CHILDREN SEE MAGIC

by JoAnn Baca

Children see magic because they look for it.
~ Christopher Moore

“Whatcha doin’?” The young boy’s attention had been caught by the open sketchbook on the lap of the woman sitting in Central Park. There were pictures there, really pretty ones. He had watched her create them with just a few deft movements of her hand and a pencil.

The woman smiled indulgently. “I’m drawing what I see around me. Come, take a look.” She slid over to give the boy enough room to sit beside her on the bench.

Eagerly he plopped down, staring at the pearly sheets of paper filled with perfect renderings of the birds, trees, and people he could look up and see surrounding them. “Neat!”

“Yes, I think so, too,” the woman replied, handing him her sketchbook.

He thumbed through the pages, marveling at the faces and places revealed in the drawings. When he had finished, he stared up into her face. She was gazing at him with kind eyes that twinkled like water in sunlight. “You do that with just a pencil?”

“Well, yes…that…and many years of training and practice.” She reached into her bag and took out a sharp pencil. “Would you like to try it?” she asked him, holding the instrument out to him.

“Could I?!” Amazed that a stranger would let him play with her stuff, he grabbed eagerly for the pencil.

The woman turned to a fresh page in her sketchbook and settled it onto his jeans-clad lap. “Let me show you how to hold your pencil,” she offered, and he let her position his fingers, then allowed her to guide his hand, showing him how to create the breast of a plump pigeon, just like the ones strutting on the path in front of their bench.  For half an hour they worked in that fashion: she would help him draw a curve or a line and he would copy the motion on his own below the sample. Both teacher and student were absorbed in the impromptu tutoring, and soon a simple but very respectable-looking cousin of the pigeon on the walkway appeared on the page, brought to life by his hand.

“Wow!” he said, admiring his own work.

“Good job,” his teacher murmured, impressed at how quickly he’d picked up the lesson.

A woman who had been reading on a blanket nearby called over to the boy, and he jumped up in response. “Can I keep it?” he asked, pointing at his drawing.

“Of course!” The woman on the bench carefully tore the page from the sketchbook. As she handed it to him, she took note of his broad, engaging smile. He is quite the charmer, she thought to herself. “If you find yourself in the park again, I’m usually here at about this time. I enjoy seeing the world go by from this bench. It reminds me…” Her eyes got misty and she didn’t complete her thought, looking beyond the boy to something only she could see.

“Will you help me draw some more if I see you again?” His request had pulled her back to the present. The hope in his intelligent brown eyes was impossible to miss. It had been quite a while since she’d had an eager student, and one with such innate talent, so her nod came easily.

“What shall I call you when I see you again, young man?” she asked. “All I really know about you is that you’re a Mets fan,” she added, pointing to his baseball cap.

“I’m Kris!”  He thrust a hand out to shake hers.

“It’s been a pleasure, Kris…short for Kristopher, is it?”

He nodded.

“And I am Elizabeth.”