The Assignment

Betty had a project. An art project. Mrs. Bumblesnatch had assigned it and the substitute knew about it and so she had to go ahead and do it. Mrs. Bumblesnatch was what they called her. Her real name was Mrs. Speed. But she had this habit of hawking into a tissue, right in front of the class, and then examining it attentively as if she were reading her fortune.

"Anyway," said Betty, as they sped out of the harbour, "I've got to do this drawing, and I have to use a pencil, and you know where I want to go. "

"But you know from my photo,” said Noah, behind her, steering. “You have the photo. Why not draw it from that?"

"Because it has to be direct. It's like talking. The only way to really get your point across is to do it directly. Face to face. Not over the phone. Not by texting. Certainly not by having nothing to say. Or by refusing to say what you're feeling. " She realized she had wandered from her premise and was indulging in very risky behaviour, so she looked away and laughed. "Just take me where I want to go," she said, making a wild gesture at the rising sun. "And stop being such a dork."

They flew across the mild waves, past the red buoy that was bobbing like a very slowly set metronome, and on to the gut between Hearn and Burnt islands. Just after they were through, Noah dropped the hook.

"There, your Highness, your scenery, as you so royally demanded."

Pad and pencil in hand, Betty set to work. The seabirds cried. The distant surf whispered. The boat slapped gently on the moving sea.

"We're so patient," Betty said, as her drawing flashed stroke after confident stroke into being. "Just kids and so patient. Hard to believe. "

"I don't know," Noah said, looking up at her formidable subject, watching a cloud slowly top it like a crooked crown. "I've got you. That's all I need. "

Her heart lurched as if it had raced to the edge of the cliff she was sketching and nearly fallen over. But all the evidence of it she allowed was a small smile, a mere twitch at the corner of her lips, which she knew he would see and which she hoped he would interpret as her having known all along, and never doubted in the least, that he loved her. And that he loved her quite hopelessly.

21 November 2025
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia