Beholden in Basel

No matter how you look at your life, there is always someone less fortunate than you, so be thankful.

Beholden in Basel

Timothy stared out of the airplane window at the soft, thin clouds. He was in a daze, and as his heavy eyelids slowly closed shut, he was paying no attention to the hushed conversation of his parents.

“I’m worried Lloyd. We don’t spend enough time with him,” Barbara stated.

“Honey, he will be fine. He’s a young boy. Spending time with his parents is probably the last thing running through his little head,” Lloyd replied. Timothy jolted forward, suddenly awoken. He looked over at his parents, who were paying no attention to him. Timothy sat back in his seat, his glossy eyes glaring into the seat in front of him. Timothy Bright came from an extremely rich family, and money seemed to be the only thing his parents truly cared about. At least this is what Timothy believed.

“Attention passengers, please buckle your seatbelts, as we are approaching our destination and will be landing soon,” the flight attendant said cheerily through the microphone. Timothy looked out of the foggy window, now able to see the fresh green land below the light blue sky. As the airplane came upon the landing, its wheels slowly came to a screeching, drawn out halt. The engine sighed with exhaustion, and passengers were instructed to pick up their belongings and be on their way. Timothy followed his parents through the airport, trying desperately to stay close to them through the overwhelming area filled with chatter. When they were finally done with all of the detectors, inspectors, and every other crazy device they had to walk through, they headed for home.

Upon arrival at their new lavish house they would call home, Timothy took a deep breath. It sure was a lot different that Wyoming. Timothy found it hard to stop thinking about the neverending mountains and pastures that he had grown so attached to. As his parents began to unpack their countless belongings, Timothy decided to venture up the stairs with his suitcase and find his nesting spot. As he approached the second floor, he noticed an undersized door sitting in the corner of the room. He opened the door, only to find another set of prolonged stairs. He climbed them with anything but enthusiasm, stopping when he reached the top. He examined the room, and came to the conclusion that this was the perfect spot for him. He sauntered across the creaky wooden floorboard, and looked out a tiny hexagonal window that illuminated sunlight into the room. He was astounded to see the Rhine River flowing underneath him, and he took note of the huge bridge that crossed over it. He remembered reading somewhere that this particular bridge was built in 1226, remembering that fact as 12-26 was his birthday.

The next morning, Timothy awoke to the sound of utter silence. It almost had an eerie feeling to it, and as he slunk out of bed, he knew that he was alone. He slowly descended the staircase, knowing his theory was correct. His parents were nowhere to be found, nor was any note to inform him of their whereabouts. After munching on a piece of burnt toast, Timothy decided to go out and explore. The last thing he wanted to do was sit cooped up inside all alone. He hastily tied his shoelaces together, and bounded out of the heavy, wooden door. As he was walking down the cobblestone roads, the first thing that caught his eye was a huge, medieval looking castle. He was gazing at the Munster Cathedral, one of the most grand churches in Basel. He stood staring at it in awe, as he had never seen anything like this before.

“Are you just gonna stare at it for the rest of your life?” a small voice shook him from his wonder. He glanced over, seeing a boy who looked about his age, with overgrown brown hair and soft, dark eyes.

“I-I was just-” Timothy tried to explain the situation to the eyes that seemed to be staring into his soul.

“My name’s Johnson. What’s yours?” the boy stated.

“I’m Timothy, but where did you come from?” Timothy responded.

“I didn’t come from anywhere. I was just on my way to the zoo,” Johnson said.

“The Zoo?” Timothy questioned.

“Yes, I work there. Do you wanna come with me?” Johnson encouraged. Timothy agreed, giving in to the utter boredom of nothing else to do with his day. So they ventured on the walk, passing the Music Museum and the Botanical Garden of Basel. Timothy soon realized that Johnson was not the quiet type, as he spent the whole walk telling Timothy his life story- even what he supposedly remembers from the womb. He claimed they were very dark days. Upon arrival at the Zoo Basel, Johnson led Timothy to a set of glass enclosed cages towards the back of the zoo.

“This is my job. I fill the bird feeders, the water bowls, and then I clean the cages again. Plus, I even get paid Swiss Franc’s for doing this!” Johnson explained. Before Timothy could reply, a plump woman with graying thin hair sitting atop of her head entered their conversation.

