The One and Only Ivan

more paintings

George calls out to Julia. He’s done for the night. “Grab your backpack,” he says. “And hurry. It’s late.”

“Gotta go, Ivan,” Julia says.

Julia doesn’t understand.

I have to find the right pieces. I dig through the pile. They’re here somewhere. I know they are.

I find one, another one, another. I try to hold four of them up against the glass.

“Bob,” I say, “help me. Hurry!”

Bob grabs paintings with his teeth and drags them to me.

One by one, I shove pictures through the window crack. They crumple and tear.

There are too many pieces. My puzzle is too big.

“Careful, Ivan,” Julia says. “Those might be worth millions someday. You never know.” She arranges the paintings into a neat stack. “I suppose Mack’s going to want to sell these in the gift shop.”

She still doesn’t understand.

I shove more out the hole and more and more, all of them, one after another.

“So Ivan’s been painting, has he?” George says as he puts on his coat.

“A lot,” says Julia with a laugh. “A whole lot.”

“You’re not taking all those home with you, are you?” George asks. “I mean, no offense to Ivan, but they’re just blobs.”

Julia thumbs through the towering stack of paintings. “They might not be blobs to Ivan.”

“Let’s leave those by the office,” George suggests. “Mack’ll want to try selling them. Although why anyone would pay forty bucks for a finger painting a two-year-old could do, I don’t know.”

“I like Ivan’s work,” Julia says. “He puts his feelings into them.”

“He puts his hair into them,” George says.

Julia waves good-bye. “Night, Ivan. Night, Bob.”

I press my nose against the glass and watch her walk away. All my work, all my planning, wasted.

I look at Ruby, sleeping soundly, and suddenly I know she’ll never leave the Big Top Mall. She’ll be here forever, just like Stella.

I can’t let Ruby be another One and Only.