When I got home yesterday evening, I noticed that there was a large white canvas propped on top of the basket on my bike. At first, I thought that it might be a note telling me to move the eyesore—right now, my seat is half missing and covered in duct tape. Instead, it was a painting of a single stalk of asparagus.
It didn’t register that the painting might actually be a gift. I thought it was a throwaway that someone left on the street. So I smiled at it, because it was pretty junk, and then went inside. A few hours later, I left the house to go meet a friend (hi Shannon!) for a drink, and it was still there.
“Do you think this is for me?” I asked Caleb, who had come outside with me to walk Franke.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But there’s a little old lady who has a studio set up right there.” And he pointed to a dark window directly behind the post where I usually lock my bike.
“Oh then, duh, it’s for me!” I exclaimed, and clapped my hands.
“I really don’t want that thing in my house,” Caleb said.
“Sshhh,” I scolded him. “She can probably hear you.”
We tried to discern a shape in the darkness, but saw nothing. I gave the blank space a quick wave anyway, and felt happy for the rest of the night. I think it’s the best present I’ve ever received.
New York can be so beautiful.
