By Lisa Lange
This Story Won Third Prize in Our Contest
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From a distance, he looked part of the bench, weathered and gray. His back was upright but humped at his shoulders. His neck curved. His head hung toward the ground. Skinny legs dangled from the seat. He lifted his dagger-like nose—the kind of thing that happened to old people’s noses when cartilage got weak, and skin sagged—to let his yellowish eyes meet hers. For a moment, the awkwardness of his shape made her want to paint again, to capture this figure on canvas.
“What kind of thing are you?” he asked, with the same directness that also happened to old people. “Are you a mermaid?”
She could see why he said it. Her hair was long and wavy. Truth be told she’d let her hair go for a while. And she had only one leg, which the breeze had wrapped with her cotton skirt. His words made her feel beautiful.
“Far from water,” he said. She considered it an invite to sit.
But sitting beside him made it awkward to look at him, to discern, without looking like she stared at his long, sharp nose—like a great blue heron, she thought. So, instead she looked forward, out at the field. “You are also far from water,” she said, a wink to his comment, and a nod to his appearance, while they both looked forward to the field of mustard blooms.
“Eee-lisabeth,” he drawled.
“You know my name.” Had he watched her hobble through the park on her crutches every day? Had he inquired about her? She didn’t remember ever seeing him.
“Brilliant. Isn’t it, Eee-lisabeth? The way the green of those trees frames the blooms of yellow.” It had been a long time since Elisabeth took notice of color.
“Makes sense,” she said. “Green and yellow are complementary.”
“Indeed. Our eyes get used to green’s harmony and balance, I suppose—so dominant in nature, green. But with the two colors side by side, the yellow becomes positively vibrant. Do you feel the joy in yellow’s vibrance, Eee-lisabeth?”
Did she know joy? She knew denial. She knew anger. She knew anguish. She knew the feeling of a one-legged climb from the bottom of life’s perpendicular wall. A year, four months, and three days, she’d dashed across the street. Late for art class. A hit and run. Her leg was too mangled to save. She knew the shock of lifting hospital sheets to see half of what she had been. She knew loss.
“Thank God you’re alive,” her parents said. “We love you. We’ll take care of you. It’s only a leg.” But when her mother thought Elisabeth was out of earshot, “It’s a shame,” she whispered. “She was such a pretty girl. So much potential.”
“You’re still you,” said her best friend, Amy. But she wasn’t. She’d forgotten about the feeling of joy. About joy’s light and lift. About its color. Yellow was crazy. It was the brush strokes of van Gogh.
“Like the joy in the yellow wheat fields of van Gogh?” She thought he would get that she was being facetious.
“Oh, yes. Exactly. You look at van Gogh’s Wheat Field with Cypresses, and you feel his joy, his embrace of the light, the energy and warmth of the sun. You feel the vitality that lifted his mind while he painted.”
“Maybe, it was desperation in van Gogh’s mind when he painted.” She thought of herself. “The desperation to capture the elusive joy in yellow. Maybe, in his yellow, is misery.”
“Hmmm.” She heard sadness, a scoff, and resignation, in his sound. “And the blue…” He lifted his head to look at the sky. “Do you see good fortune in blue?”
Had she ever seen good fortune in blue?
“I’m tired, Eee-lisabeth.”
“You should rest.”
“Not rest,” he told her. “Fly.” Ahh, so he was a bird of some kind.
“Then you should fly.”
“Yes,” he said. “And you?”
“I don’t fly.”
“I know,” he said. Tipping his head back to make room for his nose, he turned to look at her, disappointed.
“My wings are clipped.” She took hold of her crutches to remind him. She led his eyes with her eyes to her leg.
“You have your hands.”
She shrugged her shoulders. She looked down at her arms.
He turned forward again; he let out a sigh, and looking up, he rested the back of his head on the bench.
Elisabeth turned forward, let out a sigh, and looking up, rested the back of her head on the bench. She watched pillows of white float across robin’s egg blue. She’d forgotten about the sky. She’d forgotten about passion, about a sense of well-being, about the feeling that was contentment. She’d forgotten about her paints, and about painting.
She had real talent, Professor Simpson said. Elisabeth lifted her head off the bench to look out at the trees. She’d forgotten the healing of green. She could bring her paints out here tomorrow, set up her easel in front of the bench. She’d catch the morning sun on the mustard blooms, paint the early blue light of renewal. She used to love to paint en plein air. She’d pack everything onto her wheelchair. Maybe she’d call Professor Simpson. Let her know how she was doing.
She listened to her own sigh mix with the breeze. She watched a pair of enormous shaggy wings cut across the sky—a long S-shaped neck, a narrow white head, a black crown, a blade-like beak, long boney legs that looked too long to be in the air. Elisabeth turned to say thank you, but the bench was empty.
