My Nan told me I had the second regard and although in my childish mind I didn't know what that meant, I knew it made me special.
I would sit for hours with my grandmother up in her room while she initiated me into secret mysteries.
I felt sorry for her, bed-ridden and all alone.
On this particular day, I was at my post as usual, sitting by her bed listening to her regular breathing.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes and stared at me.
“Oh, it’s you, Child. Did you see them?”
“See what Nanny?”
“The pictures on the walls.” She motioned to a large white wall adjacent to her bed.
“Yesterday I saw clouds and grass—trees waving and men upside-down walking and making merry.”
“Why can’t I see the pictures, Nanny?”
“You’ve come too late in the day, Child. You need to come just before tea. I swear I’ll see the cat and the fiddle one day here upon my walls.”
I thought it marvellous and told Meg, my mother. She grew very stern. She threw up her hands and in desperation turned to my Dad.
“I’ve just about had it, Ross. Ma’s filling his head with all sorts of foolish notions. Why just the other day I caught her drawing the picture for him—you know, the one of the snake curled around the rose? No good will come of it, and that’s for sure.”
I was sorry I said anything, but I wanted to see the pictures. I made up my mind to visit Nanny at teatime next day.
The following day was pouring rain and the house seemed tossed like a ship on the ocean. It seemed fish faces were peering in at the windows and outside on the verandah, Nanny’s rocker was moving all by itself.
I visited with Nanny in her room, but no pictures appeared on the walls and the best Nanny could offer was to recite the names of all the lakes in Killarney.
The following day was bright and sunny and I felt in high spirits. I wanted to be outside running and playing with my friends, but I promised myself I’d see the wall pictures and so just after teatime, I snuck up to visit Nanny in her room.
I crept in so as to not disturb her and crawled into bed beside her, waiting for her to wake up. The room was dark and still.
Suddenly, a sunbeam lit the heavy rose-colored curtains, illumining the window square. Hazy green trees and huge white clouds appeared on the wall, just as Nanny said they would.
I lay there watching the shimmering magic lantern show until it dimmed and disappeared. Then, I crawled out of the room and quietly descended the stairs.
I never told my parents or anyone else what I saw that day—it was my secret—mine and Nan’s. I knew then that Nan’s other stories were true and she was right—I had the second regard.
A few months later Nan was hospitalized and passed away one rainy morning. The pictures on the wall were gone, never to be seen again.
It’s been years now but seems like only yesterday.
The fascination still remains but the images are inside my brain.
What do they mean?
Well, you need to ask artists or children because most adults have forgotten the mystery.
I still know—I was one of those sensitive souls who grew up to be a writer.
I didn’t choose to be an artist—Life chooses her own storytellers—those who paint bright images on the walls of the cave of the psyche.
Occasionally though, old people are granted privileged glimpses of the beauty that lies within, because they like children have time to watch and dream and sometimes share their own visions.
And occasionally, there are wondrous happenings—even magic picture shows on walls.