Omens

There was very little snow that winter of 2001, which was strange. Boston typically
received a lot of snow, but for the last few years, due to global warming, it was
scant. I walked into my apartment in Watertown, after a heavy routine in the gym.
I sat down, and on a whim, decided to draw something. It’d been over a year since
I last drew anything. I grabbed my drawing pad out of the book shelf, and flipped
through the pages. There were pages of body builders, fitness women, cartoons,
comic book characters, and portraits. I flipped to the last one, the one I did on
November 27th, 1999. I looked at the picture, and I thought to myself, “I remember
how I drew that. I didn’t have a photo, a person, nothing. I did a good job.”

I looked at the drawing, and noted the shining of the eyes. The face was beautiful,
and the gaze was one of intense focus, but the softness of the eyes showed
a deep undercurrent of compassion and caring. As I looked at the picture, some
questions come to my mind.

“I wonder why she looks so. . . familiar. Wait. It’s familiar because I drew it.
That’s why.” I looked at the picture and studied it. I drew that picture on the train,
and it came from nowhere. How can a picture from nowhere be familiar? As I
studied the drawing, in my mind was a list of names and faces, which it began to
match with, and, slowly, I began to realize who it was.

“No. It’s not. It can’t be. That can’t possibly happen. That’s impossible.” I
slowly said to myself. I knew where I saw that face. I knew why the picture looked
so familiar. I knew who it was, and I did not like it at all. “This didn’t happen.” I
said as I put the pad away.

When I realized what the picture was, and who it could possibly be, and most