What Draws You?
By Heartfelt Heartlook
John
watched the old man amble through the parking lot. Spring had arrived, but the
cold, wet day seemed to say otherwise.
He’d seen him many times in life and most of the time the old fellow
would nod and keep walking. Other times
he stopped to talk, sometimes questioning, sometimes rambling, or so it
seemed. People stared or avoided him,
and some kids threw rocks at him. Others
fled. John saw that firsthand when he
was a small boy. He remembered it like
yesterday, it was his birthday, and he was riding his new bike. He remembered hearing his friends’ laughter
turn to screams. John turned around to
see what scared them, but unlike the others, when the old man approached him,
John didn’t run.
On
that day, his eighth birthday, the man with the rags for clothes and worn shoes
asked him, “What draws you young man?”
John
heard the question, but he didn’t know what to say. So he did what he’d seen his dad do. He offered his hand and said, “Hi, my name is
John.” He remembered seeing something
like surprise in the man’s eyes.
“John,
you may call me Mr. B. Nice to meet you
and that is a fine, red bike you have there.”
“Thank
you, I got it for my birthday. I’m eight
now. Sir, what is that under your arm?”
Mr. B
removed the pad and opened it. “These
are my drawings. One is a truck I did,
and here is the Holy Family.” He fumbled
with the pages. “This bird with the worm
is one I drew yesterday.”
“Wow,
you are a good artist. And I want a
truck-a red one-just like that when I grow up.”
“John
because it’s your birthday, I’d like to give you a gift. Would you like the drawing of the truck?”
The
young child bit his lip.
“Young
man, if you don’t have a need for it or want a different one, it’s okay.”
“Mr.
B, I do want a different one. He pointed
to the drawing he liked.”
“Good
choice.” The old man gently removed the
drawing from the pad and the two parted ways.
Here,
ten years later, John still knew little about Mr. B. There was a rumor that he was wealthy, most
said he was deranged. Some said he
lived under an overpass, because they saw him there with the homeless most
every day. He wore the same clothes,
except on Sunday. That day he wore the
same outdated, but always clean, suit to Mass.
Otherwise he looked like a bum.
The
bell on the café door rang, Mr. B stepped inside. Paul, John’s friend since the first grade,
walked up at the same time. The old man
approached the two. He nodded and asked
Paul, “Young man, what draws you?”
Paul
snorted. He drew the letter “u” on the
café window. The sweat from where warmth
meets cold ran down the pane. Paul said,
“Let’s see, the answer to your riddle is a pencil.” He laughed.
“Or in this case my finger.”
John
shoved Paul. “Go sit down.”
“What? You’d rather hang out with this bum?”
“Yeah,
he’s not rude, and he’s not a bum.”
Paul
feigned hurt feelings. “I’ll order your
usual.”
John
turned to the old man. “Mr. B, I’m
sorry. Paul should learn some manners.”
Mr. B
smiled. “Believe me, I’ve heard
worse. I know it’s cold, but do you mind
stepping outside for a moment?”
------------
The
cold drizzle made John shiver. Looking
down he noticed Mr. B’s shoes were coming apart. His own foot was next to the old man’s, and he
noted was the same size.
“John,
look around. Tell me what you see.”
John
wondered if this was what an artist did with most of their time. He also wondered why Mr. B never sold his
art. He heard he gave it away. He answered, “Well, there is that guy pumping
gas, into a very nice car I might add.
And that man and woman are feeding cats behind the dumpster over
there.” He looked back to the
convenience store. “I guess that’s a mom
and dad helping their child get out of the car.”
The
old man nodded, “Yes John, but what draws them?”
John
felt like he was eight years old again.
On some level he knew what he was being asked was important. He just wasn’t sure what Mr. B meant. He could ask him, but it seemed like the old
man expected him to know.
“John,
it gets to the center of it all. And
that could go either way or sit right on the fence.”
“Yes
sir.” He rubbed his temple. Paul was right. It felt like a riddle. Here he was about to graduate High School,
and he was pondering riddles. Finals
were next week, and that was his focus.
Or it should be.
“Don’t
worry about this right now son. It will
come together down the road.”
John
watched him step off the curb into what was now evening rain.
------------
John
was thankful for the warmth of the kitchen and the hot chocolate his mom handed
him.
“Mom,
do you know much about Mr. B?”
She
raised an eyebrow. “No, I can’t say I
do. He moved here when he was already
beyond retirement age.”
