No One Was Looking at Me

An award-winning author, a young boy's masterpiece, and a lesson learned.

No One Was Looking at Me

Shoes off, glass of Pinot in hand, Noah sunk deep into the living room couch. Charlotte always poured two glasses when she got home from work. Usually she chose a Pinot Noir, or a Chardonnay if it was hot outside. The pour was his wife's way of telling him the workday was over, the family was home, and it was time for him to stop typing, at least until Isaac's bedtime.

He looked over at his son, sitting on the floor, feverishly pounding on the PlayStation controller, constructing colorful block buildings and turning his imagination into reality on the screen. All this while fighting off green creepers that constantly tried to thwart him.

"Dad, I have something to ask you," Isaac said, still focused on his creeper crushing. "Mom said I couldn't bother you until you finished working."

Noah sighed and glanced thankfully toward the kitchen where Charlotte was preparing dinner. Deep into his third novel, the plot was reaching its climax. For most of the day, he'd been working through an exceptionally sticky problem.

"Well, I'm finished now," he replied. "Why don't you pause your world building and come ask your question?"

Isaac hopped quickly to the couch and sat cross-legged, looking up at him. His dark brown eyes were bright and wide. They made him look older than his ten years.

"At school, they told us about a super cool contest," he said. "You have to partner with a grown-up and write a story. The story has to be the kid's idea, and it has to be about a boy or girl who was able to do something great that they didn't think they could do."

Isaac's crossed legs made little bounces as he talked. "The best thing is, if your story gets chosen, you and your partner get to read it to everyone on awards night!"

"What does the grown-up do?" Noah asked.

"The grown-up is supposed to write it all down. Also, they can help with the details and working out the story and stuff," he replied. His brows wrinkled a bit, and his gaze shifted down slightly.

"So, I was thinking. You're a writer and you've already written two whole books. If you were my partner, and you helped me, we would win for sure."

Noah smiled at the thought. Even publishing his first novel, as remarkable as that feeling was, didn't match the joy Isaac brought to his life. He glanced toward the bookshelf, standing against the wall. The shelves, except for the top one, held his best-loved books, along with two framed portraits of Isaac and a photograph of the family during last year's vacation to the Appalachian Mountains.

The top shelf was special. There, he displayed his two published novels. Between them was his prized possession, the plaque recognizing him for winning the PEN/Faulkner Award. The novel on the left was his first, and his personal favorite. He loved his gutsy protagonist, Claire, more than any other character he'd created. That novel was his favorite, but the novel on the right was the award-winner.

It wasn't just about the award. There was the expensive artwork on the wall, the newly acquired luxurious furniture, and the framed photograph of his interview with the Channel 59 Morning Show. All of it new territory for Noah and not to be disregarded. People knew him now. He wasn't exactly famous, at least not yet, but he was notable.

The stakes are just too high, he thought. He would happily throw a baseball with Isaac, chaperon a field trip, or even speak at his school's career day. Allowing any of his writing that wasn't perfect to be presented to the world, though, was just too risky.

He reached for Isaac's hands, gently, and said, "I'm not really sure that would be fair, Isaac. It's my profession, after all, and lots of people know me because of my work. I would hate to steal the show from everyone else at awards night. Does that make sense?"

Isaac's face turned slightly pink and now he was avoiding Noah's eyes. He looked embarrassed, as if he realized he shouldn't have asked. Of course it was a bad idea.

"Besides," Noah continued. "I'm pretty sure you're already receiving a couple awards for those terrific grades and your perfect attendance, right?"

"Yeah. That's right," Isaac replied. He dropped back to the floor and after a quick look back and an awkward smile, he turned his attention back to his game.

Noah imagined the scene. Him, standing there next to Isaac, reading a ten-year-old's story with his name attached to it. In his mind's eye, he could see the annoyed expression on parents' faces as they watched the award-winning author showing off at the expense of their kids. The local papers would, of course, have a hay day. PEN/Faulkner Recipient Reaches New Heights with Heritage Elementary 4th Grade Contest Win, read the headline. He shook his head at the thought.

*****

The morning light shone brightly through the windows of the spacious lobby. It was crowded as Noah sat behind the table. Unionville Public Library occasionally presented best-selling authors for a book signing, but rarely was the best-selling author a local resident. For thirty minutes he had been signing his novel, probably twenty copies by now. The line stretched the length of the room, beyond the service counter, ending near the resident coffee shop.

