Letters to Leonardo Read Free Page A

once that we were best buddies and didn’t need a woman stuffing things up for us.
    That’s his opinion, not mine. I never had a say in it.
    “What are you looking for, Dave?”
    He’s about to reach for the book when he stops himself, turns and looks at me.
    My head feels like it’s about to explode. “What do you do when your son gives you attitude? Better ask Rosenbaum, Dave.”
    I stomp to my room, slam the door and push my bed back up against it.
    There’s still nothing from K Armain.
    I stare at my
Mona Lisa
screen saver, wondering why I chose that out of all Leo’s paintings. Tears sting my eyes. Was she
ever
a mother? Did she have a son?
    Questions! So many questions – and no answers.
    I trace my fingers over the smooth forehead of Mona Lisa and start thinking about Leonardo. I wonder what was going on in his head when he painted her. I wonder what that “air of mystery” was all about.
    I decide to Google “Leonardo da Vinci”. Maybe trying to forget my own stuff, and finding out about someone else’s life, might make the wait more bearable.

    Dear Leonardo
,
    Talk about serendipity. Just found out it would have been your birthday today too
.
    And that’s not all we have in common
.
    Your dad took you away from your mum. How weird is that?
    How did you deal with the missing bits in your life?
    I’ve always felt like an unfinished painting – a background wash with just an outline – all the important detail left out
.
    So much of me is Dave, but so much is different – like my art – and the way I like being by myself
.
    Dave hates the quiet. Has to have people and action
.
    Maybe it helps him forget what he’s done
.
    Matt

    There’s still no email.
    I go back to Google – to check out more of Leo’s work. There’s this one painting,
St Jerome
. I can’t stop looking at it – at the torture in the saint’s eyes as he crouches among those craggy rocks, prostrate before that open-mouthed lion. It’s like that painting expresses everything that’s going on inside me. I wish I had half Leonardo’s talent – and balance. Everything’s perfectly in proportion (except the right hand’s a bit big) – but hell, nobody’s perfect.
    Even Dave – especially Dave – with his self-help books, and his “honest real estate agent” face. Good old “Honest Dave”, his truth is scratchy at best.
    Come on, K Armain! Where are you? Why aren’t you answering my email?

    Dear Leo
,
    Did you miss your mum? Did you ever wonder in those years you never saw her, what she really looked like? Not just in photos, I mean. Then again, you probably didn’t even have photos back then
.
    Did you mind going to live with your dad, or were you too young just like me? Kids never get a say in stuff like that
.
    You painted so many women. Was that how you got over losing your mum? Do you ever get over something like that?
    Maybe that’s what I need – to get out my gear and start painting. Thanks for the tip, Leo
.
    Matt

    I lie on my bed, eyes closed, trying to keep it together. Until now, I never really thought or cared much about who I was, or where I came from.
    Dave never talked about Mum – except to say she was killed in that car accident. We moved soon after she “died” and our relatives live miles away. There’s never been anyone I could talk to who knew Mum.
    Once I asked Dave if I was like her and it really fired him up. Said, “You’re not like her and never will be!” I was about seven and he seemed so mad that I was too scared to ask what he meant.
    I used to wonder sometimes what it would be like to have a mum at parent teacher night or helping out in the school canteen. But I always told myself, “Forget it, she’s dead. It can’t happen.”
    But it could have. Mum could have taken me to school and watched my music concerts – if she’d known about them. Mum’s not dead!

    Dear Leonardo
,
    Do you reckon it’s possible that Mum and Dave agreed to all this between them?
    Maybe she