All That Is Left Behind

We all have this ideal of what normalcy is, and generally, all see ourselves as normal. I was this way once. It's only halfway down a downward spiral that you start to realise what's really going on. It's only when the uncredible as occur that it sinks in how mundane it can be. It's to the simplest people that the wildest stories occur, but you only learn this once you live it.

It was late when I came home.

After I walked the dog, ate, and changed clothes, I went to my tiny studio and looked at the unfinished painting.

I sat on my stool and spent half an hour mixing paints and trying to get back exactly the colours I had been using. Then I looked back to my original sketch, did a few tweaks, and went back to touching up on the water at the bottom left of the canvas. It took me nearly a full hour to get my creative juices flowing, and I had no more than half an hour of actual productive painting, until I had to but everything down, close the tubs, wash the pan and brushes. In the end, I took nearly as much time setting up and cleaning after, than I had time to actually paint, and I was wasting so much paint, by washing so often, but I was working two jobs, seven days a week, and I didn't have anymore time to give to my passion.

I actually dropped painting altogether for months, until I whipped myself back into shape and started again, to burn out a month or two later, until I'd force myself to do it again, repeating in an endless circle.

If I didn't discipline myself, I would have stopped completely, but every time this thought came, it terrified me, as I realised how few little happiness I allowed myself.

This city was ridiculously expensive, and my small apartment was still beyond my means. I had managed to find one with this tiny room that I rented out from time to time to help pay my bills, and would use it as a makeshift art studio in between roommates.

I would then move my painting supplies to my own small bedroom, but then it would smell like paint day and night.

Still, I had been lucky with this apartment, it was a former storage facility that had been transformed into a flat, and it was more space than I would have been able to afford if I had a good view, or cross breeze, or luminosity. But there was a nice little park nearby and the block was relatively safe, even late, and there were plenty of public transportation options.

But I still needed the two jobs to pay for the rent, and food, and all the essentials, leaving me with little spare money, and my painting hobby was becoming a little too expensive for my means. No matter how much good bargain paints I manage to snatch, or that I made my own canvas.

I didn't date, I didn't go to bars, I shopped my clothes in second-hand stores, and furniture on Craigslist in the donation section. I would scrooge every cent I could, yet it was barely enough to stay afloat, and I was left with mostly two options, leave the city for somewhere cheaper to live in, but with less work opportunity, or find some better paying job and stay here.

My knees creaked painfully as I got up, and my legs, swollen like sausages, were painful and clumsy. It was what happened when I sat on a tiny uncomfortable stool for nearly two hours after working on my feet for ten. It was terrible for my blood circulation. I should find something better than this stool, but I had to surf the internet for ages to find something free and decent that wasn't too far for me to go and pick it up using public transport. People would not like me to move a love seat through the metro system.

I felt old.

I walked gingerly and I finished washing in the sink.

I had to shower, but my legs didn't feel like they could manage a shower, and I decided to indulge in a bath.

The tub was much too small, but at least I had a tub, which was impressive in this section of the city, without needing a six-figure salary to pay for rent.

I let myself soak long enough for part of the swelling to go down, then walked the dog again, and went straight to bed.

I had changed a shift with one of my colleagues that needed a day off for some appointments, so on Monday I had done a fourteen-hour shift, but, that meant that today I only had a half shift.

It had been a really long time since I had been able to enjoy the afternoon sun, and I decided to indulge in a rare moment of luxury as I took my dog to the park and sat down on a blanket to scribble.

I liked observing life around me. It was my best drawing exercise and I used to draw two to ten pieces every day of people and things I observed. While doing this, I had improved tremendously, and it had been one of my gateways to art.

If I could start my days, scratching paper for at least half an hour, I would feel better all day long.

I had promised myself, I would keep that habit for the rest of my life as it became my daily therapy session, but life had other plans.

When you first go to college, you leave with your head full of dreams and ideas of what the adult world is. A lot of it is an idolised version of reality. We want to save the world and make it a better place. We've been told all our youth that if you applied yourself enough, you can do anything.

And then reality smacks you on the forehead pretty hard. Bills, responsibilities, and trying to make your social life survive the clash with school and work.

It's a bit of a tough awakening, and it takes a little while to sink in, but it eventually does.

I knew how hard the reality of the life of an artist was supposed to be, but I went to art school regardless. I thought I could find some work as a graphic designer or something along that line and paint in my off time, marry the two for a while until I could focus on the latter some more.

