Two new pieces!

(Above) A pen illustration I did for my illustration class's collaboration with Olivet's creative writing class. It is based on an allegorical story of Mary and Joseph finding out about Jesus' conception by the Holy Spirit. I drew it on 11x14 clayboard.
Here's the story:

Grace

                 

A small boy swam through the winding stream like a loon, diving into the icy water only to emerge moments later a few feet away. When he finally wandered ashore his mouth held a wide grin showing the empty spaces not yet filled by adult teeth. His giggles permeated the air as he strode home.

“A best friend,” he thought. “He’ll be here soon!”

            He saw his father emerge from the car and ran to hug him. His tiny wet body left a child-shaped stamp on his father’s chest. “Have you been swimming in the river again, Johnny?”

             “Yeah, Dad,” the boy replied. “I had to. The bees were chasing me.” His father smiled and picked him up.

“You better change into some dry clothes before your mom sees you.”

            Mary sat, quietly fidgeting in the powder blue plastic chair. She could feel the secretary’s piercing glare reaching out from behind the glass. Hunched over and eyes to the floor, Mary began to doubt her decision to see Dr. Michaels.

“It’s not like I actually tried to do anything,” she thought. “I just had some thoughts and ideas that got out of control. And I could probably figure things out on my own, it’s not that serious.”

 Just as shame and self-sufficiency were about to win the debate within her skull, she heard her name called out.

“Mary James?” questioned a soft plump face as it searched the room. Dr. Michaels’ short frame stood in the door, like an angel’s dark silhouette, with the light of heaven behind him. His trim beard and round spectacles emphasized the shining sphere of his bald head. Mary responded with a mumble and followed him to a small sugar cookie colored room that smelled of warm apples and cinnamon.

“Well, since we’re here to talk about you, why don’t you start by telling me a little bit about yourself?”

She began by explaining that she lived with her cousin and Lizzie’s husband and son, and that her fiancé, Joe, worked at Pete’s Auto Shop just down the road. Mary went on discussing various aspects of the lives around her when Dr. Michaels stopped her. He asked if she realized that when she spoke about herself she really talked about everyone else.

“I guess I just don’t think there’s much about me that people really want to hear about,” Mary replied. “I mean, I don’t have much to offer. It’s not like I’m important or anything.”

 “I think you will find that to be untrue. I’m glad you came to me, Mary. I shudder to think that your thoughts of ending your life might have led to an attempt.”

 “Why?”

“Because, though you may not see it yet, you are a blessing to this earth, and it would be a tragedy if you left it.”

When the hour was up, Mary felt like one of the boulders she carried around with her had been removed from the invisible rickshaw that held her back each day. After assuring Dr. Michaels that she would not harm herself, she scheduled another appointment with the vulture-eyed secretary.

            That night, Mary woke from a restless sleep to find herself in a hazy state of contentment. She slowly reached out from the stifling quilt to turn on the light at her bedside. Moving to the edge of the bed, she touched her foot too the icy floor. Drinking in the feel of the cool wood, she walked over to the mirror above her dresser. In the glowing light she almost didn’t recognize the face looking back at her. There was something in the eyes that startled her, faint glimmer that had long been absent. In awestruck realization she lay back to bed knowing that hope was growing inside her.

            “Johnny! What did I tell you about eating bugs?” Lizzie was standing at the kitchen sink watching her beloved son play in the yard. The windows were open to let the sweet humid air flow through the house. Mary’s long, chestnut hair swayed in the breeze as she sat down at the counter. “I swear that boy is his daddy’s son. He eats so many bugs you’d think he wouldn’t ever be hungry.”

 Mary laughed, “Maybe they taste good and we’re the ones missing out.”

“Hmmph. More power to him, I refuse to put some creepy-crawler anywhere near my mouth. Yuck!”

 Outside the sun was creeping up over the neighboring houses and illuminating the little boy crawling around the yard in pursuit of a grasshopper. His body tensed as the green insect landed on a small patch of dirt. Muscles pulsing and quiet as a cat, the small child leapt out and devoured his prey. His terra cotta skin gave testimony to the hours he spent outside. Sometimes his mother would worry when he went on long treks in the early morning and didn’t come back until sunset. She might’ve forbidden these outings, or at least made him pack a lunch, but his growing body told her that he was finding his own nourishment on his walkabouts.

            On one balmy morning, Mary felt her stomach toss itself within her. Running to the bathroom, she knelt to the floor and bowed to the porcelain reservoir.

“Are you feeling okay? Johnny came bounding down the stairs saying you were sick as a dog.” Lizzie’s velvety voice soothed as it found its way through the bathroom keyhole to Mary’s ears.

“I think I might have a touch of the flu.” Eventually, Mary felt composed enough to have Lizzie drive her to the nearby office of Drs. Host.

