“Study of growing plants, fruits and flowers. We can grow cherryand fig trees so families can come in the summer and pick them. In autumn we’ll have pumpkins and roasted corn. Strawberry lemonade in the summer. It becomes not just a farm, but an experience.”
His dreams are a beautiful golden color, like morning sunrise. It washes him whole, spilling onto the pavement.
“Where do you think I’ll be?” I find myself asking, staring at the waterfall of gold.
He breathes in slow. “You’ll be all over the world. San Francisco is just the beginning. Your murals will shoot you up all the way to the sky. People will say your name in awe and wonder. I’ll see you pop up on the news because you invented a new way to draw.”
My lips twitch.
“You’ll be glamorous. Tokyo would be a weekend trip for you, and you’ll have a whole room in your mansion just to paint. You’ll have a long line of customers commissioning you for murals and paintings. You’ll get invited to fancy parties where they serve little mushrooms on snails or something.”
We both burst out laughing.
“I’ll be out with friends, and you’ll be on the cover ofVogue, and I’ll point at your picture and say I knew you. They’ll call me a liar, so I’ll pull up the yearbook.”
My heart twinges. “Knew?”
He pauses, and his expression turns shy. “You wouldn’t want to be friends with a small-town farmer.”
“A small-town farmer who goes to Braxton and lives in a town house in the West Village and his bà ngo?i owns, from the sound of it, a multimillion-dollar property?” I say teasingly.
He nods solemnly. “Exactly.”
I shake my head at him, smiling.
He goes quiet for a while, and I sit in that future he illustrated. It floats beside me, offering me glimpses, teasing me with the possibilities.
I don’t think it’ll happen as he described, but I hope some of it will. Having my own place where I can paint. To allow myself to dream of something bigger than San Francisco feels electrifying, a different shade of joy I forgot about.
Jamie clears his throat. “I think I should get going. Back home, I mean. I gotta read the booklet and see what I should do.”
I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
We stand at the same time as a strange silence descends between us.
“If you have any questions, just text me.”
“Yeah, I will.” He raises his hand as if to pat my shoulder and then takes it back just as quickly, settling on a wave.
I wave back, watching him walk away.
Emerald Green
A message pings onmy phone. It’s a photo of gummy bears.
Jamie:no gelatin!
Me:congratulations! You’re getting good at finding hidden gems
Jamie:is it frowned upon to buy out the stock?
Me:I’m not the law
Me:but yes do it. be responsible for the halal gummy bear shortage in this city
The moment of shyness between us on that bench was a blip.
Jamie:found another article online about the wonderful murals in the city. Would you like to see them?
