Chapter 5

"Why the long face, boy?" Charles asked. "I thought you were in the chase."

Sedgewick hadn't said anything, and he didn't want to. But after this morning, he could understand, even appreciate, Charles asking. But it didn't change the fact that he was reluctant to talk about it.

"Ooh… that bad, huh?" Charles said, studying Sedgewick's face. "I'm sorry, boy, I didn't mean to bring it up and pull you down into the dirt again."

Sedgewick pursed his lips and the bus pulled away from the curb.

"It's—it's not that."

Charles waited, relieved at what seemed like decent news, but he realized this meant something deeper. Slowly, forcefully at first but then with a little more ease, Sedgewick told the story of how Allison sauntered up to him in the cafeteria that morning. Charles grinned, and did everything he could to keep from slapping his knee and letting out a whoop.

"But then…" and Sedgewick grew quiet. The woman sitting in front of them got off the bus, and a blind man with a white cane got on, feeling his way to an empty seat in the front. Sedgewick watched the man move about with careful ease, seeming to know where everything was, even though he couldn't see.

"Oh Charles, her mom died today."

Charles' grin fell flat.

"Oh, my boy," he said, putting a tired arm around Sedgewick. They didn't say anything the rest of the trip, just a gentle silence between the two and the sound of the bus driver announcing stops over the intercom.

When Charles' stop approached, he lingered for a moment.

"Do you want to come with me, today, boy?" Charles asked. Sedgewick looked up at him, considered the option, the thought of being at home so soon, and nodded. Together they got off a few stops before Sedgewick regularly did and crossed the street together.

"I'll need to make a quick stop at home first, and then we can go." Sedgewick nodded and they walked the six or seven blocks to Charles' house in quiet. They turned the corner, pushed the gate open and walked up the steps. It was a tiny little house, a single story, but Charles always said there was plenty of room for him and his wife, Rita, and their little dog Dobbie.

When they opened the door they heard a bark from the other room and scurrying feet. Sedgewick closed the door and turned to see the little jack russell tearing down the hall. In the entry way it launched itself, practically landing in Sedgewick's hands.

"Now you make Sedgewick feel welcome, Dobbie," Charles said, giving the dog a good scratch behind the ears. Sedgewick laughed as the dog tried to lick his nose, or maybe the inside of his nose. He put the dog down and it ran a circle around him and stopped in front of him, then ran another circle or two, first clockwise, then counter clockwise. It stopped in front of Sedgewick again and sat on the floor, it's butt firmly planted but its tail thumping back and forth on the hardwood floors. Sedgewicks scratched the dog's head and it leaned into his hand, savoring the attention.

"I'm pleased to introduce you," Charles said, as Sedgewick looked up to see a shorter, rounder version of Charles, an older woman full of just as much spunk and joy, "to my beautiful wife of 35 years, Rita."

She bowed slightly at Sedgewick, and he smiled and bowed back, causing her to cry out in laughter and reach out both arms to hug the boy she heard so much about from her husband.

"So I finally get to meet the boy who keeps my man from falling asleep on the bus and waking up in Bloomington. Thank you, my boy, thank you."

"And I've heard so many stories about you," Sedgewick said, feeling an air of joyful formality in the air, but also playfulness. Rita gestured for the boys to join her in the living room, pointing Sedgewick to a threadbare recliner.

"We don't mean to stay for tea, Rita. Got to get going says we." The couple laughed, and kissed with protruding lips, like two birds pecking, and Charles disappeared to another room.

"So you're going to go with Charles today?" Rita asked.

"I guess so." Though he hadn't really thought much about it. He jumped at the chance to delay going home. It wasn't something he normally did, but repeating the story to Charles had been more than enough, and though he would eventually have to tell his grandmother, and he wanted to, he also didn't want to do it just yet.

"You ready, boy?" Charles asked. He was standing in the entry way, a dirty, plastic toolbox in one hand, dressed in raggedy pants that looked suspiciously like old dress pants, and a faded zip-up sweater with a hood and lined with long-john material. The sleeves were worn and holes poking through.

Sedgewick said goodbye to Rita and gave Dobbie one last pat. Sedgewick and Charles left the house and headed up the street.

