The Drawing

She picked up the two inconspicuous yellowing sheets of white paper, which were almost lost amid the mess of random knickknacks, office materials and other old papers spilling out of the beaten heavy-duty gray storage bin she had pulled out of the walk-in closet in the room she formerly occupied with her husband at her in-laws' house.

At first, she thought they were just pieces of scrap paper waiting to be tossed in the recycling bin, but she noticed there was something drawn in in faded gray pencil, and this drew her attention. Sentimental by nature, she usually enjoyed random, unplanned trips down memory lane - especially when cleaning out closets, chests, attics and such for objects with sentimental value. 

She suddenly felt drawn to the sketches by a warm, unexplainable familiarity. A closer look revealed a cartoon-style sketch with scenes and characters that she knew all too well. These were sketches and artwork from her artist ex-boyfriend who she had broken up with ten years before. His style was still very distinct to her - the attention to facial details and expressions; the soft edges; the singular, solid pencil strokes.

The first sheet of paper - and the one that her eyes lingered on the longest - was a drawing of a family living room at Christmas time. She recognized the sketched version of her ex-boyfriend, seemingly older with a slight pot belly, a stubble-ridden jawline and longer hair tied up in a ponytail, sat comfortably in an armchair, wearing a tank top and loose jeans. He was holding a smiling, chubby infant of unknown gender, who was clad only in a slightly oversized cloth diaper, on his lap. A Christmas tree with wrapped presents scattered underneath stood in the background. It was a self-portrait of his future self.

He sat facing the TV, and the news was on. A familiar wavy-haired female news anchor was giving the six o' clock update. That's me, she remembered, running a finger over the small caricature of her own face.

This was more than just a doodle by a bored, young artist drawn to pass the time. This was a picture of a simple dream that she shared with him more than twelve years before. They were young and had been each other's first love, and had believed that high school romances could withstand the test of time and change. Dreams came a dime a dozen, and their love was headstrong, reckless, seeing no impossibilities, as most first loves are.

Several times they had actually discussed marriage. The first time it came up, they were high school seniors and were barely two months into their relationship. They were snuggled up against each other in a movie theater, waiting for the film to start. He had kissed her on the cheek, and instead of settling back in his seat, he kept his face close to hers, looking at her so intently that it made her blush a little.

"What?" she sheepishly asked, pushing gently back against his shoulder to make space.

"I think in about five years, I'll be ready to marry you," he answered, smiling. "We'll be done with college. You'll be a news reporter, I'll be an artist. We'll be all set. We'll have a little girl and move into our own place maybe...say...after a couple more years."

He had spoken matter-of-factly, as though it were so simple, as though it could happen tomorrow. And alas, it was not. He had her for three more rollercoaster years, then she had to move thousands of miles away with her family. And, try as they would, they could not make their love last across the miles.

That moment in the movie theater happened thirteen years before, and she was surprised and embarrassed at how clearly and quickly the memory came to her. Why now? she asked herself, now that she was happily married, with a husband and a child, and thousands of miles away from where she was a teenager who had fallen in love? The memory felt awkward and out of place in the here and now; she pushed it away with a slight tinge of guilt.

She chuckled as she looked down at the drawing in her hands, realizing that she wasn't a news reporter - even though that was what she had wanted to become all throughout high school. Now, she had a college degree, a well-paying job and a desk of her own at a law firm, but had never once appeared on TV to deliver as much as a weather update. Yet, she realized, she was more than okay with that.

And, she realized further with a smile, the man who currently sat in her living room holding her baby was a far cry from the kind of man her first love was. His complete opposite, in fact. Her husband was no artist like the man in the drawing, but he was solid, dependable, loving and selfless. The kind of man whose love withstands the test of time and change. A man who was real, not imagined.

She glanced down again at the sketched dream on paper. Some things looked beautiful on paper, she thought. But some things are beautiful just because they are real, and tangible. Like the life she had now. The life she lived without him - even though, once, long ago, he had dreamed of sharing it with her.

She took one last look at the drawing, and shook her head to force herself out of her reverie. This drawing - and this old, obsolete dream - didn't belong here. She crumpled it with one hand and threw it into a nearby wastebasket. Then she walked out of the room to where her husband and child were waiting.