“Boy, how many times do I have to tell you not to fill the feeder all the way? You’ll give those poor birds diabetes,” the woman said.

“Timothy, meet Fannie, Fannie, meet Timothy,” Johnson said.

“Oh, he need a job too? Follow me” Fannie responded.

“No- i’m just-” Timothy stammered, but before he knew it Fannie had slammed a broom in his hand.

“Start sweeping. If you do good job, you get paid. Easy as pie.” Fannie stated, before whisking away into the madness of the tourists.

“Just start sweeping, and be thankful you’re not sweeping inside the cages. If you know what I mean, ” Johnson said. Still in shock, Timothy began sweeping without a thought. Even though he grew up on a ranch, he knew not of the term labor. His parents weren’t even ranchers. They hired workers to do everything for them. Timothy had always questioned why his parents even owned a ranch in the first place, when they never had enough time for him. He had convinced himself that no one had enough time for him, and that no one ever would. As he was sweeping, he gazed up and saw the Pilatus mountain range, reminding him of the crisp Wyoming mountains that he so desperately yearned for.

As the sun reached the top of the earth, and the day’s heat broke loose, Johnson and Timothy left the Zoo. Timothy followed Johnson to the Cafe Bar Elisabethen for lunch, a small cafe that was within a church. Timothy felt like an adult, considering that in America he had never gone to something like this without a grown up.

“So, how long have you been in Basel?” Johnson asked as they sat down at a small table.

“I just moved here yesterday and it’s dumb ,” Timothy replied.

“How is it dumb?” Johnson inquired.

“You wouldn’t understand. I come from a rich family, so even though my parents regret having me, I will always have money to love me,” Timothy stated, trying to sound confident. Johnson thought about this for a moment.

“So let me get this straight. You have everything money can buy, yet you still believe your parents don’t care about you?”

“I wish I didn’t have parents at all,” Timothy said. Johnson suddenly put his spoon down and looked sharply up at Timothy.

“Don’t ever say that again,” Johnson said in a hushed tone. At that moment, Timothy knew he had sparked something extremely sad within Johnson. Trying to change the subject, Johnson said,

“I like to collect bugs. What do you collect?”

“I don’t really collect anything. But I like to paint I guess,” Timothy replied.

“Really?” Johnson said, his body moving forward with interest, “Did you know that Fannie paints? She doesn’t seem like the type, but she does! She has dozens of canvases and paint in a shed in the back of the zoo.”

“I haven’t painted since we left Wyoming,” Timothy stated with a sparkle in his eye.

“Well then, let’s go!” Johnson replied. With one swift motion, he threw the money for their food on the table and jumped out of his seat. Timothy followed, running out of the cafe with a sense of curiosity. They ran for about 5 minutes, stopping to catch their breath outside of the Zentralbahn-Passage. As Timothy leaned over the railing on the steps leading up to the building, he sucked in breaths of cool, crisp summer air. After a few minutes of rest, they continued on their journey, their feet eagerly pounding the sidewalk. Once they reached their destination, their jog turned into a brisk walk, as Timothy followed Johnson through the slow moving masses of tourists.

“Okay, there it is,” Johnson pointed to a red-colored shed, with peeling paint and crooked walls, looking as if it could fall over with any minute. “Now it’s just a matter of getting in without anyone seeing us,”

“How are we going to do that?” Timothy said, “There are people everywhere,”

“Just trust me,” Johnson replied. Timothy followed Johnson as they crept forward, feeling like stealth lions on the hunt for a gazelle. They approached the door, trying to maintain their cool. When Johnson was sure that no one was around, he grabbed the rusted door handle, slowly opening it. The door hinges groaned with irritation, like a bear being awoken from a deep slumber. They slowly entered the shed, sure that no one was near. Johnson closed the door behind him, as they were breathing in the stale air of the room. Johnson felt the wall, trying to find a light switch. Once he found it, he turned it on, illuminating the room and revealing dozens of canvases. They were all covered in dust, like something long forgotten about. Timothy stared in awe, as he had never seen so many blank canvases before. He suddenly felt the dire urge to begin working on them.

