☂

“Miss?” says a tiny voice on your right.

You turn towards a skinny boy in thick-rimmed glasses; his left eye has a tiny, white spot partly covering his pupil. It surely doesn’t make him blind, but must strongly prevent him from seeing everything clearly.

“Wait a second,” you say to your phone and move it away from your ear for the sake of looking at the kid. “Yes?” you ask, focusing all your attention on him.

“My dad told me you knew the person who painted all these.”

You hum in agreement, smiling softly at him.

“Did he really paint them all by himself?”

“All by himself,” you confirm.

“No one helped him?”

“No one.”

“But he was blind,” the boy says with a tiny grimace, drawing out the last word.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But he still managed to create something this incredible and permanent; that’s the beauty of his work.”

The boy looks thoughtful; he scrunches his nose, scratches his head and once again his eyes travel from one painting on the wall to another. After a few seconds he seems pleased with something.

“Do you think I could do something like this too?” He asks, blinking owlishly at you.

“Everything is possible as long as you have your imagination,” you smile and crouch down in front of him so you’re on the same eye level. “He once told me that when he paints, there’s nothing beside imagination with him. It was enough to create these.”

The boy eyes you carefully, and then frowns.

“How would you describe him?” He asks eloquently, making you chuckle.

“Like the person you want to grow up to be,” you answer without a skip.

“That’s so cliché,” says a voice in your phone. You laugh, put it back to your ear.

“You love it,” you answer.  

fin