Inspirational Wall

“Thank you.”
The guy I just sat down next to tosses a quizzical look back at me.
“Your shirt. Are you with the rescue squad?” I typically try to share my appreciation for the people that work hard to preserve our community. Today, however, I comment more because of his shirt. It’s not just a lame logo plainly stamped over his breast pocket. It’s more of a stylish creation that seems boundless. The design easily flows around most every part of his torso while also slipping through button holes. Lines even wiggle under the arms of the short sleeves at times.
“Oh! Thank you. But I’m not with the rescue squad anymore. It was a gift.”
“Not anymore?”
“That was a long time ago when I first graduated from ECU.”
“Well. I would’ve thought law enforcement myself.” I give a respectful smile. “You have some massive arms.”
“I appreciate the compliment. Do you have a family member staying here?”
I feel like he’s jumping the gun. I’m not sure we know each other well enough to delve into our personal lives that quickly. But I kindly respond since I’m the one who started the conversation. “No. I just visit every so often to admire the artwork.”
“It is exquisite.” His response is quick.
“It is.” I follow his beat.
“You know it’s all patients who’ve stayed here?” The man shares some insight he doesn’t think I know.
“Really?” I mask my astonishment. “The plaque has new meaning to me now.” I reference my words stamped hard into a decorative metal plate placed on the wall” Attitude is key. Everyone needs encouragement to take that first step. Emotional roadblocks are sometimes more painful than the physical discomfort we feel. Transition the restrictive barrier into a healing energy.
“I love the ocean sunset Mr. Hawkins portrays. In this piece.” His finger unknowingly points at my most favorite picture I took in the Beaufort Inlet.
“I agree. It’s my favorite. I think it was the very first picture he ever sold.” I never turn away from the framed picture. “I wonder how long he waited to capture that image.” I’m not trying to play with him, honestly. I’m just try to give him something to consider.
“I like to think he created these images.” The man references the dense wallpaper of framed pictures pacifying the calm paint.
There not all mine, but I proudly sit a little higher on the couch as the red light of the sun in the picture now radiates over the water and gushes off the print and floods into the middle of the sitting area and illuminates me.
“The way the waves are cresting up along the sides of the worn out buoy as the light is vanishing over the edge of the earth is just incredible.” My words shine with pride.
“It’s almost like the ocean’s going to swallow it whole.”
My hand now rubs the chin on the front of my face as a new light surfaces on the picture for me. “I agree.” I sit there as my admiration quickly shifts from the picture to the man. He’s shared something with me in five minutes that I hadn’t seen in five years; and I’m the one who took the picture.
“Bye-Bye Buoy might be a cuter name though.” He offers a lite chuckle.
“Hmm.” I consider another one of his comments. “Or Buoy Burial Ground.” I playfully retort.
His concentration breaks from the canvas. “I’m not sure how appropriate that would be in a hospital setting.”
His thought makes a quick slash on my brain.
“I wonder where he took it. I’ve only seen one sunset like it before.” He’s attention has resurfaced on the picture.
“Where’s that?” My curiosity asks.
“It was off Morocco.”
“I think the artist and shot would be more local if I had to guess.” I look at him. “Morocco’s a beautiful place.” I act like I’ve been there before. “ When were you there?”
“My honeymoon.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” His eyes get a little distant. “She’s been gone three years now.” He offers without a prompt.
Wow. I didn’t expect him to share something of this caliber. I’m not sure how to respond because I don’t know if she left him for another man, a woman, if she died, or if there’s a story with another reason waiting for me to find. So I simply offer an easy condolence with as much heart as I can reply. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. It was quick and relatively painless.” There’s a pause.
I’m silent the entire time listening to the sounds moving around us.
“It was painless considering the alternative.” He finishes his thought. “It would’ve hurt no matter how she died.”
I sit silent again admiring the man admiring my picture, trying to steer free of any complicated conversation that’s going to leave one of us crying. “Are you visiting a family member here?”
“Oh, no. I was adopted and my parents passed away years ago. I come to the Inspirational Wall every so often to see the possibilities.” He looks at me. “I’m Jam.” He offers me a tender introduction.
So I shake Jam’s hand. “I’m Joe.”
“Like the artist?”
I look up and smile at the image hanging right in front of us. “The very same one.” I pass him my business card and he shares his before I walk away.
Getting into my car I look at his name in disbelief as the darkness of night shines a different light upon me. Jam’s the Vice President of Hospital Operations. How could I have known I was talking to the very same man who approved my picture to be hung on the hospital wall five years ago.
I never knew he was in a wheelchair.

Joe Hawkins
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