And strangely touched he thought to bring me something. Besides Anne, I couldn’t remember the last time I was given anything. The Gathering didn’t believe in gift giving for the sake of materialism. Birthdays and other holidays were spent in prayer. Not celebration.
“We forget about the spiritual meaning when we become encumbered bythings,” Pastor would preach. It made sense then.
Now it was just something else I was starting to question.
Bastian lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter. As if it were nothing. But his eyes said something else. They were hopeful. Tinged with something else that made my belly flutter. “It’s my favorite book. I’ve read it a hundred times. I wanted to share it with you. I thought you’d like to read it.”
I turned over the book and read the back. “The Alchemist,” I murmured. I couldn’t remember the last time I had read a book for fun. I’d read the Bible. But that wasn’t exactly enjoyable reading.
Books weren’t kept at The Retreat. Only the Holy Scripture. Pastor said its lessons and teachings was all our souls required to feel content. To feel complete.
I had been a voracious reader before joining The Gathering. I remember being the top reader in my third-grade class. My teacher would always send home awards that my mom never bothered to look at.
I had forgotten…
“I used to love Harold and His Purple Crayon,” I said and then was slightly mortified. Bastian had extended a thoughtful gesture and all I could think to do was spout my love of a children’s picture book.
Anne giggled and David’s lips quirked as if he wanted to laugh too. But Bastian smiled. And it was a great smile. “I liked that one too. That dude could really draw some shit with that crayon.”
I bowed my head, hiding my burning face. I ran my fingers over the well-worn cover. Its pages were stained and dog-eared. “It looks like you’ve been using it as a coaster,” I observed, flipping through it, noting the crooked, sloppy script in the margins where he had taken notes. Underlined passages.
Then something fell from the pages. I bent to pick up the folded piece of paper.
“Here,” I said, trying to hand it to Bastian.
“Actually, that’s for you too.” It was his turn to look shy. “I wanted you to see that those art supplies were being put to good use. Well maybe not good…but use all the same.”
I opened up the paper, expecting to see the sunrise I had told him to draw.
Instead…
“You drew a picture of me?” I looked up at Bastian in surprise. I was flattered. And a little taken aback.
Did I really look like that?
Bastian had obviously spent a lot of time in recreating my face. The detail was amazing. He had drawn me standing at the gate. It was clear the perspective was from the outside. Bastian had drawn as someone looking inside. It was such an uncanny likeness that it almost seemed like a photograph.
“Baz is an amazing artist. Though I’m sure he’ll tell you he’s the worst.” David gave his brother a small smile.
“Wow, it looks just like you. It’s beautiful,” Anne exclaimed, staring at the portrait with wide eyes.
“You’re not the easiest to draw, you know. It’s hard to capture what I see accurately.” Bastian gazed at me earnestly.
I wanted to ask him what he saw when he looked at me, but I didn’t have the courage. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of his work. I hadn’t properly looked at my face in years. I almost forgot what I really looked like.
We were taught to turn our backs on vanity, so I purposefully avoided my reflection.
It was like finding an old friend.
“I thought you were going to draw the cliffs,” I rasped, hardly able to speak.
Bastian’s eyes never left mine. “When I put pencil to paper, you were all I wanted to draw.”
Anne cleared her throat and David shuffled uncomfortably. I had almost forgotten we weren’t alone.
I quickly tucked the picture back into the book, tapping the cover with my fingers. “Thanks for this.”
“Sure. It’s no big deal.” Bastian waved away my gratitude.
