Benedict Garrett is five years old when his teacher gives his kindergarten class paint and brushes and paper and tells them to knock themselves out. He doesn't know it then, won't know it for a while, but he's an artistic genius, swirling paint like the brush is an extension of his body. His teacher sucks in her breath when she sees it, has a meeting with his mother afterwards and the next week he's taking art classes at the town Community Center.

Benedict Garrett is seven years old when his little brother is born, pink-cheeked and soft-skinned and beautiful and Benedict draws him, sketches him out with charcoal and fills in the colors with colored pencils. His art teacher marvels at it and his mother frames it, hangs it on the wall proudly and points it out to whatever poor unfortunate soul happens to visit them.

Benedict Garrett is seventeen years old when he realizes how different his little brother Alex is, always focused on every aspect of school, always aspiring for something greater. He doesn't think too much of it, begins to draw an exquisite picture of The Ramones that he keeps hidden in his drawer, tucked away so no prying eyes can find it.

Benedict Garrett is thirty-six and he's a commissioned artist, a published author, but it's not enough...it's not enough. His head is filled with ideas and pictures that flash by and sometimes stay. He has three-day old stubble sometimes, forgets to wash his hair occasionally, sitting in front of his canvas or at his desk or at the kitchen table, his artistic side taking control. Alex is twenty-nine and a successful businessman, an entrepreneur whose idea has taken him places he couldn't even imagine.

Benedict Garrett is thirty-six and he dreads seeing his family, hearing their disappointment in him, their excitement for his little brother. Benedict Garrett is thirty-six and he's packing his bags to go home for Christmas.


What do you think? I might post Chapter Two tonight as well.