IV.

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She became concerned about what she was hearing at the dinner table each night. Susan finally lost her patience and let out her frustration as they were finishing supper.

​

“Your father and I spoke, and we don’t like it that Mr. Phillips is teaching you ideas about his faith. Mr. Phillips has a right to his own beliefs, but those beliefs are not ours.”

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Jamie was stunned. “Faith? Beliefs? Mr. Phillips isn’t teaching me religion if that’s what you think.”

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“Well, it sure seems like it, missy. All this talk about a holy connection, hidden patterns, ‘ancient threads’… It sounds like a bunch of New Age gobbledygook, if you ask me.”

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“How can you say that when even my science teacher agrees?”

​

“Who, Ms. Nakamura? Isn’t she Hindu?”

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“You mean Buddhist… Yes… No… I don’t know. Why does it even matter?”

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“Your father and I once knew a couple that got involved in some funny spiritual ideas, and, well … let’s just say it didn’t turn out well.”

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This made Jamie boil inside. Her mother was jumping to conclusions before even trying to understand what Jamie was trying to tell her. Suddenly, her mother saw her as some kind of navel-gazer and tagged Mr. Phillips and Ms. Nakamura as hippie types, and there was nothing she could do to change her mind.

 

“I don’t think you’ll be visiting Mr. Phillips anymore, or be talking to Ms. Nakamura after school. And that’s final,” she told Jamie.

 

Weeks passed, and Jamie continued with her drawing, but she was too disappointed to do it with the same vigor. She was sad that she had never gotten the chance to explain to Mr. Phillips why she could no longer go to his studio. Not only that, but she still had many questions as a follow-up to their discussions. But the worst part was that she would never receive even one painting class from her mentor. This, she felt, she couldn’t accept. So, she told her mother she would try out for band after school the next day and that afterward, she had a ride home. Next, she had found a bus schedule routed within walking distance of Mr. Phillips’s studio and she set her course.

​

Everything went exactly to plan. After an hour bus ride with some considerable walking, she approached the door of the studio and knocked, not even sure if Mr. Phillips would be there. From outside, she could hear the classical music station he always listened to, which was a good sign. She knocked again and was about to knock a third time when she heard footsteps approaching the door.

​

Shanti was the first to run out and greet her.

​

“Jamie, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t your mother be with you? How did you even get here?” Mr. Phillips asked as he stepped outside to welcome his young prodigy once again.

​

“I took the bus and walked.”

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“Judy said she received a call from your mother a few weeks ago, letting us know you could no longer do our monthly check-ins. Something about other commitments you had? You were doing so well.”

​

Jamie couldn’t hold it back anymore. She broke down and began to cry. Watching the scene unfold from the kitchen window, Judy came out to see what was going on.

​

Walking briskly from the kitchen door, she asked, “Jamie? Is everything all right? What are you doing here by yourself?”

Jamie turned and told her, “My mom won’t let me come here anymore. She wouldn’t even let me explain to you why. She ruined all my plans!” Tears were now rolling down her face one after another.

​

“What plans?” asked Mr. Phillips.

​

“To be your student and learn to paint.”

​

Judy looked up at her husband with a saddened face, but Mr. Phillips was lost for words. Jamie explained everything that had happened and how her mother had misinterpreted their conversations and would no longer permit her to come for their usual check-ins.

​

“Not everyone is going to understand these things like you do, Jamie,” said Mr. Phillips, not wanting to create any more division between her and her mother. “And regarding painting classes, you don’t need me. Why, you could learn how to paint from anyone, because you already have the fundamentals. You simply layer color on top of what you’ve already learned, and that’s painting!”

​

“You make it sound so easy,” Jamie said with a slight smile, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

​

“Everything will be alright, Jamie. You’ve made great progress,” said Judy as she hugged her.

​

“Come inside,” said Mr. Phillips. “I have something for you.”

​

All three went inside, with Shanti following. Mr. Phillips went to the back room and then came back with one of his sketchbooks in hand. “I never forget a face,” he told Jamie. “And when you, your mother, and your sister came to the studio the first time, I knew I had seen your family before.” Then he opened his sketchbook to a page he had bookmarked.

​

“Look.”

​

It was a lovely pen-and-ink drawing of a woman having a meal with two young girls at a table with a checkered tablecloth.

“But how…?” asked Jamie.

​

“We happened to be eating lunch at the same restaurant that day, I guess.”

​

“But my sister and I must’ve been only six or seven years old!”

​

“This was 1983, so that’s probably about right.”

​

“And I remember that dress my mother is wearing. I even recognize that table! Mel’s Diner on Main Street?”

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“Bingo!”

​

All three were starting to get emotional.

​

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Jamie, covering her mouth. “You drew us in your sketchbook?”

​

Jamie knew about Mr. Phillips’s unusual pastime of recording stranger’s portraits, but never in a million years did she ever expect to find herself or anyone from her family on one of the pages in his hundreds of sketchbooks.

​

“I helped Jon find it,” said Judy, her eyes welling up. “Jon had a hunch that you and your family were on one of the pages. It took us hours to locate it, but we found it.”

​

Next, Mr. Phillips, with the utmost precision and care, cut out the page from his sketchbook, wrote an inscription, signed it, and predated it 1983.

​

He handed it to Jamie, who then read it aloud:

​

“To my beloved student, Jamie: You are more than the sum of your parts. May you know yourself as the light that shines on the world, and that shines on everything thereafter.

​

Sincerely, your art teacher forevermore,

Mr. Phillips.”

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