“That’s
it?”
“It
seems like I remember someone saying he never married and his family members
are all deceased.” She took her empty
cup and placed it in the sink. “He’s an
odd man. Don’t get me wrong, he’s always
helping people, but he looks like he needs help.”
John
handed him mom his cup before rushing to his bedroom. He left her yelling for him to tell his
brothers and sisters to get their homework done.
He
opened his closet and placed high on a shelf were his new and now favorite
boots. He’d saved a long time to be able
to purchase them. He’d only worn them
once. Turning one over he noted how
sturdy and fine the leather appeared.
------------
The
following day, John saw Mr. B walking in front of the local grocery store. He pulled into the parking lot and waved the
old man over.
“Hello
John, may I help you?”
“No
thanks, Mr. B, I have something here, I want to give you.” He reached into the car and pulled out the
boots. “I think we wear the same
size. I hope you like these.”
The
old man smiled. He took one boot and ran
his finger across the leather. “Son,
these are mighty fine boots. I thank you
for offering, but I’m on the way to the thrift shop to get some shoes
now.” He looked at his feet. “These I have do look bad. It’s not that I can’t afford to get more.” He
smiled. “I’ve been busy.”
“It
would give me pleasure for you to have these.
It’s a gift.”
“Okay,
then I accept and I’ll wear them.” He
leaned against John and removed one shoe.
He slid his foot into the left boot.
“This feels like nothing I’ve worn before.” He put on the other boot and threw his shoes
in the garbage can nearby. “Thank you
John. This means a lot to me.”
John
watched him walk away. He whispered into
the empty morning air, “What draws you Mr. B?”
------------
During
the next couple of years John would see Mr. B when he was home from
college. At one of those encounters, Mr.
B inquired about Paul.
“Paul
joined the Marines.”
“I
can’t say I’m surprised. He was always
about military things, even when he was a small child.”
John
laughed, “You have that right. But you
know, it has changed him, he’s a bit more serious.”
“War
will do that to a person. It can either
be their road to Damascus or their undoing.”
The old man pointed to his boots.
“Look John, I’m still wearing them.”
He shifted his weight. “Tell me young
man, what is going on with you?”
“I’m
trying to keep up with my courses. I
still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life. I’m struggling because I don’t feel like I
can find my place.”
The
old man slapped him on the back.
“Believe me young man; it is all going to work out for you.”
John
thought about how he’d not discussed this with any other person, not even his
family. “Mr. B, I wish I had the faith
in me you have.”
“John,
it’s all in what draws people. Faith
believes in what you see and what you don’t see. There is evidence all around us.” He grinned.
“Then sometimes the Almighty gives a glimpse of what is going to be.”
“My girlfriend says she believes
people end up where they’re suppose to be, as long as they are true to
themselves.”
“A
girlfriend? Is it serious?”
“I
guess you could say it is. We have a lot
in common, like me she enjoys studying philosophy, history and theology.” He grinned.
“She is cute too.” John
hesitated, if Mr. B asked him questions,
it was only fair that he could ask some too.
“What about you Mr. B? Did you
ever have a serious girlfriend?”
“Yes,
I did.” The words came soft and
low. “So serious that I married her.”
“Married?”
“I
guess that surprises you. I know what
people say.”
“What
happened?”
“She
was sick. A year and three days into our
marriage, she died.”
“Mr.
B, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t
be, I’m not.”
“Better
to have loved and lost than never loved at all?”
“John
in my case Tennyson has it wrong because I didn’t lose that love. Love is a reality. A reality I don’t regret at all.” He laughed.
“She is part of what drew me.”
The look on his face was fleeting but somber. “I would’ve loved to have children. She would’ve liked that too.”
“What
about nieces and nephews? Do you have
any of those?”
“Nope,
it just me. My mother couldn’t have any
more children. It had to be some medical
issue. I don’t know, I was never told.”
For
some reason John took a long look at the man before him. He saw he was now stooped and his hair was
not only white but almost gone.
Mr. B
offered his hand to John. “Young man,
I’ve enjoyed speaking to you today.”
John
took his hand, but instead of shaking it he pulled the old man into a hug. He didn’t know why, but he somehow needed to
let him know what he meant to him. Mr.
B’s head rested against his shoulder, and John felt him relax.
The
old man stepped back and smiled. “So
right now a girl is drawing you! Be
careful about breaking her heart, you hear?”
