How to Save A Life (Anthony Rizzo)

15- I Got You

Anthony

I stand in Clara's room and simply admire her paintings. Since she's basically been detained to her room for god knows how long, she's amassed quite the collection. And each and every one of them was such a wonderful work of art and belonged in a art museum hanging up with the greatest artists in the world. She was so incredibly talented and had such an amazing imagination. She could make Van Gough nervous, you know, if he was still alive.

"Are you ever gonna sell them" I ask her and she shrugs her shoulders.

"I don't know. These are more of a personal thing than a public thing. I want to share my paintings but people shouldn't have to pay to see it. They should enjoy it because they feel a connection, not because they feel required to because they paid to feel a connection. I do these painting because I want to, not because I have to. Its not like they're in demand" she claims.

"That's literally insane. Your work is nothing short of incredible, anyone would be so honored to hang what you do up on their walls. I could call the art institute right now and I bet they would beg to have some of this up in their museum" I insist.

"I would give anything to go to the art institute" she admits. "To be surrounded by such amazing art work. To feel so inspired by people who where once in my position as a artist. Then one day to be able to see my work up there with theirs" she sighs.

"Do you wanna go" I ask and she turns to me.

"Like to the art institute" she asks.

"Yeah. I don't have a game today and I leave later tonight for Florida, so if you want to go, now is the time" I offer.

"I would love to Anthony, but I don't want to be pushing my luck" she insists.

"Look at it this way. Is it worse for him having a chance to find you, or for you not to be able to do something you love because you're scared he will" I ask her and she lets out a long sigh.

"I don't know. But I sure as hell don't want to spend my life in here. No offense to you, but I want more than just sitting here to look forward to" she explains.

"I get it. That's why I want you to find a baseball cap and some over sized clothes and come to the art institute with me" I insist.

"You want to go" she asks.

"Only if you come with me" I defend.

"Okay, then give me ten minutes" she insists and I nod.

She gets changed and I find the direction to the Chicago art institute. We drive over there and I walk in with her under my arm as we weave in and out of people. She keeps her eyes down as we get past the security and into the exhibits. We go up the stairs and find the paintings and her eyes slowly move from the floor to the walls. A smile peeks through as she looks around.

"Have you ever been here before" I question.

"Surprisingly enough, no" she admits.

"Why not" I wonder.

"I wasn't allowed to" she claims and I nod. I get it. I don't want to keep nagging her about that, these should be good memories.

As we walk around we stop at every painting just so Clara could take it all in. She never missed a single detail and she was in awe of every single piece of art. She knew every artist and era of the paintings. What the surface and deepest meaning of each piece is. She was extremely intelligent about all the paintings and it quickly became apparent as she would list off if the artist was right handed or left and the story behind each picture. For someone who has never been here before she sure knew her stuff.

We come up to one I've seen before and she admires it like all the others. But she looked at this one differently. She looks harder and longer than she had at the other ones.

"Is this one of your favorites" I ask her and she nods.

"It is. It's called Nighthawks at Kebab by Edward Hopper. I like this one because it has the light and the dark. The light illuminated the people inside the cafe and the dark makes it so there is light. It's a brilliant piece really. It's simple and the message is clear, yet it's brilliant because he made it so lifelike. It's lovely" she insists.

"You are" I say and she smiles up at me.

"Why did you really want to bring me here today" she asks and I laugh.

"I don't know. I love listening to you talk about what you're really passionate about. Baseball is my passion and art is yours, I love that you have something that you love. I could listen to you go on for hours and hours about these paintings" I insist.

"You really think it's interesting" she questions.

"I think you're interesting. It's cool to hear about how these things inspired you. How you can look at a painting and something inside of you flares up and you're so passionate about you. You don't have to try to talk about it, it pours out of you like a waterfall. Kinda like how I feel when I see the work you've done" I compliment.

"I'm not that good" she insists.

"I think your better" I claim and she turns to me.

"Based off of what art knowledge are you making that accusation" she questions.

"No, no art knowledge" I admit. "But I know a good thing when I see it. And what you have belongs up in a place like this. It is worth millions and I don't think there is a piece of art here that says more than what you tell in your brushstrokes in your paintings. You tell stories and make people feel things with just a glance. That's something that cannot be found anywhere else" I explain.

"Do you really think that" she asks.

"Of course I do" I insist.

"Well that's very sweet of you. Maybe someday I will have my art hanging up in here, maybe someday I'll come here not in disguise, not afraid something will happen to me" she sighs.

"We'll get you there, I know we will" I promise.

"I trust you" she smiles and I get chills.

"And I got you" I assure her.