“Are you just gonna stare at them the rest of your life?” Johnson asked with a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Stop asking that,” Timothy replied.

“Well then, let’s take them,” Johnson stated.

“Just steal them?” Timothy asked, “Shouldn’t we pay Fannie for them or something?”

“Trust me, she won’t even notice,” Johnson replied. Then, he began picking up canvases, starting with the smaller ones, trying to carry as many as possible. Timothy followed his actions, and began to pick up the thin, yellowed canvases. Johnson then grabbed a bag from the corner of the shed, full of ancient, used paint that was to the point of being chunky.

“Alright, well, you’re gonna need something to paint,” Johnson said. “So let’s get out of here, and i’ll show you the best spots in town.” Timothy followed Johnson as they slowly crept out of the shed, shaking and hoping desperately that no one would notice. They hobbled to the front of the zoo, dropping canvases and trying to pick them up without losing the rest of their stacks. Once they reached the front gates, they stopped to catch their breaths.

“Okay, our first destination is about a twenty minute walk, so prepare yourself,” Johnson said. With that, they set out to the first spot that Timothy would paint, and the first place on the road to Timothy’s life lesson. They traveled the cobblestone streets, eventually coming upon a lavish fountain on the corner of two intersecting roads.

“Welcome to the Fischmarkt Brunnen,” Johnson proclaimed. Timothy had never seen anything like it before, with it’s towering heights and beautiful hand carved designs. Fresh, crystal-clear water spewed from the side of it, sprinkling down upon a pool in the center. Timothy wasted no time, and immediately began painting on his canvas. He sat next to the fountain, looking up above at the sky-high wonder. With each brush stroke, he felt all of his memories of painting coming back to him. All of the days when he found joy in letting his imagination spew out of him onto a canvas. All of the days when his parents caught him painting, and snatched the brushes out of his hand.

“You should be out doing something that will earn you a living, not wasting your time on this foolishness,” he could still hear his father’s harsh voice declaring those words. He painted and painted, and within ten minutes, he was done. He looked up at Johnson, who nodded his head, then led him to the next location. They walked down the streets of Basel, coming upon a street called Altstadt. He stood at the opening of the narrow roads, lined with ancient architecture and windows covered in flower boxes. Again, Timothy painted away, feeling his joy and imagination explode down upon the canvas. Next, they ventured on the short one minute walk to the Marktplatz, and again he painted the scenery around him. He painted the vendors, the vibrant colors of all the local foods that were being sold, and the bustling community that was racing to buy the fresh cuisine. Even if he was only nine years old, Timothy felt pure euphoria as he painted, and he was able to escape the worries of his life.

“Where to now?” Timothy proclaimed, the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

“Now I want to take you to a place that you will never forget,” Johnson replied. “A place that will change your life forever.” Timothy felt the excitement inside of him grow, imagining the wonders that he was about to be exposed to. He could almost taste the beauty of the city, electrifying with each footstep he took. Little did Timothy know of the horrors that he was soon to see.

Johnson led Timothy on a fifteen minute walk to their next location. At this point, neither of them could feel their feet, but the curiosity and excited eagerness kept Timothy going. They came upon a run down street, with ivy crawling up the sides of the buildings, and paint chipping off of every corner. Johnson the stopped in front of a tall building that read “Plattfon Stampa”. With grafitti sprawled on the wall, and pipes looking as if they were on the verge of bursting, Timothy felt an ounce of excitement drain from within.

“Why are we here?” Timothy inquired. Johnson didn’t speak a word, but instead took a deep breath and entered the building. Warily, Timothy followed. Once he was inside, he saw dozens of vinyl records covering each wall. He had remembered seeing these at his grandparents houses, but had never paid them any attention. Puzzled, Timothy just looked at Johnson. Before Timothy was able to utter a word, Johnson continued walking, to a set of stairs in the back of the room. The tattooed, pierced, and facial-haired manager paid the boys no attention as they drifted to what seemed to be a secret labyrinth. They ascended a few flights of stairs, before coming upon a dark hallway with one lone doorway sitting at the end of it. Timothy followed Johnson as he approached the doorway, slowly turning the handle, as it clicked with rotation. They slowly crossed the threshold into another dark and musty room. Johnson reached up, and pulled down a thin cord, illuminating a few rays of dim light into the room. Timothy looked around with utter confusion. He saw a hard, cold floor, with one thin blanket sitting in the corner. He also saw a small round table perched next to the blanket. They remained silent for a few moments, before Johnson’s blank face quietly uttered the few words,

“Are you just gonna stare at it for the rest of your life?”

