The Artist and the Curmudgeon
Newport Coast, CA
2023, Senior, Creative Writing
Climate Hero: Silvia López Chavez
The house stood at the edge of the harbor, with a small dock that was clearly wasting away. Its murky windows and molded brick walls wove a tale of neglect and solitude, eventually rising to local fame as the “haunted” house. Most people made sure to steer clear of its vicinity, so it was quite a surprise to see a young woman with a tray of brownies ringing the doorbell.
As the door inched open to reveal a dark crevice, a gruff voice rumbled out, “What do you want?”
“Oh, hello,” she tried to extend a hand. “I’m Sofia. Just moved into the neighborhood—”
“Get out!”
The door slammed angrily back into her face, staring down at her like a formidable sentry. Sofia had heard many rumors about the grumpy old recluse, from daring escapes from the psychiatric ward to brewing potions and wizardry, but the only consensual belief was that he hated all living things. As an artist and, therefore, a storyteller, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by such a mystery, backed by the firm belief that she was good with elderly citizens.
Staring at the door, she mumbled to herself, “Definitely not a great start.” As for Joe, he couldn’t even remember the last time someone stood on those doorsteps. Truth be told, he had been waiting for it, desperately hoping for it. But he was hoping for a different girl.
A couple of days in, Joe already hated this Sofia. He hated the way she always smiled at everyone, the way she hopped around her garden like a pesky little fly, and the way she baked a tray of brownies for him as if he was a charity case. And those murals. Yes, those garish assaults on the eye. Those acts of vile vandalism. Couldn’t a poor old man enjoy his walks without being bombarded by an activist? All those people want is change, change, change. And he absolutely loathed change.
He tried to ignore it by avoiding Sofia at all costs, restricting his activities to only the grocery store. And the playground – the only playground the city hadn’t remodeled yet. The playground where he would sink quietly into the bench, reminiscing back to the time when a little girl would fly on the swings, run through the tunnels, and climb up the ladders. He saw the girl grabbing chalk and covering the sidewalks with rainbows and daisies, painting the walls with a layer of blue. But the little girl was so much older now, and he hated that she grew up. Wait, no. That’s not her.
“You can’t paint your murals here!” There was such utter horror in his voice that Sofia almost dropped her bucket.
“Um, nice to meet you, too?” Maybe the psychiatric ward theory wasn’t a stretch.
“Go ahead and vandalize any other place. Not here. Leave my playground alone.”
“This was commissioned by the city. I don’t get to choose the location.”
“I don’t care, just move it!” Anger. One thing. Why couldn’t he just have one thing preserved, untouched? One thing to encase and put on a pedestal, stored safely away from the trickle of time.
“This ‘vandalism’ is gonna educate the entire community on coral bleaching, so I don’t know what your issue with people is—”
“People are the issue.”
“…but at least be a bit more sympathetic about wildlife.”
The stubborn set of her dark brows and the indignation in her voice washed him away to another argument. The little girl was a young woman now, with impossible hopes and no reason. Pursue a Fine Arts major? Change the world through painting? Joe had scoffed at her, and she had accused him of being close-minded. Well, “pigheaded” was the exact word. She, too, cared about the ocean, cared about nature. How stupidly romantic, impractical; couldn’t she see that he only wanted the best for her? He wondered where she was now – painting murals at another old man’s precious playground?
People now formed a crowd around them, most pretending not to gawk so eagerly. He suddenly saw how all this must look.
“I’m not the villain here!” And he stormed off.
Sofia genuinely did not want to make such a scene, although agitated by his utter lack of manners. She resolved to make peace the next time they met, but he was nowhere to be seen for the next couple of weeks, with some even starting a rumor that he had finally died. Starting to worry, Sofia hurried to his house, hesitating on the doorsteps as she remembered their previous unpleasant encounter.
The door was unlocked, which definitely alarmed her. She stepped into a dimly lit hallway consumed by the photos of a laughing girl. A daughter. But the girl never seemed to grow up, only in newspaper cuttings — whispers here and there of an emerging artist, as if he had hung up every scrap he could scavenge. Sofia had never imagined this side of Joe before, never thought of him as a man with a family.
The hallway opened into the living room, and there he sat in a half-slumber on the couch, wrapped under layers of blankets.
“Are you okay?”
For a moment, Joe thought it was his daughter coming home. Finally. He knew she would. He had had a terrible fever all week, and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of himself, passing away alone and forgotten. A man stuck in the past, unable to keep up with the rush of time, stubbornly refusing to accept change. How empty, how insignificant his life would have been, how tragic. No one to care about and nothing to hold on to. Dying without a mark; disappearing, vanishing in thin air.
In that second, he would have told his daughter everything his pride usually sealed shut: telling her that he was proud, that he was sorry, and that if he could have a do-over, he would be a better person, a better father. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. But no, it was Sofia, and the initial joy lighting his face faded into bitter disappointment.
“No. Not that anyone cares.”
“You have a daughter?”
“One whose number I don’t even remember.”
Silence.
“How do you do it?” Joe finally burst out. “I wouldn’t give a damn if all the fish in the sea died. I don’t give a damn about anyone but myself. How do you go around caring so much?”
“I mean, there’s this thing called empathy. You get to know them, you understand them, and then you look at them and see yourself. Then it’s not so hard to care.”
More silence. Sofia sensed that she was not wanted here anymore and rose to leave.
“When’s your mural finishing?”
“Tomorrow.” How strange that he should ask. “Coming to see it?”
“Maybe.”
He did come. He stood for a long time at the edge of the crowd, staring at the mural. It was a journey, a transition. On one side were vibrant, bold strokes of color forming a world of coral reefs. Clownfish, starfish, sea turtles – everything teeming with life and promise. But the life was slowly sucked out. The colors vanished into monotones as the coral reefs seemed to wither and die.
“Those fish – they hate all that change, too, don’t they?”
“Yeah.” Sofia had a look of utter astonishment on her face. She didn’t expect him to come, having only asked out of politeness. “The whole ecosystem would be imbalanced.”
For a second, he saw himself as the fish. Once living in such perfect bliss, with everything to have, everything to love. Then, a fall from grace, helplessly trapped as everything around him changed, destroyed by a force he could not control. At least he had a choice, a chance he blundered. They didn’t know, couldn’t even understand, simply doomed without an explanation.
There was something so fundamentally unfair and outrageous about all this that awakened the memory of another Joe, the Joe that dreamed and hoped and wanted to help. Was it too late? He didn’t know.
He only knew one thing.
“I have to make a call,” Joe announced aloud, “to my daughter.”
Reflection
My flash fiction story was inspired by the climate change artist Silvia López Chavez. For most of my life, I’ve always been told that the arts are less important than STEM. Therefore, I was intrigued by the impact Chavez’s murals have had on other people. I believe that art holds a unique role in helping people to connect with the world around them, including around issues such as climate change. Some people think of climate change in terms of statistics and numbers, others see it as an issue too removed from their daily lives. The result is apathy. However, art uses simple emotions to touch people’s hearts, and I wanted to create a story with this at the core. After all, climate change is ultimately about change, something everyone understands.