Cedar forcefully shrugged off all their anxieties about their future as they walked up the steps leading to the museum with their usual cup of coffee and bag with a croissant in their hand. Their alarming thoughts grew increasingly forceful with every day that passed as they knew they were a day closer to evidently confronting the decision to have to choose what they wanted to do with their life.
Honestly, they were more worried about their future than their parents were. When they called their parents the night prior, Cedar, on the verge of tears, admitted that they had no clue what they wanted with their future, and their mother gave a reassuring smile as she stated, “Oh honey, you don’t have to. You’re young, and you still have so much time to figure things out, even when you graduate.”
Though Cedar appreciated their mother’s support, the words didn’t seem to soak into their skin, just like Aaliyah’s comforting phrases seemed to bounce off Cedar, barely making an impact. Cedar wanted to accept all the reassurances people in their life were giving them, but it just seemed like no matter how many words people said about Cedar having time to figure out their life, the crushing fear of having their life turn into one without any purpose.
Fortunately, a welcome distraction appeared in the form of fresh yellow tape at the entrance of the museum, and Cedar gave Joel a look of confusion as they handed him the croissant as they usually did. Joel lifted the tape and gestured for Cedar to enter as he explained, “Another painting’s been stolen. The sunflowers one.”
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Just like last time, the painting stolen was the one that Cedar had been drawing. Cedar gulped down the surprise threatening to rise into their voice as they frowned, “Again?”
“Yeah. Whoever stole the other painting apparently couldn’t get enough, I guess,” answered Joel as he and Cedar approached the gallery, where policemen were standing around where the sunflower painting had been. Cedar recognized Officer Stanley, the stern officer who had been at the museum when the other painting was stolen, as well as the eccentric Detective Bennett, who hadn’t lost any of the zeal he had last time.
Bennett caught sight of Cedar and rushed over to them with a wild look in his eyes. He whipped out his small notepad and launched into questions — Cedar thought they’d seen the detective be demanding last time, but Bennett seemed to have reached a whole new level.
“Cedar! Hello! You must’ve heard that another painting has gone missing. Do you know any information? You mentioned that you come here a lot. Have you seen anybody suspicious looking at any of the paintings in the gallery? Have you heard anybody in the museum mention the paintings? And, I know this may be a wild question but I must throw it out there, have you perhaps considered stealing the paintings before?”
“Uhh, no, I don’t really know anybody who would want to steal the paintings, and I would never steal. I really don’t think I can help that much.” Cedar technically wasn’t lying, but, recalling the note and the bouquet of poppy flowers (which was still alive and healthy in a vase in Cedar’s dorm), it did feel like they were cheating the detective out of information.
“It’s not them. We dusted for fingerprints, and we found a few fingerprints on the wall but they didn’t match any fingerprints on our database,” Stanley informed and glanced down at his watch. “We have to get going again. You seem to always come on time, Cedar.”
Cedar inhaled sharply but smiled to hide that Stanley’s remark struck a nerve. “It’s just coincidence.”
Office Stanley gave Cedar a threatening once-over before he motioned for the officers to pack everything up. Bennett, who had been silently mulling over the mystery, followed the officers out of the exhibit this time, and Stanley seemed relieved that he didn’t have to forcefully drag the detective out of the museum.
With everybody gone, Cedar decided the coast was clear enough for them to check if there were any signs of a new note from whoever had left a note, and surely enough, they found a bouquet of sunflowers and a note tucked securely under the bench facing a painting of irises. Taking a seat, Cedar shrugged off their messenger bag and picked up the bundle of flowers in one hand while they held the note in the other.
Yellow is such a happy color, so why are you so sad? It pains me to see you this way. Do you hope that by drawing sunflowers, you might become as happy as them?
Admittedly, Cedar started tearing up when they read the note. This person wrote to them as if they’d known Cedar for a long time like they were a familiar friend who could see through Cedar’s attempts to pretend like they had their life together. After placing the note in their messenger bag, Cedar carefully ripped out a piece of paper from their notebook and began writing back.
Maybe. I think that’s partly why I do art; so I can cope with how I feel. I hope that I can be happy one day, but I don’t know what the future holds, and I think that’s why I’m so scared to face it.
Cedar paused. Was it a good idea to be sharing their feelings with somebody who they didn’t even know? Probably. But what did they have to lose?
