First Quarter: Second Place Winner
GEORGE
by Andrew Salchert
Sometimes a kiss is delivered incognito, as if concealed in foreign garb. The oral dimensions removed, it may arrive by stealth and bear its recipient away in wonder. In fact, I have received many such treasures from George, without a single pursed lip, for he expresses himself by untraditional means, his affection usually conveyed by way of his hands. Let me tell you now, there is no diminishment to the magic therein. Indeed, a marked and coherent difference lies between his ordinary touch and his kiss. You would be amazed to experience the latter.
At first, in the dawning days of our relationship, I was understandably cautious around George. He, with his violent outbursts, and I, in my diffident reticence, were opposite extremes to each other. I was frightened of him, and perhaps he was equally unnerved by me; though, I have never known him to admit as much. In truth, I have never learned a single fragment of his feelings toward me during that probationary period. He was a closed book, hermetically sealed and stored in a sacred vault, while I … I was a threat to his world order.
We worked closely together, rehearsing, developing our necessary skills, learning to communicate with each other. The most basic level of understanding came to us only after many weeks of trial and error. In George’s eyes, I could see frustration growing, day after day, hour upon hour, until I was certain he would have me sent away. To his credit, though, he stayed with me, and I am grateful to have survived that stage of initiation.
In my profession, one can never assume that communication will be easy. People like George simply do not come out and state what they want. It was up to me to coax his needs out of him, and that, my friend, is a situation fraught with complications. I had to ask him direct questions, hoping that I was heading down the right path. Leaning upon me, he would stare at my face or, sometimes, stare vacantly into the distance, and his answer would come in a quick, nonchalant manner … Yes or No. At times, when I fell short of comprehending him well enough, I might get a forceful shove, instead. And, if George were particularly irate over my course of questioning, he would occasionally go into a tirade, knocking to the floor anything within reach and screaming in a horrifying pitch. Having reached that point, it might be as much as an hour before he would be calm enough for me to approach him again.
Like I said, though, George stayed with me, and we eventually got our working relationship off the ground. He was a trooper in every respect, as the cliché goes. Once we had our communication issues under control, we began working toward increasing our mutual trust and achieving some practical results. I never asked him, and, of course, he never volunteered any evidence, but I do believe he was excited and eager to succeed. As far as I know, no one in his position had ever reached the level of accomplishment we aimed to realize. I know I was excited.
“Are you ready to give this a try?” I asked. George indicated that he was ready.
The maneuvering and facilitation were my part of the project. I was responsible for getting George into position and managing the materials he required for completing the task. Our shared endeavor was wholly his idea and hinged entirely on his imagination. I understood my role and respected his right to actualize the goal, uninterrupted. Let me tell you, he was masterful, and I was completely impressed, filled with awe, left marveling at what he could do.
George and I setup in a shady spot near the corner of Freedom and Jefferson every morning at about 10:00am, provided there was no rain in the forecast. We brought along a small mirror that I attached to the top of the easel, and George’s subjects would stand behind him, where he could see their reflection. He would take one brief look into the mirror, and then he would stare up into the trees or sky as his mildly palsied hands went to work. With awkwardly stuttering movements he would dab or streak paint across the canvas, until he wanted to switch to a different color or brush, at which time he would simply release his current implement and let it fall to the drop-cloth I had placed on the sidewalk. His palette would be placed before him, to facilitate his next selection, and he would continue. All the while, as he painted, one of my hands would be under his wrist, supporting it without directing it. I was there to provide the steadying influence, which allowed him to direct the brush toward the canvas.
There were skeptics, as one might expect. To the general onlooker, it appeared as though I was controlling George’s arm, like a puppeteer. I admit I had no answer for those who scoffed at us. We could not make it appear any differently than it did, and George could not defend himself in public any better than he could hold his own arm steady at the canvas. We knew our limitations and wanted to make no pretenses or illusions. Thank goodness George did not take offense at the naysayers. I wish I could say the same for myself.
Nevertheless, to those willing to suspend their judgment, George’s efforts eventually spoke in volumes. His portraits were abstract and lacked any fine details, as far as technique was concerned. However, each of his patrons walked away holding something they believed to be sacred in some mysterious way. It was not the artist as much as it was the portrait and the subject. Passers-by would remark how “special” the paintings were. Yet, George’s clients unequivocally lauded their own portraits in amazement, as masterpieces. You see, George’s specific talent did not reside in the art of painting so much as it lay in his ability to capture a person’s spirit on canvas. Each patron could look at his or her own portrait and observe a strange and unique kind of glow, which apparently no one else could see. I know because I experienced it myself when George practiced with me as his subject.
The clients would often be in tears as they received their portraits. How had this wheelchair-bound, young man been able to touch their very soul? Many of them wanted to hug him or show their affection in some other way. At those moments I had to instantly switch into bodyguard mode. “Don’t touch him, please!” I would plead, emphatically, as I moved to block their approach. “I’m sorry, but he’s severely autistic and is apt to respond violently to being touched by strangers. That’s why he needs to have his back turned to you. His condition of hypersensitivity makes him unsocial, just as it allows him to paint these miraculous portraits. If you want to thank him, let me show you how. It’s better if you let him do the touching.”
Standing beside George, so that he was able to see the person peripherally, the client would say, quite plainly, “Thank you, George.” I would then support George’s arm so that he could reach out. His brief touch on the forearm or the back of the patron’s hand would leave the recipient in shock. “I think he just kissed me,” they would often say.
“Yes,” I would respond, as George withdrew his arm and stared off into the distance. “He does that a lot.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Andrew Salchert is a software developer who enjoys the process of creative expression. He loves music, literature, poetry, and the visual arts. The story, George, is based loosely on observations of his nephew.
JUDGE’S COMMENTS:
I hesitated over whether to put this in the "winning" or "honorable mention" category, because, to be honest, my criticism of the story is that it seems to be trying too hard at the beginning to fool or deceive the reader. You don't know where this story is going. However, once you GET there, the feeling is one of satisfaction and pleasure. The author has captured a difficult character realistically, and there's a "feel-good" quality to the piece that isn't overdone or saccharine, i.e., the author isn't trying to hit you over the head with "here's how you should feel about this person" –the author paints a vivid, interesting portrait of "George." Overall the use of language is good, and I think this author will go on to more excellent stories, but my admonition, again, is to avoid "trying too hard." Let the story flow without being so intent on trying to make the reader think he or she is going down one path, and then unveiling the "surprise" that one is really being led somewhere else.