It might have seemed tedious to observers, but Noah reveled in it. He recalled being on the other side of the table and it gave him goosebumps. It was his college bookstore and John Billings was there for a signing. He well remembered the electrifying sensation when he met the man who so brilliantly brought those characters to life for him. It was the moment when he promised himself that someday he would publish a novel.

Now, his own fans stood in front of him. They looked just as mesmerized as he had been, and they told him as much as they handed him their copy of his book.

"Your words really touched me."

"I hope my own daughter grows up to be like Elicia."

"I read the entire thing in one night."

Some of the people in line were neighbors and acquaintances. Most of them he didn't know. All of them were there to see him.

A tall, muscular man was next up to the table. He wore a black tee shirt with a fire-fighter's emblem and the words Unionville Fire Department printed underneath.

"Noah. Hello! I'm Andrew Daniels. It's nice to finally meet you," he said. With the novel in one hand, he extended the other for a handshake.

Noah was surprised to be called by his first name but instinctively shook the man's hand.

"I'm Andy's father. You know, Andy, Isaac's friend." Andrew leaned over the table and brought his head closer to Noah's. He spoke softer, like a quick moment shared among friends.

"Isaac is such a great kid," he said. "We love when he comes to play with Andy. I've met Charlotte several times but never had the chance to say hello to you." He paused, "I'm also a big fan," he said, with a wink.

"Sorry we haven't met," Noah replied. "I've been a little busy, but I know Isaac and Andy are best friends. He talks about him often."

"Yes. I'm sure you are," Andrew said, pointing at the large gathering. "A little busy, that is. By the way, I'm doing my best with Isaac's story. I'm pretty sure it won't quite meet your standards, but I'm giving it my best shot."

"What do you mean?" Noah's fingers paused, pen in hand.

"Ah. Oh, I hope I didn't ruin a surprise. I just assumed you knew. Isaac asked me to be his partner in the writing contest. Andy didn't have any interest, so I said, why not?"

"I hadn't heard that," Noah said. His throat tightened a bit, and the buzz of the crowd seemed to fade into the background.

"It was a couple weeks ago. The three of us were talking about the contest," Andrew continued, "Isaac said he had an idea for it. He wanted to write about a boy who was caught in a fire but was able to get out and save his family in the process. He told me you were busy and, with me being a fireman and all, he thought I could help him make his story a winner. I hope you don't mind me doing it. Maybe I should have said something."

"No, no. It's fine. Of course it's fine," Noah replied. "I know he really wanted to enter that contest. I'm glad you can help. I'm sure the story will be great."

"Well," Andrew chuckled, "I work with a fire hose, not a keyboard. But I will do my best. In the end, it's Isaac's story anyway. Thanks for the signature. It will have a special place on the bookshelf." Andrew smiled and, retrieving the book, he turned to leave.

*****

Noah looked down from the bleachers as Isaac read his story. It was a very good story, he thought, about a boy named Daniel. Issac stood tall on the gymnasium floor, speaking clearly into the microphone. Around him sat his classmates, waiting for the award presentations but attentive as he spoke.

Isaac read, "When the mayor placed the medal on Daniel's neck, he was very proud."

Noah caught a glimpse of Charlotte, sitting next to him. She was beaming for her son. The bleachers were full, and all of the parents wore smiles of approval.

Isaac read on, "Daniel didn't feel like a hero, even though the mayor had told him he was. He didn't know what that felt like. But he knew that he had done something courageous. He knew that his family was safe, and he knew that whatever happened down the road, he'd feel stronger because this happened. It would help him do brave things again in his life," he finished. Then, looking up to the crowd, he said, "Thank you."

The applause was immediate. After a moment, a few parents stood up and then most followed. Noah noticed that Isaac's classmates had taken the cue and were standing and clapping as well. A standing ovation.

He found himself clapping harder than anyone else, his eyes damp and his chest heavy. Isaac looked up and swept the crowd, left to right, taking it all in. Noah could see from where he stood that Isaac's face was red as a beet from the accolade, but he could also see that he was very happy.

Standing just to his left, patting him on the back and also looking proud and happy, was Andrew Daniels. Noah wasn't angry at the sight. If anything, he was thankful that Andrew had been there for Isaac when he was not.

Noah thought about the evening that Isaac had been so excited to ask for his help and his disappointed expression after Noah's rejection. It was hard for him to remember why saying no had been so important. As he looked around, he realized that no matter how talented he thought he was, in the entire gymnasium, filled with all these people, not a single one was looking at him, the award-winning author.

Word Count: 1,893

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