The reality was that the more I did boring logos and uninspiring projects, the more I grew to dislike what had been my raison d'être for so long.

And then images stopped appearing in my head. I drew nothing but blanks.

I had the skills to do this, and the pay was a bit better than retail, but not by much, and I grew more and more tired of it.

Growing to dislike art was the worst for me, and I decided that I preferred doing less of it, and having less income at a more boring job, than just doing various font choice for a construction business logo.

It was not an unworthy job, it was a good job, just not one for me.

So I quit, and now, technically, I have a degree that has led me to no additional income, which so many had warned me of. But deep down I didn't regret studying art. It had, actually, been some of the best years of my life, despite everything. It was an experience that I could not forsake, but it had been an expensive one, and now I was paying for that choice.

Maybe I should have become a doctor or something.

I was considering going back to school, maybe taking evening classes in something that would take me six months to a year of studies to get me a relatively decent job, maybe not a doctor's level of income, but at least better than this.

It would be a good start, and my frugality has allowed me to pile a bit of money aside. Plus I had managed to sell two paintings on Etsy, money that I hadn't touched so that I could do something better out of my life.

I wanted something more, not just financially, but saving every penny didn't make social life easy, nor dating.

When you keep telling 'no' to people because you can't afford the activities they're proposing, after a while, you stop getting propositions, and there are only so many things one can do without spending money.

Today, I was doing one of those, clearly not the best for my social life, but it was great for my mind and soul.

I drew faces of passersby, I drew my dogs frolicking in the grass joyfully, I drew a building, and whatever else I could find to draw. Not all the most interesting subjects, but at least working my drawing muscles a bit.

It was as I was silently observing the world that I notice a lone child, going in circles and looking around in desperation.

I took my dog in my arms, and I made my way to the boy. I was no older than four of five, and there was absolute distress written all over his face.

I made sure to have a good grip on my dog as he could get exited easily, and I knew a lot of people, including children, are easily intimidated by dogs, especially the overly expressive ones.

"Hey there, " I said.

The boy didn't even look at me.

"Are you lost?" I asked him.

He didn't turn around, but I knew he heard and understood me as he pointedly put his back to mine. There were silent tears in his eyes, but contrary to most children I've encountered, he wasn't expressing his sadness very openly, which I found quite strange.

"You see, " I began. "My dog is named Miki, and he kept asking me to come around here. I really don't know why. Do you? Maybe there's a tennis ball hidden here somewhere. Would you help me look?"

He finally turned around, but his eyes were automatically drawn to Miki.

Miki gave him a doggy grin and waved his tail so hard, his little booty went side to side in my arms.

The boy had brown hair and gorgeous large brown eyes. He was wearing good clean clothes too that fit him perfectly. And he looked at the dog, hypnotized.

"Do you want to pet him?" I asked.

He said nothing, but I knew he heard me. He didn't look at me, still glued to Miki.

"Here, let me show you how." Then I spent the next minute showing the boy how to pet a dog.

"Do you want to try?" I asked him.

He finally dared look at me. It was brief, and he returned his gaze automatically to Miki. It gave me the strange vibe you get with autistic children. He had problems looking in my eyes, but clearly none in looking in a dog's eyes, so I used this to try to open a channel of communication.

It took him a few minutes, and we finally both sat on the grass, I sat Miki in between us, keeping my hand on him to make sure he would not get too close to the kid and spook him, whom eventually caved and gave the first pet. It was short and just one finger on the forehead for maybe two seconds, then he pressed his hands together on his chest and kept looking at the dog.

I repeated the exercise a few times, and he did more and more every time.

I wanted to question him more about his parents or why he was alone, but I wasn't even sure he talked, and given how he ignored me when I started with this line of questioning, I decided not to push on too quickly as I feared he'd stopped communicating altogether.

Granted this communication method was pretty rudimentary, but at least it was one.

He was not crying either, and as minutes went by and he interacted more and more with the dog, his expression slowly melted into one of pure childish glee.

"What is your name?" I asked him.

His smiled disappeared as he looked briefly at me.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I'm Mila. I live with Miki not far from here. Miki loves parks very much, so we came here for a bit of fun."

I thought that if I shared information first it could make me sound more trustworthy, but I wasn't sure if this technique worked with children.

I dug into my bag, and next to my drawing pad, I found a little bag.

Miki realised right away what was going on, and suddenly ignore the kid and turned to me.

I took a treat out slowly, making him sit.

Miki could hardly contain his excitement and sat, shaking his weight from his left paw to his right.

