A reminder that volunteering for tuckerization only means a character in the story shares the participant’s name. Other than that, no other similar characteristics are implied.
Happy Little Accidents
by Alan Loewen
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
"We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents. – Bob Ross
Nick tapped his chin with his charcoal pencil as he pondered the mystery about him. Butterflies in black and white fluttered about his room, occasionally resting on flowers with a similar lack of color.
The odd phenomenon had started early this morning when Nick sat down in front of his drawing station for his daily practice session. Determined to hone his skills, he had made a decision to wake up early every morning and spend thirty minutes drawing whatever came to mind. Slowly, over the weeks, his art took on a more pleasant life-like quality. Yet, this morning, for the first time, Nick's quick pencil sketch of butterflies and flowers had done precisely that.
Inspired by the miracle, he had tried his skill on a still life, and his green plastic drinking glass from his bedstand now had a colorless companion. No matter what he drew, ten minutes after completing the picture, the subject reappeared in his room looking exactly like its drawn counterpart.
Now his usually untidy room looked more cluttered as black and white copies of items genuine and imagined lay about. Black and white dollar bills, a fine copy of his Nike sneakers, and other bric-a-brac lay scattered about. However, all of them appeared in a stark, colorless form appearing in the black and white pencil in which they were drawn.
Abruptly, Nick grinned. Not knowing if it was the pencil or the paper that worked the magic, he grabbed a fresh sheet and some colored pencils and began drawing feverishly.
The creature’s head came first, mischievous eyes peering from a canine head and a battered fedora riding high to make room for the dog-like ears. Nick completed the face of the figure by drawing a wolfish grin.
For years, Nick had portrayed himself in his art as a cartoonish, anthropomorphic coyote, a sort of alternate persona that embraced a form of chaos so prevalent in the cartoons of the 40s and 50s. If the magic was somehow part of him, he looked forward to talking with an alternative form of himself.
As the final part of the piece--coloring in the blue jean vest--Nick sat back in eager anticipation.
And nothing happened.
After waiting an additional ten minutes, Nick ripped the artwork up, discouraged the magic had so obviously failed.
As Nick’s roommate came home from work that evening, Tommy screamed to see a very real anthropomorphic coyote sprawled on the sofa watching television. Dressed in a baseball cap, blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a vest, the creature acted like it was at home.
“Cool your jets,” the coyote muttered. “I can’t hear the TV with you bellerin’.”
Tommy had backed up against the wall in fear as he stared at the creature before him. “Nick?” he whispered. “Is ... is that you?”
“The one and only,” Nick muttered. “I learned that when I was human, I used to be magical as well as impatient, but now as a ‘yote ... well ... not so much magical anymore.”
He looked up with a toothy grin. “So what ya got for dinner?”