J

I am writing to say what I can't say in person. You have a gift--a talent to be envied. Your art is so beautiful, so profound and insightful. You depict the souls of the people you draw. You show your emotions and your anguish and your love in your many drawings. How can you reach inside yourself and bring out what I hide. You express emotions through my eyes when you draw me. You show the feelings I am experiencing each time, you put charcoal to paper. Even some emotions, I haven't yet come to grips with or acknowledged. Why do you use me as much as your model? I may hide from others yet, you see the turmoil I am under and communicate it so uniquely. Justin, you draw me over and over and over again and each time it is like you never saw me before. You seem to find out more about me and in turn, I learn more about myself through your eyes, your depictions. Sometimes what I see in your drawings scares me. The depth of the emotion, of the thought and the insight that you see in your subjects is provocative, whether you sketch, draw, use a computer or paint, you seem to bring to life the object or the person to whomever views it. No one can hide from you. No one!

The joy you feel; the excitement and desire to immortalize everything you see, makes me so proud to be yours, to know you. A budding artist, you definitely are--a gift and a talent that you must share with the world. I am glad you share it with me. You warm people's hearts with each rendering of your inspiration. Each piece of your work is an expression of yourself. You leave a part of yourself in each piece. I see it. Others see it. You must feel it.

Since the accident, some of your work shows the turmoil, the inner struggle you are coping and dealing with, the new you, the not-so-innocent you. The innocence you showed is long gone and will never be recaptured. I grieve for that, for you, as you do yourself. Slowly, that anger, the hurt, the turmoil will lead to more joyful emotions and the depictions will show less distress and more hope. I already see those changes coming since you did your first pieces on the computer. When you started IFA and when you reapplied, the distress, the fear in your work was disturbing to say the least. The accident had changed you and you were fighting an upward battle, one you were petrified would beat you. I hope that we can cope together, heal each other during this time yet we keep hurting each other. I hope your drawings can help you heal that much faster.

I am so glad you are a fighter, not a quitter. I really love that about you. It attracts me. It draws me to you. It helps to make us equals. Mikey doesn't have those qualities I need in a mate. You have them overflowing, even when you think you are overwhelmed. I am so glad you have an outlet like this to put those feelings down; expressing them in ways I could never phantom. Your work transcends time and space, it transcends the soul. Justin, your work talks to the very gut of our being, and you don't allow us to look away but to have to deal with the truth. I thank you for that. I was so very afraid you would never be able to draw again. When you told me what the doctor's said that first night out of the hospital, I wanted to scream. No! Not that! Instead, I kept my cool and acted like I am expected to act and I said some wise-aleck remark. Inwardly, I knew somehow, someway, we would get you to draw again. It was a necessity. It was inevitable, but at that moment, I had no clue. I was so grateful, when I saw that computer program; I felt maybe God was listening after all.

I love all your work, but four pieces you did stand out in my mind more than the rest. Yes, two of them concern me but that is not necessarily why I like them. I am honored that you always like to draw me but sometimes it does get a little tiresome. I fidget and I am not a good model unless I am sleeping.

You drew a picture when you were deciding to go to Dartmouth. You used the back of the acceptance letter and you realized you just couldn't do it. You couldn't walk in your father's shoes. You had to be your own man, follow your dreams and you drew that jacket hanging on your door. You kept it and then when we were talking one day, you shared it with me. I saw the emotion in your eyes. What you had gone through and what that drawing meant to you. I stared at it for a long time. After a while, it felt three dimensional, like it was alive. The shadows in it, the curves, the shading, and the textural lines applied all spoke to me. It was so real and it was a symbol to you, a symbol of your dreams, your future, and all your desires. You wanted to rip it up but I kept it. I have it hidden because I know how important it really is to you. I ignore what the other side says. It is irrelevant. I knew you couldn't deny your nature and this drawing was the epitome of that realization. You had an epiphany when you saw that denim jacket hanging. It changed the course of your life. You accepted your destiny. All from a drawing. Amazing, how you are your art and your art is you. You are so much more than your art, yet, it is how you express yourself fully, in ways that words could never communicate it all. I was so proud of your decision and of the drawing. I understood. I would have been disappointed in you if you had given up your future for them, but I would not have given up on you. I knew what you needed to do, but I couldn't make that decision, no matter, how much I wanted to. It wasn't my place. I truly did understand how you would want to do what they wanted, but I knew how you needed to follow your inner needs and desires. That is why this drawing means so much to me, the symbolism.

Now, after the tantrum you pulled and the gift of the computer I gave you, you drew a picture of me. It was of me peeling and eating an apple while I lay quietly upon my bed. You hadn't touched a sketch pad or a pencil for a while. You were so very angry, angry at the world, angry at yourself, angry at Hobbs and angry at your imperfection. You were afraid, scared beyond anything you could imagine. Art was what drove you, what defined you and Hobbs may have taken that away. You need who you were and where you were going at seventeen. Now that confidence was shaken. You wonder who you were if you weren't an artist. It would be a challenge, but we would deal with that if it came to that. I was hoping against hope that my belief in you was realistic. You were not sure you could ever draw again. You were at a loss, your whole being cried out for help and I tried to reach you the only way I knew. I bought you the program. Now you had to come to terms with the knowledge that you would have to improvise and learn a new media, change the perimeters of your dream, so that the talent that is second nature to you could be realized.