I held the treat above his head and made him lie down. I had to say it twice until, his desire for the biscuit overcame his excitement and then I gave it to him.

The child looked at this scene in pure fascination.

"Do you want to try it?" I asked.

He nodded.

I did an internal 'yoop' as I managed to make the kid say something. Silently, but still, it's an achievement.

"You have to tell him to sit though, " I said as Miki was now back on his paws going in circles and then sitting, but going back up and putting his paws on my legs to tell me he was still down for more treats.

It took a lot of coaxing out of me to finally make the kid talk. I guessed that if he was more interested in the dog than me that he might be more willing to talk to him rather than me.

It took a few minutes for him to get the gist of what had to be done, but he worked it out faster than I expected. So the kid was intelligent enough.

He ended up feeding five treats in a row to Miki.

I would normally not encourage so much feeding, but it was working really well, and I had heard the boy say at least four words now, and they were not as hard to get out of him than they had been at first.

Once the treats were all gone, he looked at me expectantly.

"Do you know what Miki loves?" I asked him.

He shook his head.

"He loves to hear stories."

Which wasn't untrue. The moment you talk to a dog, the moment he realises he's the center of attention, it's like the greatest moment of his life, or at least, this is how my dog rolls.

"You can tell him about your day if you want, " I said.

He hesitated, probably too shy, and I went ahead and demonstrated how it's done. I began by telling Miki what I had been doing today and how I was doing, looking at him and giving him all my attention, which he craved and got overly joyful. So much so that I had to tell him off a few times so that he would not lick my face.

It made the boy laugh every time.

It took a few times, but eventually he began talking.

At first it was disjointed words, that, out of context, made no sense to me. But it slowly grew into coherence.

He was here with his father. He didn't mention his mother, so she was probably not here with him. He said his father travels, so I considered that maybe he's from out of town. He mentioned a few places that I couldn't pinpoint, and then he turned his attention to me.

"Pee, " he said.

"You need to pee?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Do you want to come to my and Miki's house to go to the bathroom?"

He nodded again, moving his weight around, clearly struggling with his bladder.

"Okay, " I said.

I took one of my earpods out and put it in my ears, signalled 911, put the phone in my bag, then grabbed the leash in one hand, and the kids hand in my other and we walked to my place.

"911, what is your emergency?" asked the operator.

"I found a lost child at Mont-Royal's Park, he doesn't talk much so I don't know his name yet, but he needs to pee so I'm taking him to my place." I gave her the address and a description of the child, and every other information I had managed to get out of him. I also promised to bring him to a police station after, and gave them my phone number, just in case.

He followed me quietly, holding my hand all the way until we reached my apartment.

"Do you need help, sweetie?" I asked him.

He shook his head and closed the door behind him.

I smiled and let him do his thing.

I put my bag down and grabbed my purse so that I would have my ID and everything I could need at the police station, and googled the closest police station.

"KITTY!" he screamed.

I jumped out of my skin.

I didn't even realise he was out.

"Kitty, " he told me loudly, pointing at my cat.

"Don't scream, please. You will scare her, " I said.

He smacked his hands on his mouth. "You can talk softly, though. Her name is Lily and she's really sweet."

"Can I pet Lily?" he asked.

I think it's the longest sentence he ever addressed directly at me.

"Yes, you can, " I said. "But I think you scared her a little when you screamed. Do you want me to find her and bring her here so you can pet her?"

He nodded and I complied.

We sat in my small living-room, and I let him pet Lily for a little while.

"What is your name?" I asked.

He said nothing and continued to caress Lily's head carefully.

"You know the name of Lily and Miki, but they don't know your name."

"Eloim, " he admitted.

"Do you know your last name?"

He said nothing.

Well, at least I had a first name.

"There is someplace we should go to, Eloim."

He shook his head.

"I think your family is looking for you."

"No."

"You don't think they're looking for you?"

"No, I pet Lily."

"Lily really likes you, you know."

He looked up at me.

"Miki likes you too."

He looked at the dog that was sitting right next to my thigh and looking at the scene joyfully.

"I'm sure there are a lot of other people who like you too."

He frowned.

"Do you like me?" he asked.

"I do, " I replied.

He put one hand on Lily and another on Miki and tried to coordinate his double petting.

"We could go on this trip together if you want."

"Later, " he said.

I nodded. "We can wait a few more minutes."

"I'm hungry."

"What do you want to eat?"

"Spaghetti, " he replied with determination.