“Where am I?” Timothy whispered. After a long pause, Johnson answered,

“This is what I call home,” he then turned to face Timothy, “I know that you think you have it rough, and I know that you think your parents don’t love you. I don’t have parents at all. They abandoned me when I was one year old, just left me on the steps of this store.” Timothy gazed at Johnson, his chest beating and filling with sympathy and regret. “The manager of the store took me in, well he gave me this room. He gives me food and water, but yet treats me like a caged animal. He never talks to me, never looks at me, just barely keeps me alive.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Timothy replied.

“Don’t say anything. This isn’t your problem. You have everything you could have possibly wanted, and more. I have rags. But I still consider myself lucky. Lucky that there’s only one hole in the ceiling that leaks. Lucky that I at least have a miniscule amount of food. It’s better that none.” Timothy felt every emotion possible run through his body, and in that moment, he knew the definition of the word lucky. He looked around the room frantically, unable to process any of this information that had suddenly been spat in his face. His new friend, in fact, his only friend, was living in conditions that Timothy never thought possible. The worst part was that Timothy had complained to Johnson about how rough his home life was. Boy was he regretful.

That night, Timothy stayed with Johnson, fulfilling Johnson’s request to paint his living quarters. Timothy experienced sleeping on the hard, cold floor, and waking up to aches and pains in every muscle of your body. Morning came, and Timothy knew he had a lot to do that day. He woke up with a new sense of faith and energy.

“Johnson, wake up,” Timothy whispered, “this is gonna be the best day of your life.”

“What? What’s going on?” Johnson unsteadily replied, groggy and half-asleep.

“I have a plan,” Timothy said. “A plan to help you get out of here,” With those words, Timothy whipped Johnson out of his state of dreaming, and up on his feet.

“What are you doing?” Johnson said, as Timothy put on his shoes.

“I have a surprise for you. A wonderful, magnificent little surprise,” Timothy replied. He grabbed Johnson by the arm, and they both bounded out the door, down the steps, past the manager in a daze, and out the door of the run-down record shop. His legs void of energy, Timothy tried desperately to run and keep Johnson by his side. They passed the Marinsel suitcase store, went over the Johanniterbrücke bridge, and ended up in front of a flat on Theodorsgraben street. Out of breath and full of befuddlement, Johnson gazed at Timothy,

“What the heck is this?” he said, looking up at the beautiful white building, overlooking the flowing Rhine River.

“Well are you just gonna stare at it the rest of your life?” Timothy replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. “This is your home now. I snuck downstairs last night and called my parents,” Timothy said, flashing back on the previous night’s events. He distinctly remembered the sound of his worried mother’s ‘hello?’, that immediately turned to reassurance when she heard Timothy's voice on the other end. He remembered the exact conversation they had, telling his parents that he loved them and was so grateful for everything they did. It was all pretty deep for a nine year old. He also remembered telling the story of a boy who had taught Timothy the greatest life lesson, and telling them every detail about his life and his inspiration on Timothy’s artwork. His parents were more than happy to adopt Johnson.

So this is how the story ends, right? Wrong. You would be a fool to think that I would just let you off the hook here, when there is so much more to be told. But as I take time into account, as well as the busy life that you must return too, I will choose to sum it all up for you. In the end, Timothy and Johnson become life long brothers. Timothy’s parents learn to be more caring, as well as to open their hearts to others in need. They also learn to be more accepting of Timothy’s talents. So as I stand here in the art museum, I am astounded by how far one’s talents can really take them. Looking at the artwork, with the initials ‘TB’ in the lower left-hand corner, I have come to the sudden realization that is never too late to be grateful for what you are given, and to take advantage of it. I have realized that in order to taste triumph, or feel the warmth of success, taking action is essential. I mean, come on, you can’t just stare at it for the rest of your life.