I was so glad Lindsay came to the rescue and took you to the gallery. I understood why you picked that picture of an angry man. It was calling to you, another angry man. When I saw that picture that you drew of me on the computer, I knew I had done right. I just had to be patient until you could no longer deny your need to draw. That picture of me, peeling the applebrought tears to my eyes, You were sleeping when I spotted it. I hadn't planned on looking at the computer. I had been making a point of not looking at it since you threw that tantrum. That hurt, but I knew you were so very frustrated and hurting yourself, so if I didn't look at it, I wouldn't be the one to mention the program. But this time, it felt like I was being pulled to it, like you were calling to me. So, I turned and looked and the monitor was not blank, it showed me in my glory and with my emotions showing in my eyes. A simple act of peeling an apple and you made it speak of so much more. Then I knew you would again be on your way. Again your soul would sing because you could draw again. Okay, it isn't the normal media but it is art nonetheless. Again, it wasn't me that was important or that meant so much to me but the realization that picture represented. We were going to be okay because you were going to be okay. You could draw.

I am damaged so many times, this was only one more thing thrown on the heap. I don't know if I ever will heal but if you do, you will take me along for the ride. I only hope our PTSD problems won't take over our lives and cause more damage. Maybe, your art will be the answer.

Next, you drew a brown horse with a lone man for an art class and suddenly, you pushed me away from nuzzling you. You said you had to finish your homework but then you started asking me hard questions. A question I didn't want to answer. When I found out, Mikey had put to voice that it was guilt that motivated me. I wanted to strangle him. You and I haven't been alright for a while, yet we kept holding on--on to memories, on to need, on to hope, on to the belief that this to shall past. Yet, we hadn't dealt with the problems, ignoring them, instead. You finally brought them on to the table, so we had to deal with them. I didn't answer. I felt hurt, terrified, and afraid. I felt like my life was going to end. Would I have the right words? Could I be honest? Should I be? I was afraid you would leave me. Still am. We have not talked our angst through with each other, holding it tight to ourselves.

The horse to me is a symbol again, a symbol of many things. One, I feel like you feel like a lone ranger, lone rider with no sidekick to help and to lean upon. You are fighting a battle only you can win or lose. And you are barely holding on, while I keep throwing obstacles in your path, like the zucchini man for one. I hide myself in my sex, so I can forget. You don't seem to even have your outlet, not completely, anyway. No matter what I try to do, you still feel so very alone. I thought when you started to draw again; you would be able to feel less alone. I feel castrated. That is how I feel. The horse has no penis so I drew one with my finger. Yeah, I can hear you like you are next to me. "You can't even forget about sex for a minute." And you would be right. My mind goes to that the moment, I can't bear my burdens. I have disappointed you again and I am losing you. That horse and rider could be me, riding into the sunset leaving the best part of me behind. That is you, Justin. No one else, but you. Am I gonna be alone? I feel you drifting away, even now. Will I survive? You mean more to me than you know.

I opened myself completely to you, letting many of my walls crumple. I feel so insecure, so alone, castrated because I can't fathom what to do to salvage us. We are on a road that I am not sure I can face. I am your protector, but I can't protect you from yourself or from me for that matter. I will try anything, anything at all to save us. The rules won't work. I will keep them but somehow I know you won't. I don't think you can. You are reaching for something that is unattainable. Words won't do it. I have seriously thought about the words, about saying them. It is so hard for me, but I have said it to you while you have slept, when I was participating in my one guilty pleasure, watching you. I show you my love in so many ways but the words would be hollow to you. You are searching for yourself, using the words as an excuse--a reason to flee.

You were right. I felt guilty but I felt so much more for you. I cared about you and wanted you with me. During your hospital stay, I was there every night because even then, I knew I loved you and I couldn't sleep without you. You had already become a part of me. We had become one, but I was still fighting the truth.

Well, I can't take more of this emotion, so I will go to the final piece of art that has meant so much to me. Yes, the picture of me naked that you drew when I was asleep. That first piece. The one I bought at the GLC. It was beautiful. When I first saw it, I knew I wanted it but I acted like a schmuck. This is a picture that symbolizes lighter times, more innocent and fresh times before the world caved in on us. I still have it hidden. It is hidden with these letters. I was so proud of you. Having a show, showing your pictures, knowing that you were good. Confident beyond your years. My vanity didn't want anyone else to have this picture but more importantly, it was my way of fostering your confidence, showing you how much I cared even if you didn't know. I knew and that is all that mattered.

God, I was so glad I was able to be there for you. Thank God that Lindsay is so persistent. She gave me to excuse I needed to go.

That time was so special to us. We were innocent in our love and mindless of the future. I was fighting you tooth and nail about our relationship but we both knew no one was fooled. Maybe, Mikey. He doesn't count. I enjoyed those times. I loved you chasing me and playing the game with me and getting further and further under my skin. I never knew how good it felt to be loved, till I met you. You changed my life. You did so much to change me. You saw it, even though many did not. You were the only one that mattered. Will we survive?

B

PS. I will always love you, even until my last dying breath.