He turned and toddled down the sidewalk.
Something
in John stirred. It was sadness. He wanted to run after him and hug him
again. Instead he said, “At one time a
girl drew you too Mr. B. What else draws
you?”
------------
Back
at school, John threw himself into his studies.
He did spend time with his girlfriend, whether it was a study date or
social date. He thought of Mr. B when he
was lost in a book. He knew he’d say
that is part of what drew him. And
because of the old man he found himself studying people more too. It was a fast paced time in life, but unlike
most of his friends he found his solace in front of the Blessed Sacrament. He had to admit it he found it to be a quiet
and good place to study. Most of the time when he prayed, it was out of
desperation, and more than a few times he fell asleep.
It
was during a time of dozing when he thought he felt someone tap his
shoulder. He looked around, but he
didn’t see a soul. The prompt to call
home seem to come from within, but he decided to follow the need anyhow. Speaking
with his mom confirmed his response to that need. Mr. B had died, and he requested John to
serve at his funeral Mass.
------------
John
hadn’t served at the altar since he was in High School. He was already dressed and waiting when
Father Joseph walked in.
“Hi
John, we’re so glad you could come today.
Mr. Bernardone sure thought a lot of you. When he planned his funeral, he repeated
numerous times his request for you to serve.”
He
managed to say, “It’s an honor for me Father.”
He hoped the red creeping us his neck and face wasn’t too obvious. Until now he didn’t even know Mr. B’s real
name. Why hadn’t he asked more
questions? Why didn’t he try to learn
more about the man who seamlessly moved in and out of his life?
Father Joseph motioned for John to
follow him. “Come on son. The church is full, standing room only. He has drawn quite a crowd.”
------------
Months
later, at home for summer break, John found himself in an attorney’s
office. He didn’t know why, but he did
know it was because of Mr. B. He stood
when the attorney entered.
“Hi
John, I’m Matthew Reed. Please sit
down.”
John
shook his hand and took a seat.
“You
wondering why you’re here today?”
“Yes
I am, was Mr. B in some kind of trouble?”
“Trouble? Not hardly.”
He rifled through some papers.
“You’re in his will.”
John
was puzzled. “He had a will?”
“Yes
John. Francesco was a
very wealthy man, and that is one thing few know. He asked me to explain a bit, and he asked
that you keep the wealth part confidential.
But first things first.”
John smiled when he heard Mr. B’s
first name. He first read it on the
funeral announcement and almost fell out of his chair.
Matthew Reed placed a pair of worn
boots on the desk. John recognized
them. The attorney reached under the
desk and pulled out the exact boots, only new.
“Okay, both pair of boots are now your property.”
John looked at the
worn boots and the new boots. He hoped
this wouldn’t be another thing he’d spend a good deal of his lifetime trying to
figure out.
“Mr. Reed, if Mr.
B, um, Bernardone was wealthy, why did he accept charity from people?”
“Because he knew
it helped draw them.”
John shook his
head.
“Young man,
Francesco allowed people to help him.
They needed to be needed. Don’t
worry, he always paid them back. Believe
me; I had to make those anonymous donations.
Even Father Joseph doesn’t know the depth of his wealth, but soon he
will find an anonymous benefactor has left a ton of money to the parish.”
Out of the corner
of his eye John saw a dog’s tail. “Is
that a dog under your desk?”
Matthew
whistled. “Come on out Claire. It’s okay, he won’t hurt you.” A blonde cocker spaniel rounded the
corner. “This is Francesco’s dog. I inherited her.”
“Let me guess,
she’s afraid of her own shadow.”
“Yes, she’s a real
sissy.”
John laughed. “I
didn’t even know he had a dog.”
“He didn’t have “a”
dog. He had dogs, and cats and birds and
squirrels and raccoons. Well the list
could go on forever. Let’s leave it at he
had anything that showed up at his house.”
The attorney rubbed the dog’s ears.
“He lived in that little shack, but he had a vast amount of property. He left it as a sanctuary for animals that
need homes.” He touched the Cocker’s
nose. “But he had a special love for
Clare, so she became mine.”
“I’m a bit
overwhelmed.”
“John, Francesco
was also generous to those who weren’t generous to him. Throughout his
lifetime, he spread his wealth far and wide, and he’s doing the same after his
death. I realize it’s a lot to take in
when you think you knew somebody.”
“Now I don’t feel
like I knew him at all.”
