Valeo

“What are these?” I asked pulling several sketch books out of the back of Jonah’s car. We’d just had dinner and were on our way back to my house. Jonah was at the wheel as I was too weary to drive.

“Just some drawings,” Jonah said face flushed in the amber dashboard light.


“You did these?” I asked flipping through the pages.

Jonah nodded.

“These are really good.”

Pencil and ink drawings of archetypal superheroes graced each page. A muscle-laden man with dark disheveled hair bearing a rosary was recaptured on several pages. The hero was drawn in several states of valor: rescuing the girl, slaying junkies with track marks, and watching over a burg from a water tower.

“I’m no Eisner,” Jonah said. “But I can dream.” Will Eisner, the inventor of the graphic novel, was Jonah’s hero. Jonah had spent his pubescent years copying Eisner’s art to the point where his imitations were as good as the real thing.

“Is this what you want to do?” I asked.

“No, not really,” he said his face turning more scarlet.

“Are you lying to me?”

Jonah nodded.

“You want to write comic books? That’s awesome.”

“Graphic novels.”

“This one is my favorite,” I said indicating a rough sketch of the champion crying on a porch swing. “What’s his name?”

“Valeo.”

“That’s Latin for strength.”

“Looks like those years of Catholic school were good for something.” Jonah studied the drawing for a moment. “That’s your house.”

I looked at the drawing again surprised that I hadn’t recognized the house earlier.

“What do you hope to do with this?”

Jonah shrugged. “I’m going to take some art classes next fall.”

“Then what?”

“I just need a story worth telling,” he said pulling onto the interstate. “Maybe you could write it,”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re always writing in some little book.”

“Those are just random thoughts. No real story.”

“Maybe you just need to collect your thoughts before writing the great American novel.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“That’s because you haven’t written it.”

Photo: snickerdoodle146