They approached Midway Baptist Church, an ancient brick and stone building perched on a corner lot, a literal anchor in the neighborhood. The front entrance was massive, towering above the street with great double doors and a bell tower. Baptists didn’t usually ring bells, but a good bell tour was a fine way to top any church.

It had been in the neighborhood for generations, longer than Sedgewick or Charles or even Sedgewick's grandmother. Though from the look of it, the worn bricks and sagging woodwork, it wasn't a sure thing if it would be there for many generations to come.

Charles led Sedgewick passed the massive front entrance and towards a little shed in the back and a fenced in side lot. Charles unlocked the shed and disappeared into the darkness. He came back with several buckets of paint and handed one to Sedgewick. He unlocked and opened the wooden fence to the side yard, and let it hang open.

The entire lot was fenced in with a tall wooden fence, a fence that looked like it might last longer than the church itself. It encircled the entire yard, which must have been a lot or two, and butted up against the church on one side. The entire yard was grassy and open, with a few towering trees providing shade here and there. In the middle was a sandy play area, with old time playground equipment, swings, a slide and some monkey bars.

Charles set the paint cans down and returned to the shed for more supplies. Sedgewick walked closer to the fence. Charles had been working on it for weeks. A vast scene stretched across the back of the fence, colorful and vibrant, full of life and wonder. There were faces and huge splashes of color, children laughing and playing and the stars in the sky and the sun rising and so many, many other things.

Charles had been telling Sedgewick about the playground mural for months, if not longer. Sedgewick didn't even remember how long ago he'd first heard the idea. But it had grown and grown, with more elaborate descriptions, as long as the bus ride would allow. Sedgewick had even done some research for Charles, exploring the art of mural painting, finding books and articles on the subject, the proper preparation of the surface, the history and political ramifications of the art, and the many wild examples of murals across surfaces throughout history.

Sedgewick walked up to one particular section. Standing only a foot or two from the fence, the broad strokes were visible, the blocks of color that made up the face. The massive eyes that were three dimensional despite the flatness of the wood-planked fence. Sedgewick wanted to reach out and touch the face, but he restrained himself.

"So what do you think, boy?" Charles asked. He had been standing behind Sedgewick for a few minutes, silent.

Sedgewick turned and smiled and Charles slapped his knee and started laughing, a loud, echoing laugh that carried up into the branches of the trees.

"Now that's what I wanted to see," Charles said. Sedgewick dropped his head, his smile now beaming.

"Thanks, Charles."

"Now if you really want to thank me, you'll give me a hand."

"You don't want me to paint, do you?" Sedgewick asked, his smile fading.

"I want a hand—what does it matter what I put that hand to work doing?" Charles asked. He started setting out buckets and brushes, mixing paints here and there and testing it on a piece of old wood. Sedgewick helped spread tarps and set out buckets. They worked quietly for a while, Charles occasionally giving gentle instructions as they did the preparation work.

When it came time to start painting, Charles set up near the middle of the yard along the back. He set up an array of colors on the rickety card table before him, and started work finishing an extension of the playground that looked like it stretched beyond the fence, spilling into the neighborhood.

Sedgewick watched, and then Charles pointed him to a corner of the fence and gave him a brush and a few colors. Sedgewick started to weakly protest, and Charles cut him off.

"I'm not asking for a masterpiece," he said. "I'm asking you to put some color on the wood over there." He put his brush down and looked at Sedgewick.

"I didn't bring you here to be a spectator. There's no spectators allowed." Sedgewick nodded and turned, meandering towards the corner of the fence. The back wall of the fence went all the way to the corner, then ended abruptly as the clean, fresh face of the natural wood showed all the way down the side and along the front. The wood was old and weathered, but close up looked smooth and shiny, the old damaged face of the wood probably sanded away so the paint would take better and last longer.

Sedgewick looked down at his hands, the thick stubby paintbrush and a few jars of greens and blues. He looked up to the sky and saw a clear patch of powder blue between the branches of an elm.

He sighed. Dipped his paintbrush. Spread a streak of green across the virgin wood. He did it again, and again, and again, spreading the color across the dead wood, bringing it slowly back to life.