This is a beautiful story…poetic, magical, full of hope and renewal. Well done, Lisa.
Thank you, Enid! I appreciate that!
cherylwriting@gmail.com
Lisa, your story was lovely, poetic, and a tribute to nature. You showed very poetically how communing with nature, and ‘talking’ with the Blue Heron spurred Elizabeth to use her painting to capture the beauty.
Thank you Cheryl. I do believe nature is the human restorative 🙂
I really enjoyed this story, and how it captured the way that a moment of hope or redemption can arrive in your life like a strange bird.
Thank you Penny. I think you said, what I really wanted to say. And that we should all keep are eyes and minds open.
So beautiful. Made me wish to be visited by a bird.
Thank you Jennifer! I love that!
Excellent! Well written, descriptive and touching, thank you.
Thank you for reading, Joe. I am so glad you enjoyed the story!
So beautiful and hopeful. Stunning with the color and imagery!
Thank you for reading Ellen!
Can almost picture this story as a surrealist painting in images – is it a bird, is it a man … up to the viewer to decide. What it certainly depicts is a fortuitous meeting that helps open your main character up to the vibrant colors of the world around again. Beautiful story.
I can see it as a surrealist painting, too! Thank you, BZ, for reading it!
Reading this, I thought about how fragile joy is, and how quietly it can arrive. Lovely story.
I love that, Elaine! Thank you!
This story made such wonderful pictures in my head. I could see this story as a Miyazaki animation, almost timeless in its hopefulness. This was a highlight of my day!
I think I saw it as an animation while writing it! Thank you for reading!
Your emotive imagery of “seeing” the colors of life, reminds me to always look for a different view of life’s events, reflecting and adjusting my attitude; and to seek a renewed, more positive perspective on them.
An amazing storytell and beautiful visual landscaping!
Thank you for reading! I’m so glad you liked the story!
I loved this! There is always hope, and a silver lining to the darkest cloud. There is much beauty in this little tale. Thank you.
Thank you Susan. I am so happy this story resonated with you. I felt uplifted writing it.
Well done! Good writing, story well told, excellent handling of transition … and the imagery is perfect, especially at the end!
Thanks for reading! I’m so glad you enjoyed the story and the imagery.
This story lifted my heart as my own best friend has lower extremity paralysis and she’s a talented artist who still paints. Thank God for the Heron who touched Eee-Lizabeth’s soul! The Heron spoke to me as well inspiring my inner child to see joy in everything!
Reminds me of a quote from Frida Kahlo which says something like “why do I need feet when I have wings to fly?”
I love that quote! Thank you so much sharing, Sharon!
A cleverly crafted tale blending the real and the imagined beautifully
Thanks for that, Annie! It was fun to write.
Beautiful story.
Thank you Jose!
What a beautiful emotional piece. I admit, it made me cry and stop feeling sorry for myself. Thank you for that. A well-deserved win, Lisa.
Thank you Lisa! Thank you for reading and thank you for sharing so poignantly!
Bad things can happen in our lives as suddenly as a downpour. It can suck out the unconscious joy, the knee-jerk smile, and the urge to see over the next horizon. In your tale you’ve reminded me to look up, find the yellow backed by green and marvel at the unplanned, unadvertised beauty in unexpected places.
Such beautifully expressed feelings, Calla. Thank you!
Wonderful story! I feel that the old man give the protagonist an important gift of hope before he flew on.
I feel that way, too, Steven. Thanks for reading!
Lyrical and poignant. Well done!
Thanks so much JK!
Such lovely writing.
The way you weaved this story brought me to the realization that when Elizabeth mirrored his actions, by turning forward, letting out a sigh, looking up and resting her head on the back of the bench, she was going to be ok. She was going to get back to the business of living.
Thank you Linda! I agree that was her turning point.
This is beautiful and magical. Inspiring to read and imagine.
Thank you Jamie! I’m glad you enjoyed it!
What a wonderful story! So poignant!
Thank you Genevieve! I appreciate that!
Impressive! The writer knows her subject matter and the ending is magical.
Thank you Fer!
Loved this. You took us on a real emotional journey in such a short amount of time! I’m left with hope.
Hope. That’s great! Thanks for reading, Ash!
Beautifully written!
An uplifting story within the sadness of loss and grief. He was what she saw of herself, till she began to heal. 🥰
Thank you, Lisa, for your truly inspiring story.
Such a poignant and lovely story. Full of hope and recovery. Extremely well-written. I enjoyed reading it; it warmed my heart.
A lovely, poignant story with such vivid imagery. A feeling of calm but deepness is what I felt while reading it. Loved it.