Strife Within Harmony

Dad wheeled in another cart today. There were stacks of canvases, a container full of what looked to be random materials, and a mountain of clay. On the top shelf, there was a single tray full of food.

“I got you some breakfast.” He gently placed the plate on the table and gestured for him to sit.

Bread took a look—crispy hash browns, over-easy eggs, sausages, and a generous portion of pancakes. A streak of blueberry syrup pooled at the bottom of the dish; he could tell by the color. It was more delicately decorated than all the other breakfasts he’d had combined.

“I also brought some things for a hands-on activity today.” Dad pulled out the plastic-wrapped mound of clay and placed it next to his table. After that, he pulled out the container full of random materials. There were a bunch of chains, wires, toothpicks, and a number of other things. “And sculpting tools. But we’ll get to that later.”

It looked like they were going to do something interactive. “What about cooking?” Bread asked.

“Cooking? Ah… Later. I promise. Just not today.”

“Okay…” He eyed the floor. It was something he was looking forward to. But it could wait. Yeah! He tried to hype himself up. It doesn’t have to be today.

“We have much to learn. Eat up. I’ll show you while you eat. Are you ready, Bread? We’re going to do some more intensive learning!” Dad tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible.

It was so unlike him, Bread giggled.

He smiled. “I’m glad you find this entertaining. Alright, let’s start out a bit more concrete.” He pulled out one of the canvases from the lower shelves and placed it in front of Bread. “What do you think?”

It was a painting of a boy wrapped in a tattered, white cloth. He was looking out a window towards a bright, vibrant city. It oddly looked familiar…

“Is that me?” Bread questioned.

“Well, yes. I drew this based on you. But that’s not important. What does this incite? What kind of emotions do you feel when you look at this?”

The boy in the picture—him. Bread stared at his self portrait of sorts. “It feels… sad… and lonely…”

“Well, do you?”

He looked over at his dad.

“Of course… That was a dumb question. Don’t worry,” Dad answered. “I’ll set up a day where we can tour the city. Just you and me.” He gestured towards the skyscrapers outside. “I’ll show you my world…”

Bread liked that idea. He could visit that bakery from before. He’d always wanted to try the strawberry shortcakes that had been on display outside.

“Anyway, that wasn’t bad.” Dad put away the painting and pulled out a new one. “Try this one.”

In the center were two grimy hands, fingers interlocked tightly together. It was placed upon mud and dirt. And there were an array of weapons—a pistol, knife, and a few grenades arranged in a chaotic hodgepodge. A pin was pulled from one.

“Difficult?”

Bread nodded. There were too many things happening all at once.

But Dad suddenly went on a tangent. “Do you know what makes a human, human? Have you ever thought about that kind of question before?”

“I—” It was a rhetorical question.

“There are a lot of things that people say makes a human, real,” Dad continued. “Like, for example, empathy.” He waited for Bread’s response.

Empathy? He thought back to the time he was kicked. “I thought empathy wasn’t common sense.”

“Not common sense…” He chuckled. “When did you learn that term? But yes. I suppose that’s true. Many people don’t seem to be very empathetic nowadays. So what really defines a human if not empathy?”

Bread shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Look again. At this painting. Here.” He pointed at the two hands in the center. “Describe the scene for me, Bread.”

“It’s… two hands holding?”

“Yes, and what’s around them? What does that tell you of their surroundings? Of what’s happening?”

Weapons… “Fighting?” Grenades… “Some kind of war?”

“War. Good. Now, do you see that there’s a connection? A relationship between two individuals formed in this chaotic mess?” He pointed at the grenade without a pin. “They’ve chosen to end their lives together. Admirable? Or is it entirely foolish?”

Bread didn’t know how to answer.

“Personally, I believe creative thought and curiosity is what defines humanity. I believe they’re the most important traits to have. But there are those who also introduce the concept of love to this equation. I don’t quite agree with them, but I can respect the thought. What do you think, Bread? Does this painting incite a sense of love?”

Love. He knew what it was from his records but not how it felt. He just knew it as a form of strong adoration. But he didn’t know what that meant either. “What does it mean to love?” he asked.

“Well… How should I say this? It’s illogical?” He chuckled. “Almost like my research…”

“Research?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he snapped. Then he changed the subject back. “Love is similar to curiosity in that aspect. Humans think and act in ways that are not the most optimal because of these things.” He paused. “What do you love, Bread? What do you think about every day and intensely enjoy?”

Enjoy? ”Boxing?” he answered without hesitation.

“Gah, boxing. But you’re honest. And I have a feeling you don’t like it for the violence, right? Tell me I’m not wrong.”

He nodded.

“Good. I’ll accept that. Remember, Bread. Violence is never the answer. Don’t hurt anyone. Do you promise?”

“Will you promise to teach me cooking?”

“Trying to bribe me now, are you?” He smiled. “Alright, I promise. Now.” He pulled out a third painting. “Let’s get a little more abstract. Tell me anything this painting incites. Anything.”

This time, the painting was a swirl of two different colors—green towards the top and brown towards the bottom.

“Anything?”

“It… reminds me of dirt?”

“Think more openly,” he said. “Like oxygen.”

“Oxygen?”

“Yes, oxygen. It’s related to this painting. Think deeper. Try and remember something from before.”

Before? Something that had to do with oxygen? Something green and brown… There was only one thing that had to do with oxygen and the colors, green and brown. “Trees?” he answered.

“Yes. Trees. What does that make you feel?”

“It… makes me feel calm.”

“And?”

“Longing.”

“For what?”

“To be—” Bread whispered, “Free…?”

“Ah…” Dad sighed. “Of course. I, um… I was a bit emotional when we first met, wasn’t I?”

Bread weakly nodded.

“I promise. We’ll visit the city soon.” He put away the final painting. “You did great.” He ruffled his hair. “I’m proud of you.”

Bread really did feel proud. He felt like he had actually accomplished something. And because of that, his emotions immediately swerved back to happiness. Back to his smiling self. He wanted to get to know him more. He didn’t want all this to end on a sad note. No! He wouldn’t let that happen.

“Did you paint all these, Dad?” Bread made an attempt to change the subject. He’d just learned how to do that today.

“I did.” He placed the emptied plates back on the cart. “Surprised?”

“Are you actually a painter?”

He laughed. “Of course not. Not with these poor skills.”

Bread suddenly got a little more curious. What kind of person was he? “Are you an artist?” he asked. “Or a chef?” He started to use all the words he knew about various professional occupations.

“No, I don’t particularly see myself as any of those.”

“What do you do?”

“Do?” He shook just enough for Bread to notice. Color drained from his face.

“Are you okay, Dad?”

“Just don’t ask about my job.”

“Is it bad?”

“No. Not really.”

“Is it something illegal? Or dangerous?”

“No.” He paused. “Bread, stop.”

“But how did you paint—”

“Shut. Up! About the damn JOB!”

Bread shuddered. He quietly backed away. Did he do something wrong? He was just curious…

“I just… Nevermind.” Dad hastily packed the rest into the cart and pulled it out of the room. He left. Without a goodbye or any kind of farewell.

And slowly, Bread’s smile faded away…