“He said you’d say
that. But be assured; he was confident
you knew him and that you would understand.
He often said he wasn’t sure if what he was doing was right, but he was
doing his best. John, he thought the world
of you and talked about you non-stop it seemed sometimes.”
“You knew him
well.”
“He was a
friend. We spent many a day here in this
office talking about how to change the world, among other things.”
John stood to
leave. “Thank you Mr. Reed for getting
these boots to me.”
Mr. Reed jumped
out of his chair. “John sit down, that’s
not all.” He put a sketch on the desk in
front of John.
“Wow, this is the
sketch of the truck he had when I was eight years old.”
The attorney
pointed out the window. “And that red
truck outside belongs to you.”
John leaned
forward to get a better look. “You’re
kidding me! It’s exactly like the
sketch. It has to be an antique.”
“It is an antique,
but it is pristine and runs like it is new.
Oh yeah the sketch is yours too.”
“I don’t know what
to say.”
“Do you see all
those books stacked over there by the wall?”
“Are those your
books?
“They are
now. Francesco left them all to me
because he said I needed to get my life straight. I’m retiring next year, and he said I had
plenty of time to read and study.” He
waved his hand and said, “Not only that, but he has paid for all of my
grandchildren to go to college. I didn’t
know what to say either.”
The attorney
reached around the side of his desk.
“John, there is one other thing he left you. He said he wants you to open this letter and
this package on the happiest day of your life and not a second before. I don’t know what’s inside. I wondered if your happiest day would be when
you married, had children, graduated college or something else. Francesco assured me you would know when to
open it. Can you promise me that you’ll
respect his request and not peek before then?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Francesco said I
could take you at your word. He also
said I could call you if I had questions about what is in some of those books.”
John shook
Matthew’s hand. He chuckled and said,
“You can call me, but I can’t guarantee I’ll have the answers.”
The two parted but
not before agreeing to meet again when John was home from college.
------------
John leaned back in his chair. Today was the day. It was about twenty two years since
he was eight years
old and introduced himself to Mr. B. He
glanced at the boots on his feet. An
identical pair, only worn, rested on a shelf at the end of his bed. He held the package in his hands. He’d kept his word, he’d left it intact.
“Mr. B, I want you to know you
taught me well, and your lesson has humbled me.
I’ve been watching people, and when I see what draws them it gives me a
better idea of the center of it all.
I’ve seen there is true evil, but I see most have goodness. Some of what draws them is learned and some
is chosen. And like you said, it can go
either way or straddle the fence.”
John took the envelope from the
package. He opened it and began to read.
Dearest John, here it is…the
happiest day of your life. I want to
convey the joy in my heart at being able to participate in your journey. The first day we met you chose the drawing of
the Holy Family. Right then I was given
a glimpse of who you would become. Do
you remember you hugged me and ran off yelling, “Look mom, look dad.” But it wasn’t your choice of the drawing
only. When you offered me your tiny
hand, God gave me a glimpse of your destiny.
What a wonder to behold. I was
blessed to see the love you would hold.
Many days when I was tired and lonely, the thought of you gave me
strength. Every sacrifice made was worth
it all. I knew the day would come where
you figured out what draws us leads us to who draws us. And I knew that through Our Lord’s grace I
would be a tiny part of His plan. We’ve
worn the same boots John, just different pairs, because we all walk our own
path. And one day when your boots are
old and worn, you’ll realize how much the times we walked together meant to me.
Young man, you have been like a son to
me. It was fitting that you hugged me
when we first met and we last parted. It
was then I realized my own journey on earth was coming to an end. On this special day, please accept this gift,
with the wonder felt, by this artist who drew it. Thank you John for your kindness to an odd,
old man. Much love, Francesco Bernardone
John began to cry. He did know him after all. He shared something with Mr. B that he would
never share with another. All along the
old man had been preparing John for this day.
Unwrapping the gift, John noticed it
was a drawing. He marveled at seeing the
date of his eighth birthday next to Mr. B’s signature. But he gasped when he removed the rest of the
paper and saw the portrait. The old man
knew who drew John. In fact, if someone
would’ve taken a photo of him on this day, it would’ve looked just like the
sketch he held in his hands. Mr. B had
John down perfect, from the stubborn cowlick on the front of his head to the
chasuble he wore. And there, lifted for
all to see, high in his hands was his center, the Host, the Eucharist, the very
One who drew him.
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