            The Hosts were sisters in the medical profession as well as in blood. Their office came with all the benefits of small town practices, including regularly prescribed house calls. Elsa specialized in prenatal and pediatric and her sister, Jill, was a general practitioner with expertise in geriatrics and a chiropractic certificate. When the office wasn’t busy, it was common for a patient to have a consultation with both sisters so that the troubling symptoms could be diagnosed by the full extent of their combined knowledge.

            Lizzie and Mary stepped into the peaches and crème waiting area to find that they were the only occupants. The sound of the door opening quickly brought the Hosts out to see them. Soon, Mary was situated in the sole patient room with Jill and Elsa staring at her intently. They began to ask questions in a way that only sisters could.

“When did you first notice the nausea?”

 “And have you had a fever?”

 “Are there any other symptoms?”

“How many times did you throw up?”

 “Any dry heaving?”

 “What have you been eating lately?”

To Mary, it seemed as though the Host sisters shared the same mind and their queries were answered in meek and slightly frightened whispers. The Drs. Host looked at each other and communicated soundlessly with their facial expressions.

“My dear,” said Elsa.

“We’ll have to do some tests to be sure,” said Jill.

“But we do believe you are with child,” they said in unison.

Mary silently obliged as they confirmed their suspicions and sent her off with a month’s supply of folic acid supplements. Once in the car, Lizzie looked over at her cousin knowing the turmoil going on inside her.

 “Would you like me to take you over to Dr. Michaels?”

“Yes,” replied Mary, as she struggled to keep the threatening tears from erupting.

            “I’m sorry I haven’t made an appointment,” said Mary as her eyes finally flooded. “But I just had to see you.” Dr. Michaels welcomed her in and sat next to her on the couch.

“I know,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Mary looked up at his round and shining face. “What do you mean? I just found out today.”

“I know,” he repeated. The light in the room seemed to be centered on Dr. Michaels. Mary turned her face to avoid it and the shame that was seeping back.

“I just don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Mary, I have an announcement to make.” The room was even brighter now and it was as if the sun was pouring directly through the window. Mary’s eyes widened as Dr. Michaels began to explain.

            Lizzie dropped Mary off at Joe’s house on their way home from Dr. Michaels’ office. Looking at the rearview mirror as she left, she saw Joe running out to embrace his future bride. “He has no clue what she’s about to tell him, poor soul,” thought Lizzie as she drove down the road.

            The glistening tracks on Mary’s cheeks told him something had happened.

“I have to talk to you about something,” said Mary. Joe’s jaw slowly descended toward the ground as she told him her news. Shock, anger, and disbelief swarmed his thoughts as he tried to process the words Mary spoke with light in her eyes.

“I need some time to think about this,” Joe said quietly. Then, in a haze of uncertainty, he drove Mary home in silence.

            The sharp angle of Mary’s brow told Lizzie that the conversation with Joe had been a discouraging one. “Don’t worry about it, hon. I’m sure you’ll work it out,” she said. “Remember when I was pregnant with Johnny and Zeke and I barely spoke?” Mary slowly nodded her head before ascending the stairs.

            In the dark, the numbers of Joe’s alarm clock gave of a sickly acid green glow. His aching body forewarned him of the work that awaited him in the morning. 3:37. Joe buried his face in the pillow and violently kicked off the covers. “Why is this happening,” he thought. “I love her, but how am I supposed to believe that ridiculous story?” Yesterday evening he had resolved to break off the engagement and move out West with his grandparents for a while. His sleepless worrying nights, however, revealed a nagging doubt.

            The sound of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” echoed through his room and into the beating of his startled heart. He reached over to answer his cell phone before it woke the rest of his family.

“Hello, Mr. Carpenter. I apologize for calling on you so late, but I’m afraid it’s rather urgent.” The voice on the line was as soft and serene as it was unfamiliar.

“Who is this?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Dr. Michaels; your fiancée is a patient of mine.” The conversation soon turned his sleep deprived mind alert. The doctor’s words spoke of the truth that had nestled itself into Joe’s brain under the guise of the stupidity of love.

            Soon after the call ended, a blissful sleep engulfed Joe and he sank into his mattress, smiling at the future he would have with Mary.

            Days later, Mary came home from work to find Johnny waiting for her. He was sitting on the porch wearing only the deer-skin pants his father had made for him after their first hunting trip. When she sat down next to him he put his hand on her still small stomach.

 “When will he get here?” he asked.

“When will who get here?”

“Joshua. I’ve been waiting for him to visit.” Leaving Mary sitting on the step, he dropped to the ground and crouched next to the bush by the driveway. Carefully lifting one of the leaves to uncover its hiding place, Johnny snatched up a beetle and devoured it with delight.

-By Emily Roesslein

This is another pen illustration, also for the collaboration with the creative writing class, based on a poem about a six year old, ghosts, and scissors. I drew it on 9x12 clayboard.