The Painter

I was painting my new porch last week with a brush. Yes a brush! I also painted my whole house by brush. My kids came up to help me and thought I was out of my mind. "Use a roller, get a spray gun" said they. "NO!" said I. But that is another story.

While painting I began thinking about the man in my life who taught me to paint. When I was in high school a friend of my grandmother's told her of a fellow who was looking for someone to help around his house. Seems the guy had a serious heart condition which kept him from doing much. I rode my Schwinn up to a small white bungalow with a yard surrounded by a low wire fence. The front yard had patches of grass on either side of a cracked cement walk leading to the steps of a small porch. The driveway was two worn ruts with a grass median

As I came up to the gate a brown and white Boxer bounded from the back of the house barking and drooling. He was shortly followed by a tall, thin, gray haired man, in white bib overalls and a white tee shirt. He had a narrow face with sunken cheeks, and a sharp nose. Calling the dog he asked if I were the lad who was interested in helping around the house. "Yes that would be me." "Come in the dog will not bite you." He said as he turned to head to the back of the house. I followed with the dog sniffing at my butt. I don't like short haired dogs, and was now not real thrilled with getting drooled on

Walking past his car he stated that he didn't drive much any more and would I mind getting things from the store for him. "I could do that." He led me to a small back porch with enough room for a small table and two chairs. "Coffee?" "Yes with milk." That was the first of many cups of coffee we would share. What we talked about during those time I could not say. Must have been his heart attack, his wife's leaving him, his dog, and painting. He had been a painter all his life

During our times together he would teach me to paint with a brush, only a brush. He had no rollers or spray guns around. I leaned how to clean a brush, how to buy a brush, how to store a brush, just about anything to do with a brush I learned from him. I painted his whole house with a brush. I didn't become a martial arts expert from this endeavor, however I became a darn good painter

I also cut his grass when not playing with the dog or drinking coffee and talking. I learned to love the dog after time, the drool not so much. Riding up to the house on my bike I'd see him waiting for me ball in mouth . Probably the only time I saw The Painter smile was when the dog and I were playing ball. On the back porch The Painter would wait daily with coffee, maybe some cookies or Ding Dongs. We'd talk then I'd paint as he watched, correcting hand stroke's, or using the wrong brush. When he was taken to the hospital with another heart attack, I became the caretaker of the dog and home until his return

Now in the cooler months I had been let in the kitchen for our coffee talks. But, now I was able to visit all the rooms, all four. The kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. His wife had left him many years ago, yet there in the closet, who's door stood open, was a neat row of dresses. Ladies shoes neatly lined up on the floor of her half. His half had suits, dress shirts, neatly pressed pants, beneath them shined shoes waited. I was quite sure these items had not been used for some time

The Painter did not come home, the dog when to live with his son, who I only met once. I had lost two friend at one time causing me to be sad for some time after. Also for some time I was his haunted by his loneliness, along with the hope of his lost Love's return. I often wondered if I would end my days alone yearning for someone...