“What are you painting?” Alice had shakily asked him that first day.
“A tree.” He had replied simply, smiling at her without a trace of the usual emotions: no shock, no disgust, no pity. Nothing. He just smiled in her general direction, missing her eyes by a few inches.
The painting did not resemble a tree’s appearance in any way imaginable. But as Alice, watched her new companion dab away with colors he couldn’t identify without her help, she saw that it did resemble a tree, not in looks, but in feeling. A tree grew, and so did Michael James’ painting.
Now, as they sat in comfortable silence, Alice forgot about her own work and just watched as Michael painted.
“You seem quiet today.” He said at last. “Is everything alright?” Alice was surprised at how much a blind person could see.
“I just have a lot on my mind I guess.” She replied.
“Anything in particular?”
Alice debated with herself. No one had ever gotten close enough to care about her before, and she was unsure of how friendships worked. Trust was an unknown virtue, and Alice was skittish.
“Maybe, but it’s not important. Not right now anyway.”
She expected him to press her, but he didn’t. He just shrugged and said cheerfully,
“If you say so.”
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