Drew Hixson arrived carrying plans for a garden. Somewhere between explaining what might grow and remembering the rooms where they had learned to make themselves smaller, their breathing changed.
For a moment, the gardener needed tending.
A woman listened. Drew let her see a little more of the person beneath the paperwork. There were other women, too—friends whose care could reach them even when courage could not. Drew is learning to let that care arrive.
The portrait is still being painted. Some days, being seen feels beautiful. Today, it also felt frightening.
Before the next room opens, Drew would like the invitation addressed to the person who will enter it. The name matters. They have spent enough time standing beside their own likeness, wondering whether it is safe to claim it.
Tonight, the garden can wait. Drew needs somewhere gentle to put down what they carried.
The painting will be there tomorrow.
Drew Hixson.
