THE DRAWING

His ice blue eyes open, lost and unaware. They search his surroundings seeing more than what exists. They even meet hers for a second but then blink quickly and wander off. Refusing to believe the reality of the morning, he engages in sleep for a few more hours. It is early afternoon when the eyes are alive again, and he jumps out of the bed as if it was something attacking him. His feet take him to his desk, his arms pull out a chair, and his fingers pick up a pen. The book opens. He stops suddenly, looking back at the bed, thrilled to create an alternative way in which his journey from the bed to the desk was determined. His eyes plot, his mind expands and his arm vigorously works his hand across the page.

She sits there, poignant and affected. Watching him is hard to do without falling into a depressed state. She feels the hot tears fill her eyes as her emotions try to express themselves. She, like him, is also lost, but in a world of reality, a world so much harder to accept. She is angry that he did not bother to invite her into his world, angry that he left her to deal with it all on her own. She feels like screaming, but knows her voice will not resonate into the empty room.

Her eyes wander precariously around the room. Paintings and drawings blanket the white walls, covering his boyhood room of the past. Most drawings are inane to her, appearing unfinished and forgotten, but one seems to present itself to her. It compels her to look at it, examine it, feel its meaning. The cave of black ice threatens the children in the picture, and they look as if they are lost together in an unknown environment. The soft, snowy valley in the centre is juxtaposed with the sharp hard edges of the black iced cave. Streams of light exist in this drawing, glinting like promised hope. This light waits for the children to find their way to it from the caves above the valley. It wants to covet them, hug them with its warmth, and envelope them with love.

She realises that this light is what is lost to them both. As she examines the children covered in shadow, she recognises them. They both need to touch the valley, as they both lack the comfort and warmth which was once offered to them so freely. They are afraid of the sharp black ice threatening to envelope and trap them. She notices that there is no staircase in the picture leading to the valley. The staircases deceive the children, guide them in the wrong direction, and have no intention of leading to the sunned valley. Anger arises in her, she wants to tear the picture up and wish she never glanced at it. Why did it compel her to look at it? Why does she understand her brother’s world so well?

Tears break away from her wrath filled eyes. She wishes she was in the valley, in the past. She wants her mother’s light to touch her skin and envelope her aching body.
‘Just one more hug, one more kiss’, she thinks.

The girl’s eyes gaze to the fragile frame of her brother’s bony back. She notices him noticing her and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. She suddenly realises that Ben is aware of her, aware of his reality, and that he imagines and creates to distract himself from their horrible past.

“I see” she declares to his back, “I understand you now. I like your picture of the valley.”
He shifts again, awkwardly on his chair. His head lowers and his hand drops. The pen he had been holding has fallen to the floor and he makes no move to retrieve it. He starts to shake a little and she hears him begin to weep with grief. Sarah slips off her bed, and steps slowly towards the small figure of her brother. Her arm reaches out, sending with it comfort and affection. He refuses to turn or respond.

“I loved her as much as you, and I love you.”

Ben’s ice blue eyes now blanketed in tears slowly shift their gaze from the desk to her. His hard, cold, and angered face slowly appears as a half smile. She smiles back at her only brother, so content that he has acknowledged her.

He examines her own ice-blue eyes and her full peach tinted lips. His hand reaches up, and his outstretched finger wipes a tear from her cheek. More come streaming from her, and she is unable to contain them. Ben’s feet surface and his body rises up off his chair. His arms wrap around Sarah and he rests her head on his tiny shoulder.

“ I love you too.” he whispers.