Shoving aside their doubts, Cedar folded the note into a neat square and took out a stick of gum from their bag. Technically, they weren’t allowed to chew gum, but there was nobody around in the museum who would call them out for it. They chewed their gum, carefully spat it out into the palm of their hand, and attached it onto the note so they could securely stick it under the bench so nobody would see… though, considering how everybody had missed the flowers under the bench, it didn’t seem like that would be too big of a concern.
Once Cedar had worked on their sketch of the irises for an hour, they glanced around, wondering whether the anonymous thief would reveal themselves suddenly. But all they could see was the plethora of paintings, surrounded by flowers, yet with the blue sky completely out of sight. So, they picked up their belongings and headed out of the museum, petals of hope trailing behind them.
Though Lorena was normally always at the museum when Cedar was there, she only arrived at the museum a few hours after Cedar had left. That day, she was wearing a black business suit, and, as she walked into the Van Gogh flowers gallery, she listened to the person on the other end of the call speak in a low voice, “You’ve been on vacation in L.A. for a month now. Don’t you think it’s time to come back to Europe and take on this new job?”
“I suppose,” Lorena half-heartedly answered as she walked around the gallery. She knelt beside the bench where she had placed the flowers for the mysterious artist and froze when she noticed that this time, there was a note. As she carefully removed the note, with the gum attached and all, Lorena wedged her phone between her chin and her shoulder as she informed, “I’ll call you back. But this doesn’t mean I’m taking the job.”
Lorena read the note. Her first instinct was to smile — the note was an act of reciprocation, a sign of hope. But, as she continued to read the note, Lorena realized that Cedar was truly sadder than they had let on. She wished she could take on all the pain that Cedar was facing, but all she could do was leave a note.
On an index card from her black purse, Lorena scribbled back: Why are you worried? The future of somebody as talented as you should only be filled with brightness.
Following Cedar’s lead, Lorena took out a stick of chewing gum, chewed it for a minute, and spat it out, and proceeded to use the gum to stick the note onto the bottom of the bench. She stood up, and her smile reappeared. She had a new purpose; all her life, her one motivation was to make money through any means, which led to her career of thievery, and she finally found something — somebody — who made her feel alive more than the feeling of three-thousand dollars in cash in her hands.
As Lorena walked out of the museum, she dialed the number again and called up the person who helped set her up with her jobs. “I’ve made my decision. I’m not taking the job. I’m not coming back. Not yet. I’ve got work to do here.”
~
When Cedar found the note under the bench the next day, something inside them cracked. They’d been holding back their feelings from others and seeing this mysterious person insist that Cedar’s future should be filled with brightness made Cedar fall apart at the seams. Cedar’s roommate had said similar phrases to what this person wrote back, but somehow, it was more meaningful coming from somebody who didn’t know Cedar that well.
It took all Cedar’s effort to not pour their entire life story out to the stranger and only write: I’m terrified that I’m not going to succeed in art. I’ve barely been able to sell my drawings. How would I ever be able to succeed in the future if I can’t be successful now?
In response, the next day, Lorena wrote back: You will succeed. Even if it’s hard now, I know that the future is promising for you. If I knew where to find your art, I would find them and buy all of them. Everything you create is a masterpiece because it’s made by you.
Cedar thought about Lorena’s note during their literature class. They repeated the note over and over and over again in their head, the words appearing in the fancy cursive font that the person had written in. Through Cedar’s fixation on the note, Professor Hunt’s voice cut through, and Cedar heard the professor state, “Now since we’re halfway through the book, we can start analyzing Odysseus’ character. Some people believe that Odysseus was lost at sea even though he knew that he wanted to go home, while others believe that Odysseus’ journey was a representation of Odysseus’ fear of being lost and his search for his true purpose. Either way, people believe Odysseus was a lost soul.”
As Cedar stared blankly at the chalkboard, they couldn’t help but wonder if they were as lost as Odysseus was too. Maybe they needed to find their true purpose too.
Odysseus and the big blue sea he was lost in occupied Cedar’s mind as Cedar finished the drawing of the irises. They already knew what was coming next. The painting of the irises would be stolen, and they would be greeted with another note. The grumpy policeman would return along with the overenthusiastic detective right by his side.
Just like Cedar predicted, the painting was stolen, and the whole charade of policemen was at the museum. Once they were gone, Cedar found a bouquet of gorgeous purple irises under the bench facing a painting of cherry blossoms along with a note that started with “A gift for you for the gift from you.”
Cedar grinned. They knew that even if they didn’t leave behind their drawing of the irises for the person, they would have received the bouquet and the note anyway. It was strangely nice they had some sort of certainty — though, certainly unconventional — in their life.
