4/30/21

Woodstock, VT

He was a tall man with dark features — a dark rimmed face outlined by dark stubble along his jawline, mostly covered by a face mask. He wore a black beanie over his jet-black curls, and inky black jeans and a black corduroy coat over his slender frame. All of the darkness made his blue eyes appear bright, tranquil blue through his glasses. He had a smudge of pastel blue chalk on his right earlobe.
He stood at the center of the town, in front of a large wooden structure on the corner of Elm and Center. It stood on a patch of weathered green. Locals called it the bulletin. One side featured a historical display of Woodstock housing architecture; the other, a chalkboard.
I’d first noticed him through the gaze of others. A group of restaurant-goers, standing at the other side of the street, were watching him. I should have been watching the road. I followed their eyes to the man. He was coloring with blue chalk on the board. His drawing practically glowed in the waning gray light.
I pulled over. By the time I’d gotten close enough to identify the bright blue and green pigments, I realized he was drawing a planet. He faced the chalk board with his back to me.
“That’s beautiful,” I said.
He stepped back, swinging one foot out so that he stood facing me, only partly. He brought his hand to his chin.
“Thank you very much.”
I realized that the planet was Earth, and that he was not drawing it, but drawing on top of it – grey and white spaceships and contraptions in its orbit.
“I’m adding spacecraft,” he told me. “They’re attacking us.”
“Oh. Is there a subliminal message?” I asked.
“Gosh, I hope not.” he laughed. “It’s from Star Wars.”
I regretted being so fatalistic. I told him I hadn’t seen Star Wars. I told him I thought his spaceships were a good idea, though I was not sure if I really did.
“I figured I’d repurpose the Earth Day theme and add something a little more fun,” the man said. “I’m Adrian, by the way. What’s your name?”
We talked. Occasionally Adrian would step toward the bulletin to add a detail, erase a line, or blend a chalk stroke with his ring finger.
The public bulletin, standing on a patch of triangular grass in the center of town, was very New England. In colonial days, designated “town criers” would be appointed to make public announcements to villagers in various towns, donning ornate red and gold robes and elaborate pointed hats. Or so the town’s website says.
I’m not exactly sure who the last Woodstock town crier was, but the tradition had evolved. And it appeared that the public chalkboard standing at the center of town was its only descendant – a place where townspeople could write messages or draw pictures.
At the top of the board was written: “Woodstock Town Crier,” except “crier” had been covered up and replaced with “smiler.”
Raindrops started to fall sporadically as Adrian and I talked. Trucks passed with important things to deliver, cars floated by with people driving home.
“Are you a professional artist?” I asked Adrian. There was a slight pause. More trucks passed.
“Yeah…” He drew out the word and ended it like a question.
“Yes?” I asked. “You sound apprehensive?”
“Well, when you’re drawing chalk pictures for no money in the drizzling rain, it doesn’t feel like you’re a professional artist.” He smiled. I got it. I crossed my arms. Adrian liked to draw a new picture on the board every month or so. Just for fun.
“So, what’s the next design going to be?” I asked.
“Well, Mother’s Day is coming, so I could do that. You know those images of the baby in the womb? Maybe something like that.” I agreed, although I thought the idea a little far-fetched. Definitely better than my idea. Flowers were so cliché.
“But for now, it’s Star Wars,” I said. “Are you going to change the writing?”
We looked at the bottom of the board, where Adrian had written “Happy Earth Day 2021.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“May the Fourth be with you?” I added nervously. I never watched the movies, but all Star Wars fans I knew claimed May 4th an unofficial holiday for the franchise.
He turned his head toward me, his blue eyes widening. “Is that what they say?”
“I… don’t know?” I knew very little about Star Wars.
“I like that,” Adrian said. “Yeah, yeah.” He nodded. He returned to the chalkboard. “I think you were sent to me for this,” he said.
Adrian was from Burlington. He didn’t like Burlington. In fact, he didn’t like small towns at all – Burlington, Woodstock, Hanover. There wasn’t enough going on for Adrian. I wondered what he was doing here, in Woodstock.
But I didn’t ask. Instead, I told him how I liked small towns. “We have no choice but to face each other. We get close,” I said. I truly did feel this. Sometimes there isn’t much distraction, in a small town we find a little bit of solace in another soul.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Adrian said. He stepped toward the bulletin and picked up a small card from a tray. The laminated rectangle featured a paint bottle, with his phone number and email. “It’s my business card,” he said.
“Thanks.” I stuffed it into the pocket of my coat.
As I drove away, the sprinkles turned into rain, which became more frequent, until I was driving over the Quechee Gorge and the roads were slick and wet and dark and I knew it had been raining here for a while. It would only be minutes until the storm reached Woodstock. I turned my windshield wipers on.