Not Today, Maybe Someday

The room's door opens with a swish revealing darkness. There is no movement for a couple of seconds as their eyes attempt to adjust, pupils expanding. They take a feeble step forward and then another. 

Whoever designed this room should be sued, they think. You know? Maybe I should come back later. That doesn't sound too bad...

No! today I'm feeling inspired. Today is the day I get something done. Even if pointless, something is something, no?

Halfway through the room, something goes crack. That certain something is underneath their left foot. It feels cylindrical.

"Don't let it be a pencil. A pen is fine. Definitely not the charcoal. Please, oh please, not that."

They shift their weight to their other foot and continue forward. Something bumps into their left knee and yields. To the person's right, a vague outline of what appears to be a table reveals itself. They grab on to the edge and walk with greater confidence to the corner of the room.

Why would anyone place the light switch all the way in the back? Wait...don't tell me, the table is in front of it. I could move it or I could go on top of it. No one but me is here, it'll be fine.

With that reassurance, they chose the latter and lay on the table stretching their fingertips. Fingers began their awkward little dance as the switch evaded their gentle touch. Finally, the two connected and with a flick, light filled the room.

They closed their eyes and opened them, readjusting to the new environment. No longer facing the wall, they sat on the table taking in the reality of the situation. Pencils laid on the floor, pens scattered on the shelves, the drawing stand was on its side, and of course, the charcoal cracked in the middle of the room.

What a mess. Even this place isn't safe. Does everything I touch turn out like this?

They sigh. "Well, no point dwelling on any of that now. Let's leave home at home, work at work, and worry about all those things later. Right now, I have a place to tidy up from last time."

They pick up the charcoal from the floor. It's a bit cracked and bent, the tip has been chipped but besides that, it seemed to be doing okay. The pens went in their container, the pencils in their box,  the erasers in the bin. Placing their backpack on the table, they turned to look at the fallen drawing stand.

Well, that's the last thing I have to do. Once I pick that up, I can start. Start doing what? Just stare at it again until it becomes dark?

"Wait, wasn't I just feeling inspired? Well, whatever, let's pick this up."

As they started picking up the stand, some of the papers fell onto the floor. Surprised, their body instinctively reached out for the papers as they let go of the stand. With a clash and a thud, both fell onto the floor. Getting onto their knees, they grabbed the papers checking to see how badly they had damaged them. The first sheet was wrinkled, the second had a couple folds, the third was alright; no need to check the other ones.

Thankfully, only two of the sheets were damaged. The rest are okay.

They put the sheets on a desk and placed the drawing stand upright. They grabbed the damaged sheets and threw the first one away as it was too damaged to actually work with. Turning to place the remaining sheets on the stand, they suddenly came to a stop. Only a single sheet had remained on the drawing stand.

"When everything fell down, I guess you're the only one who remained. The first of them all. My very first one."

They sat down on a stool and faced the single sheet of paper. The other blank sheets were not important at the time.

"Even after all this time, I still have you with me. How long has it been?  Look at you, full of erase marks, smudges, outlines, hardly what you'd call a perfect picture. It's messy."

They slowly began tracing the pencil marks on the sheet, following its figure, its shape, its outline. Their head tilted slightly as they let out a light sigh and a small smile. Careful not to smudge or damage any of the pencil marks, they moved their hand down the drawing until they reached the bottom right corner of the sheet. There lay a small note written and underneath it was a signature. It was signed, "The Drawer."

"I can't believe I signed this. And what a name I chose. Can you believe it? Well, of course you can. You were the one who I gave this to. I wonder, what did you first think of me back then? Back when we first met? If we were to meet now, what would be your first impression of me?"

A silence filled the room as the Drawer stayed still. Their hands reached out for a pencil, a charcoal, and an eraser. They nodded and began gently marking the paper while whispering.

"You know something? I want to draw. I want to create things but sometimes, well most of the time, something stops me. Perhaps I have a case of Artist's block or I just lose the willpower to continue. You always shone so brightly, so what would you do? What would you tell me if you were to see me today? Would you recognize me or would I come off as someone you used to know?"

A tear rolled down their cheek. They wiped it off with their sleeve.

"You held my hand all the time during those final days. When we were together, our smiles were so bright as though our hearts had united, a small miracle. If you were to look at my hand, would you recognize that it was the same hand you had once held tightly?"

The Drawer stared at this picture, hoping it would give him an answer. The portrait did as portraits do and stayed silent.

"You and I were married, do you remember that? I loved you so much and yet...and yet...What did you see in me? If it were today, would you still recognize me? Even after all these years? After all these scars I’ve received, all the pain and injuries, could you still recognize me?”

There were footsteps down the hall. They slowly became louder. The Drawer began placing the sheets back on top but before he could completely cover the portrait, he felt a tug. Their gaze was led back to the portrait. She was smiling at him.

In the same way that you remember me after all these years, remember that those moments we spent together were some of my best memories. I loved you so much that everyone knew about it. I presented you to everyone in my family because I loved you. Although our time was cut short, I don't regret any of it. I know that those around you, those close to you, will see what I saw in you. So to answer your question, yes! Yes, I would still recognize you because deep within you, you are still that person I married. I love you. 

It’s been a decade and yet you still remember me. We don’t have any pictures together yet you still know me. We haven’t talked for years and yet you still hold a special place for me in your heart. Thank you. Don’t give up. I’ll be rooting for you and waiting until we can be reunited. Until then, do your best and keep moving forward.”

The Drawer felt a poke on his right side. It was a friend of theirs. The Drawer turned and wiped his watery eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

The Drawer chuckles. 

“To tell you the truth, I’m not okay. I’m Steff.”

“Are you still going to quit?”

“This project?”

“Yes, this project.”

“Should I?”

“I think so. It’s nearly impossible.”

“Well, you know something? I’m an idiot who only knows how to move forward. I’ve got to do my best, for all those who are rooting for me. Like her.”

“Like who?”

Steff looks back at the drawing and smiles warmly at the portrait. She’s smiling back at him. He places the sheets on top of the portrait and gently flicks his friend’s forehead.

“I’ll let you know. I promise. Someday.”