“You see, we’re all connected to each other.” A gnarled, paint-stained hand gestured wildly over a canvas of colour. “Can you see it?”

“I can see it,” The boy nodded, eyes following the links of tints through each cycle.

“Yeah, you can see it. Can you feel it?” The hand fell on the boy’s shoulder heavily, the warm weight settling into his heart.

“Feel it?” The boy asked, looking from the hand to the old man and back again.

“Close your eyes. Feel it. We’re all connected. We are one. Always remember that.”

Always remember that.

Always.

Ravi felt the words echo back to him from his memory. He had forgotten that time, lost it among the junk and toxicity he had been pouring into his brain for the last several years. Where had they been that year? Who was that artist?

He rolled onto his side on the mattress and tried to remember. Asking his mother if she knew who he would be. She didn’t reply.

He must have been 6 or 7. The colours of the painting were vivid in his mind. Greens, blues, and reds. Textured oil paints, he could smell them. Oil paints and turpentine. And a grizzled beard, not shaven in a week. A smiling face with deep blue eyes, like storm clouds over the ocean. Ravi could see and remember everything, except his name.

With a defeated sigh he opened his eyes. A tumble of clothes and books greeted him.

Ah, Ken. Ravi closed his eyes again and wished for more sleep. None came.

Ken had goaded him into a yelling fit the night before. He was completely humiliated. Not only yelling like a child but crying as well. His eyes clenched tighter as his stomach did, embarrassment overwhelming him. His body curled with a physical cringe at himself.

“Crying is nothing. Crying is your body and mind cleansing itself of pain. We need to cry to cleanse ourselves.” His mother’s voice rang loudly in his ears, as though she were standing behind him giving that lecture again.

Ravi had disagreed, even at 12 years old, he knew that crying made you weak. Crying made you vulnerable.

Ken watched the forest move in the breeze. An intricate dance of branches and leaves, shifting here and there in the currents of the air. It was when his mind began to wander aimlessly like this that he began to wish for impossibilities. When he found that moment between thought and idea. His eyes would glaze and his breathing would all but stop. At the apex of that moment, he believed in impossible things.

The door opened and the wishes crashed to the floor, dissolving into the wood instantly. He turned, forgetting to set his face to a smile and found Ravi staring at him.

Something leapt the distance between them. Something denser than electricity and twice as fast. It was gone before he could catch it or name it. It settled into his skin and disappeared.

“Morning,” Ken managed a smile.

Ravi nodded back,

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

It was a simple thing but Ken felt the word like the glow from a fire. His smile grew wider and he walked to the kitchen.

Over coffee and breakfast they didn’t speak. When Ravi took up his sketchbook and sat at the table Ken simply left without a word. When he emerged hours later to eat they still didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until Ken set a cup of tea in front of Ravi and sat across from him at the table that they spoke.

“Are you staying again?” Ken’s voice was a little husky. He cleared his throat and smiled.

“No,” Ravi sipped the tea and closed the book.

“OK.”

“I have some things to take care of in the city. I think…” He gave a long sigh. “I think I’m finding what I need out here. Is it OK if I come back again?”

“Whenever you like,” Ken shrugged, something hitching in his shoulders as he did and staying there.

Ravi watched him, beginning to dissect his features again, just as he had when they first met.

This time Ken smiled beneath the profound stare.

“I have a request for you in return for coming here.” The hitch in Ken’s shoulders tightened. Ravi didn’t reply. “Would you look at my work? Give me an honest opinion? Point me in the right direction?”

It wasn’t the chin or the ears, Ravi decided as he stared at Ken. It had to be his nose, it was perfect. Or just imperfect enough to be perfect.

“Sure,” Ravi nodded, abandoning his search of Ken’s face.

Ken laughed a little and sat back in his chair. He gave Ravi’s face a profound stare of his own.

“Are you feeling OK?” He joked softly.

“I’m trying not to drag everyone down with me.” Ravi’s voice was so quiet and grave, but there was a hint of optimism.

“Good.”

Ravi laughed at Ken’s audacity and shook his head. Nothing ever seemed to affect Ken for more than a few moments.

“I’ll look now if you like?” Ravi asked. His voice still rough with irritation but somehow lacking the usual conviction.

“Uh, next time is fine.” Ken waved the offer away. “I hate everything in there so…”

“OK.”

“When are you going?”

“Now.” Ravi stood, taking a last sip of tea and gathering his things. They stared at one another, neither sure what they were looking for. Then Ravi nodded, turned and left. Ken frowned to himself as he heard the front door snap shut.

What are you doing?

Painting.
Mostly. Not right now. The phone doesn’t go into the studio.

How is it going?

Ken sighed and stared at the message. He wished he knew. It had been over a week since Ravi’s visit and so far everything was still crap. His eyes bored into the message, searching for the hidden meanings. They weren’t that obscure - When are you giving up and coming home?

I’m not sure.
Maybe I’m onto something.

That’s good! Can I see it when it’s finished?

Ken’s eyes narrowed again. This hidden message was easy too - Prove it.

Maybe.

How are your parents?

A flash of irritation burnt across his chest. That was a dirty play - You should go home. Think of what your parents are going through.

Oh have to get back to work.
I’ll talk to you later.

Work Hard.