Lessons From a Friend

Haven't written much about Stephen of late. I've referenced him, but not told anything specific. I was wondering what to write and recalled this incident which he related to me when we were at Anoka-Ramsey Community College. This is second-hand information, so bear with me. Also, it is possible I have already told this story. (That's the problem with getting older. We tend to repeat ourselves. That's what older people do. Repeat themselves. We keep saying the same thing over and over again. We're just repetitive.)

Anyway. Steven.

Steven was an artist. He was good at it, too. I expect God has got him doing something artistic now that Steven is with him in heaven. But I remember when Steven was offered a partial scholarship to go to some college in Texas. For ceramics. He was so offended he tore up the invitation. He wound up at the local community college.

Up to this point, all of Steven's work with art took place at the high school or in his house. He made his bedroom into an art studio. He had an easel for his painting, and he also did plaster and clay sculptures. In time he would incorporate other elements besides just paint into his canvass work. Texture became important. But that was after college.

I frequently left college early, taking the afternoon off. This was convenient when you realize I often arrived late. It made for a very nice day of school. I would attend perhaps two, three, or four hours of class and call it a day. Then I would go hit a tennis ball against a building, or practice my serve, until Steven was done. Then I would drive to his house to prepare for the evening, which might include tennis, a movie, Keno's Pizza, or J's Pizza. Whatever he felt like doing.

This one day I arrived to find him sitting hunched up on his bed all depressed like. I sat at his desk and talked as though nothing were wrong. With Steve, there just might be nothing wrong. He could get like this for no reason at all. (Must have been contagious, because I'm that way now.) But this day there really was something bothering him. It had happened in art class. I paid attention. If Steve was upset about art, then it must have been tramatic.

Steve had already established himself as one of the instructor's favorites, just as in high school. Those who understand art understood Steven had talent. Lots of it. What I don't think the instructor did understand was that Steven also had issues. The most severe one had to do with what happened in art class. This is as I recall Steven explaining it.

It was a regular class. We got our easels and canvass out and set up our oils. Then the instructor came in and asked if we were ready. And then it happened. A girl came in and sat on a stool in the middle of us. She was naked. She just sat there reading a book like it was no big deal.

What did you do? I asked.

Well, I didn't know what to do at first. But everyone else was acting like it was just normal or something. So I started to paint.

Which part of her body did you start with? I asked, knowing Steven was obsessed with breasts.

Well, actually, I didn't paint the girl. I painted the bowl of fruit.

What!

Yeah. That's kind of what the instructor said when he came by to examine our work.

What did he say?

He said he thought I might need counseling.

I laughed at him. I'm sorry, but I did. But it was all right. He was laughing, too. We could tell each other stuff like that and laugh. Steven would eventually get past his inhibitions and such and paint the model as she sat before him. In fact, he would go through a phase in which it seemed all of his art was devoted to naked women. That lasted for several years. I think he was over it by the time he married.

I often wish Steven were still around. What would he tell me about my losing my house? He would find some way to relate it to art. Whatever it would be, I know he would be using humor. But he wouldn't tell me he was sorry and he wouldn't tell me it was my own fault. He would simply be my friend.

That's what friends do, isn't it? We talk to each other without judgment. I try to do that with everyone now. Steven taught me so much.