by John Van Dreal
The modal jazz—a soothing sound in my earbuds. I navigate
the determined roots of a white oak clawing their way
through a sidewalk fracture then stumble and glimpse at the
edge of the bridge, tucked just under the concrete steps
leading to the park, a man resting, shrouded in a blue plastic
tarp. A garbage bag sits, spilling soiled socks, tattered
underwear, a pair of truly distressed denims over the damp
grass. A Starbucks paper cup, stuffed with candy bar
wrappers, lies next to his hand. His sleeping bag is strewn
over the stair railing, drying in the sun. A few feet away, a
shopping cart adorned with strands of decayed ivy, wet rags,
an orange safety cone, a dog leash, and silver tinsel leans
against a bridge post. The tinsel doesn’t make sense.
My mind mutes the tune—its moderate, melodic tempo
transposing to the smell of dampness and urine. It reminds
me of the high school locker room when I was fifteen. It’s
not a nostalgic smell.
Compassion fatigue. I’ve become numb to these scenes—the
new normal in my city.
In the past, I was acutely concerned. Each person living on
the street advising me on guilt—their threadbare accessories
and refuse a reminder of my failed humanity. I often felt
compelled to do something, but secretly wished they would
return to the trees, out of sight.
I know there must be a middle ground, between passion and
indifference.
I head back to town, through the park, focused on the music.
Miles reminds me that it’s just blues. That’s all it is. My
thoughts turn to a book on Andrew Wyeth. My life has
always been a painting composed collaboratively by the
gods of biogenetics and my parents but left for me to add
color, value, form. Now, my kids add glazes of translucent
monochromatic tone, like thin, colored slices of stained glass
held over the entire canvas. Each layer subtly unifying the
whole. There is an awkward aesthetic, but so far it is
working. It could have been different, though. It still could
be.
I look back at the resting man. That’s me in a different
universe. That’s any of us.
A third-generation artist, John Van Dreal began painting and writing at age seven. He earned his formal education in Fine Arts at Humboldt State University and Brigham Young University and educational psychology at Brigham Young University, maintaining careers in both fields while writing. A musician and award-winning artist with work featured in collections throughout the Pacific Northwest, Van Dreal uses his creative vision and accessible writing style to explore both the darker and quirkier sides of human behavior. He resides in Salem, Oregon and is currently composing his first novel.
