“I didn’t think while I drew. The pencil flew across the page making marks, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Often times I didn’t know what it was going to be until it was completed. The cemetery was still with only a few birds calling off in the distance from time to time. When I finished I was not at all surprised by what had taken form on my paper. It was a portrait of my dad. He was sitting behind the tombstone, using it as a desk, his laptop open in front of him. He wore a peaceful smile. I smiled, too, as another tear fell.”

“I concentrated on his eyes and his facial expression. Those said a lot about a person. I’d noticed that his eyes changed color based on his mood. Right now they were a true clear green, which meant he was happy. When his eyes turned cloudy with a mix of gray, he was angry. But my favorite shade was clear dark green, the color of his eyes when he’d just kissed me. Eyes only told part of the story. Drawing a portrait could be like looking at a person’s soul, when done right.”

“An accountant would not make his girlfriend worry he while he was away at work”“Yeah,” Jonas shot back with a smile, “but he also wouldn’t have a milf girlfriend either.”I felt my eyes round as Tate said in a father’s warning tone but still I could tell from his voice he was smiling huge, “Bub.”“Dad, seriousloy, she’s milf,” Jonas returned.“Think it, boy, don’t say it.” Tate replied.“Right,” Jonas muttered but he was still smiling at me and his smile was unrepentant. Jonas had called me a milf. I knew what that meant and I didn’t know what to do with it.Seriously, Tate from head to toe.”

“My dog," he said, "just barks and plays -has all he wants to eat. He never works- has no trouble about business. In a little while he dies, and that is all. I work with all my strength. I have no time to play. I have trouble every day. In a little while I will die, and then I go to hell. I wish that I had been a dog.”

“He smiled at my reaction, the stupid smile of his that was like he knew something you didn’t. And he knew something I didn’t pretty much all the time, so it was pretty much every smile on his face.”

“After a time, my hand had become as skilled as my eyes. So if I was drawing a very fine tree, it felt as if my hand was moving without me directly it. As I watched the pencil race across the page, I would look on it in amazement, as if the drawing were the proof of another presence, as if someone else had taken up residence in my body. As I marveled at his work aspiring to become his equal, another part of my brain was busy inspecting the curves of the branches, the placement of mountains, the composition as a whole, reflecting that I had created this scene on a blank piece of paper. My mind was at the tip of my pen, acting before I could think; at the same time it could survey what I had already done. This second line of perception, this ability to analyse my progress, was the pleasure this small artist felt when he looked at the discovery of his courage and freedom. To step outside myself , to know the second person who had taken up residence inside me, was to retrace the dividing line that appeared as my pencil slipped across the paper, like a boy sledding in the snow.”

“Travis ran his hand over the stubble on his scalp, shaking his head. “He didn’t get out,” he whispered. “He didn’t get out, Pidge.”My breath caught as I watched the soot on his cheeks streak with his tears. He fell to his knees and I fell with him.“Trent’s smart, Trav. He got out. He had to have found a different way,” I said, trying to convince myself as well.Travis collapsed into my lap, gripping my shirt with both fists. I held him. I didn’t know what else to do.”