I couldn't help it, I smiled.

"How about, you play with Lily and Miki, while I prepare some spaghetti, and then once you've eaten we can go and take a walk together?"

He frowned, thinking.

"We could walk with Miki, he adores walks."

"Okay, " he agreed.

I nodded, grabbed some of the pet's toys and lend them to Eloim, got up, and went to the kitchen.

He was an instant success with both pets and I could hear him laugh enthusiastically.

I put water on the stove and scrounge up some quick homemade sauce as I had nothing ready.

The pasta was nearly cooked, and the sauce underway when I heard knocks on the door. Miki barked, but Eloim didn't stop playing and laughing.

I had my suspicions that were confirmed as I opened the door, dog in hand so that he would not rush into the corridor and try to impress the cop.

"Hello, Miss. You called for a lost child at Mont-Royal?" the policeman asked me. He was tall and kind-looking. Behind him was a handsome man in a blazer looking anxious.

"Yes, gentlemen, " I said moving aside. "He's here. We were about to go to the police station in a few minutes. He's playing with the cat in the living room."

The man rushed inside the room straight to Eloim and hugged him talking softly.

The policeman stood aside next to my door so that I could close it.

I put my dog down, and told him, "Sit." As I didn't want him to bother the men, and took a treat from one of my drawers to give it to him.

"No, " I heard from the living room.

Eloim extricated himself from whom I assumed was his father and came to me. I understood what he wanted and gave him the treat so that he would give it to Miki.

"Lie down, " he told Miki, who complied immediately.

Then he gave the treat.

"Another, " he told me.

"No, Eloim. Miki has had too many treats already. This will be enough for today."

Eloim pouted, and behind him, his father got back on his feed with wide eyes.

"Are you ready to go back home?" I asked the child.

"No, " he said. "Spaghetti."

I looked apologetically to his father.

"I'm sorry. He told me he was hungry and I promised him spaghetti before going to the police station. I don't mind if he eats it first, " I said. "Or not."

The man looked really strangely at me.

"Spaghetti, " boomed Eloim, as he went back to playing with Lily.

"I'm sorry, " I said again, looking between the cop and father. He looked at his son then back at me, puzzled.

"Maybe I will take you on your offer and let him eat first, " he told me.

I nodded.

"Do you still need me?" asked the policeman.

"No, thank you officer, " the father said, shaking his hand.

The policeman then looked at me, aiming his question at me too. I was about to be left alone with a stranger in my home after all.

"I will be fine, " I said, and shook his hand in turn. "Thank you."

He left and we were left alone.

"I'm Mila, " I told him, extending my hand.

"Xander." We shook hands. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make him talk."

"He's shy isn't it?" I asked.

"Erm, " he hesitated.

"He didn't want to talk to me at first, but he seems to have a passion for pets. Then I went from there."

He frowned at me, clearly trying to piece certain things together, and I went back to the stove before anything burnt.

"Will I be making a plate for you too?" I asked Xander.

"I don't want to impose."

"You're already here and it's dinner time anyways."

He nodded.

"Mila, Mila, " said Eloim, rushing to me pass his father. "Lily's toy is stuck."

"Could you make sure nothing burns?" I asked Xander. He nodded, looking at the scene curiously and I went to the living room taking the toy out from under the commode.

I set the table not long after and served us pasta.

I found a few pillows to raise Eloim a bit higher, so that it would be easier for him to eat, and we all piled around the tiny kitchen table. It's been awhile since I've had people over for dinner, and never a child in my apartment.

Miki realised the best spot in the house was sitting next to Eloim, which the kid was particularly happy about.

"Do you live around here?" I asked Xander.

He shook his head. "I came here for a few business meeting."

"You always travel with your family?"

"I try when I can. He has issues with nannies."

So no mom around them.

"Water, please, " Eloim asked me.

I got up to get him a glass.

"He's said more words in a few hours that he usually says in a week, " Xander said in awe.

"Really?" I said, as I gave Eloim his glass.

"I've no idea what your trick is, but it worked better than psychiatrists."

"Does he have developmental issues?"

"It's complicated."

I didn't push. Their private life was none of my business to begin with.

We wrapped things up after dinner. Xander help clean everything.

"Thank you for the meal, it was lovely, " he told me.

"You're welcome."

"Okay, Eloim, come here, we've bothered the nice lady long enough."

He looked at his father suspiciously.

"We have to go pumkin, " Xander explained.

Eloim started wailing no's at his father and ran into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

We heard the lock click.