My memories of a young genius.

by John William
(Netherlands)

This story is personal, emotional, for me beautiful yet with sadness. It describes me meeting a young genius.

In my youth, soothed by time yet vivid for my eyes I remember this boy just like any other boy. He did not stand out or seem remarkable when I joined in my new class room.

My father, a professional soldier, needed to move to another base and our family followed to a new house, new schools and new friends.

I was only 9, he must have been the same age. Energies spent were meant for the day and not for the future. Our worries did not last, laughters were likewise forgotten.

Even missing old friends was compensated by the attention from the new group. I guess kids are remarkably flexible when meeting new friends. I can not remember any other kids from that school, as we moved away within a year.

He was special.

In the first week in my new school we were asked to make a painting in pairs of two. On a sizeable piece of paper, double a3 we were asked to make a sketch and colour that with paint.

He asked if he could make the sketch, and I agreed. Unlike him my drawing skills were never developed.

His sketch was amazing. In minutes he filled the paper with the image of a Buddha figure surrounded by big blossoming flowers, even with a black pencil that sketch seemed to come alive. I remember being totally set off, I felt it was beautiful.

We used finger-paint, my index finger was yellow to colour the inside of the flowers. But I just didn't dare to touch that paper. The teacher said both had to paint. I told my friend that I couldn't paint.

He said everybody can!; grabbed my hand and he painted with my hand, just as easy as he painted with his own. After that I finished a few flowers' insides while his hands raced over the paper filling faces, casting shadows.

We finished within one hour, and I was stunned silent. I really felt I had been part of something awesome.

After a few days the painting had dried and had become even better.The teacher decided to flip coins on who was allowed to take it home. He really wanted to have the painting, just like I wanted it.

The toss favoured me and I immediately felt guilty; yet wanted to take the Buddha home. Outside school he came to me again and asked if he could have it. I told him that I never had seen anything so beautiful. He also said it was great and that he wanted to give it to his mother.

He said that his birthday was within 3 weeks and that he would invite me on his birthday when he could have the painting.

Knowing absolutely nobody there, I agreed, better a friend than a painting. The birthday was huge. Lots of friends and his dad was some sort of musician and all kids had a musical instrument to play and we could all try the drums. Just awesome!

I even saw the painting back, in a fitting wooden frame, in the bedroom of his parents.

He must have known, he must have felt it. Two weeks after his birthday he was diagnosed with bone leukaemia.

He was allowed to forfil his potential and give his share to his parents and the world.

All I can say.

A few dots of yellow paint connect me to heaven.