same thing that you are feeling what I am feeling. Maybe I should ignore what ‘The Universe’ is telling me, but I want to listen to it.” His eyes light up and a small smile appears. 

We exchanged numbers that night and I walked home in curious anticipation. I didn’t know what to expect to come from him or any of this but my head felt clear and satisfied, I did something.