The Cowardly Lion

The paintings that hung over his television represented the 4 humors of Hippocratic medicine. He was a doctor and an artist seeing beauty in the grotesque. A large, detailed self portrait in oil hung on his wall. For the first few visits, his “studio” was empty. Then came his inspiration – a night of frantic painting – and when I arrived the next time, there was the skin of lion, upright, faceless. 

Then his face appeared in the lion suit. Childlike yet bearded. A kid in a costume on Halloween. What was he trying to say? A car crash victim, I thought “Jesus, resurrected.” Wasn’t that the whole Narnia thing? He survived. He over came. He may have a little ego. 

But then he disappeared without a trace, bring up so many of my fears and insecurities. Hours. Days. A week. With nothing. Raw with emotional distrust and disappointment, I couldn’t do anything but wait. 

His email said it all. I didn’t read it all, but I am sure it was all there. And when I reported the “most of it” I read to my sister in law who had seen the painting she said, “Who wants to date a cowardly lion?” 

Cowardly Lion. Coward. So clear. Literally on the wall. My eyes just weren’t open.

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