Chapter 10

Following his visit to the Upside Down Pyramid, the old man drove the 800 miles to the Destiny Museum to return a white souvenir pen that was more like a brush.

It was on his 798th mile that he saw a stranded vehicle on the side of the road, and although he had about as many automotive skills as he did plane mechanic expertise to offer he felt impressed to pull over.


When he walked up to the vehicle, he immediately noticed it was a repair he could handle and that their appeared to be a driver still in the car.


"You have a flat tire on the rear passenger side,"said old man at the closed driver's side window.


"What?"said the middle aged black female, clenching the steering wheel with both hands.


The old man made a gesture for her to roll down her window, for the freeway noise was far too loud for him to compete with.

The woman reluctantly released one hand from the steering wheel just long enough to inch the window down a crack and then she grabbed it again.


"Are you OK?"asked the old man.


"Not really,"she responded,"my car started shaking uncontrollably and so I pulled over."

"That is what a flat tire will do, ma'am,"said the old man.


Judging that if the woman was naive enough to not suspect a wobbly vehicle meant flat tire, she probably would not have the slightest clue on how to fix it, he offered to change it for her to which she agreed.


"Can you pop the trunk?"said the old man.


"But that means I'll have to let go."


"Yes. It is the only way to open it."


After the tire was changed the man came back to the window where the woman was still holding the steering wheel tight.


"You're ready to go,"said the old man.


"Thank you. I'm sorry, you must think I'm a little strange, but losing control is not something I deal with too well." she said,"I hope I did not inconvenience you too much."


"Not at all-just on my way to visit the museum."


"Really? Me, too. Perhaps I'll see you there."


"Perhaps."


The prophecy was fulfilled, for after the old man tried to return the pen-for they told him to keep it–he spent the next hour with the middle aged woman viewing the latest exhibit of Merlou, an avante guarde abstract painter.

"How is he so creative?"


Where does the inspiration come from?" were among the questions the woman asked while on the tour.

"This has been an amazing exhibit,"she said at the last painting,"I wish I could paint as beautifully as him."


"Have you ever tried?"asked the old man.


"Well yes. For many years I was an aspiring artist. I spent hours and hours trying to  control a brush, but failed miserably. Now I'm in the business of control."


"Controlling what?"


"The future-I work in the insurance business. Every possibly future scenario is calculated by actuaries, priced, and risk managed. Speaking of which, I have to get back to work. How can I thank you for fixing my tire and the enjoyable afternoon?"


The old man hesitated, for he felt the impression again.

"Well, there is one thing. I would like a painting."


"OK,"said the woman caught off guard,"What kind, which artist?"


"You."


"Oh, I don't know, it's been years since-"


"This will be an easy one. Are you right or left-handed?"


"Right."


The old man put the souvenier brush from the museum into the woman's left hand,"This time I want you to use your left hand. Close your eyes and paint what comes into your heart."


"But I'll have to let go."


"Yes. It is the only way to open it. And once your heart is open, God can paint a masterpiece for your life as well, for His name is The Master Artist."


Then the man wrote down his address, handed it to her, and said,"Good day." and went on his way.