I have always been amazed at how something that stands right in front of you for years can change drastically without your ever noticing it but, just leave for a while and you can return to find even the most familiar completely unrecognizable. My work as an actor had taken me all over the country (and the world) over the course of the last eight years and time off was a rare luxury. A sudden break in between shooting schedules offered me the chance to pay an impromptu visit to my hometown.

Oak Park, Illinois is a charmingly progressive suburb linked to the western border of Chicago. The older, northern portion of town is filled with grand estates, many designed by one of its most famous residents, Frank Lloyd Wright. The southern end of town is filled with modest bungalows and apartment buildings. It's a burb where you can literally be from the "wrong side of the tracks" as the "L" train runs right through the middle of town separating north from south, blue from gray, and the rich from the not-so-rich.

I was from the not-so-rich side of town. The 900 block of South Taylor Avenue is bordered by the Eisenhower expressway on one side, and Harrison Street on the other. In its heyday, Harrison street was home to a varied assortment of shops that served the local residents with necessary services such as a drugstore, grocery store, butcher shop, bakery, toy store, and the like. The arrival of Wal-Mart and Target eliminated the need for these local merchants (just as they have in every town across the country) and now all the shops were gone. What once had been a busy little metropolis where one could run into a neighbor and chat while picking up a loaf of bread, was now a three-block long retail ghost town.

I stood on the corner at the end of my block in absolute amazement at the complete desolation. I had only heard of neighborhoods going through such changes but had never actually witnessed the results, and I certainly never expected such a thing to happen to my own stomping grounds.

I wandered slowly down the street, fondly remembering the various businesses and their proprietors; Ned, the handsome high school senior who worked the soda fountain at the drugstore; Mr. Otis, the grocery store manager who gave me my first (and last) stern lecture on shoplifting after catching me with a hot Kit Kat bar in my pocket; The lady who ran the toy shop and would let me play with the marionettes in the window after school till my father would come looking for me and drag me out by the hair...

These memories and so many more flooded my brain as each empty window went by, smudged with dirt, cracked, or frosted over with white paint. Suddenly, I found myself in a head on collision with a young man...

"Wow! I’m sorry about that, I was paying absolutely NO attention." I said, gently extracting him from me. I couldn’t help but notice that his face was flushed and his clothes were somewhat askew. A cologne or scent I couldn’t place touched my nose.

"That’s O.K." he mumbled. And went hurriedly past me to his car parked on the curb just beyond us. Before he got in, he stopped to look at me, then grinned, shaking his head as he revved up and drove off.

I barely had time to reflect on this curiosity when a particular storefront caught my attention and shook it violently, the way a starving dog would a little rabbit.

Rather than stand empty like its neighbors, this storefront brazenly stood open for business, an oasis of riotous color amidst the small business graveyard. The spotlessly clean display windows sparkled in the afternoon light, the multi colored awnings inviting one to stand beneath them. I accepted the invitation and what I saw in the display windows absolutely defied description.

A dizzying array of paintings filled each window. Paintings of such frenetic explosions of color and motion that I could barely look at any one of them for any length of time, much less claim to understand them. The use of color was completely outrageous without being careless, shocking but not vulgar. I had to finally look away to keep my head from spinning completely off. The paintings were surrounded by various art supply products such as paints, chalks, and brushes. It was then that I realized two things; This must be an art supply store and this must have been where the guy who bumped into me had just come from.

Just as I was about to look beyond the displays and into the store, I was forced to shut my eyes and stand still for the most beautiful music I had ever heard firmly took hold of me and gently held me to my spot on the concrete. A brilliantly alive soprano voice soared with such clarity and emotion, translation of the Italian lyrics was completely unnecessary. I stood blissfully on that sidewalk for an indeterminate amount of time, frozen, unable to move, unwilling to miss a note. I had no idea if the voice was coming from inside the shop, or from one of the apartments above, but so intimately were the notes surrounding me that it might as well have been coming from inside my own head. As it bounced from my skin and into the air around me, it lifted each and every single hair on my arms and legs.

The music stopped as abruptly as it began, my gooseflesh immediately dissipated and the mild street noises suddenly returned. I found myself standing there with my eyes closed, breathing heavily through my mouth, eagerly willing the voice to return. When it didn't after a while, I slowly opened my eyes and looked around for an open window somewhere, vainly searching for the source of this musical heroin. Perhaps it was actually coming from inside the shop...

The front door of the shop was set about ten feet in from the sidewalk, the shop windows continuing down either side making a little walkway up to it. I walked up to the front door, shaded my eyes and looked inside...

No lights were on inside but the afternoon sun through the windows illuminated the shop in a golden glow. Aisles of art supplies competed for attention from more riotous paintings hanging on every inch of available wall space. Incredible sculptures sat everywhere and intricate mobiles danced and swayed from the ceiling. The sheer magnitude of artistic talent and expression filling the small store left me breathless with wonder and feeling more than a little inadequate.

I had absolutely no talents in the fine arts whatsoever. I repeatedly failed art class in grade school, not because my projects were so inept, but because I simply refused to do them at all. I could not be made to pick up a crayon or a marker and draw anything for I feared the rejection and ridicule that always followed any lame attempt at artistic expression on my part.

"What is that? Is that supposed to be a tree?"

"Ha! Ha! Hey everyone! Look at this stupid thing Bryan made!"

"Bryan, that is NOT how you draw a horse. Now do it over and do it the way I told you..."

I’ve always wished in my heart that I could draw or paint but my complete lack of talent keeps me from even the simplest forms of self- expression. In fact, I don’t even doodle when I talk on the phone...

I was suddenly startled to discover that behind the front counter, a most unusually handsome man stood smiling at me.

He was tall and wide shouldered and his glossy, salt and pepper hair (much more pepper than salt) was swept back in an immaculate haircut. Even from where I was standing I could see how pale and smooth his skin was. It was a striking contrast to his dark hair and his full mustache/goatee. A beam of sunlight though the skylight above charged his large aqua eyes and reflected off his perfectly white teeth, displayed in the most mischievous, but welcoming grin. The sight of him filled me with such a tempting curiosity, I knew then what it must feel like to meet the devil in a friendly form.

"Come in." he said simply with a nod of his head. In spite of the fact that he was inside the store and I was out, I could hear him as clearly as though he were standing right next to me.

"Oh, no... That's o.k." I replied through the glass door, suddenly unsure of the strength of my curiosity. "I don't draw anyway..."

Without moving a muscle, he must have pressed a hidden button for the door buzzed. The little bit of weight I had on it easily pushed it open and I suddenly found myself inside where I felt I had no right to be.

"Hi. I'm..."

"Bryan. Bryan-with-a-Y. My, what a handsome young man you've grown up to be."

"You remember me? You know who I am?"

"Oh sure. My wife and I enjoyed watching you grow up in this neighborhood. We lived very near you."

How can this be? I thought to myself. This man couldn't possibly be much older than I am. "Have we actually met?" I asked, unconsciously backing away from him ever so slightly.

"Oh our paths have crossed many times, you probably just don't remember Bry-Boy." He said using the nickname I shed oh so long ago...

"No, I'm sorry. I guess I don't. Um... You have a wonderful store. It's nice to see something do well here." I said from the tentative safety of my place near the door. Part of me wanted to make a quick exit after a polite "hello" but the rest of me wanted to stay and explore this oasis of color and motion. I didn't know which side was going to win and that only made me more nervous. Another thing that was unsettling was that something was missing from the picture and I couldn’t figure out what it was. Then I realized that there was no scent of paints, erasers, chalks or solutions. Instead the store smelled like a bakery in full progress...

"You said you don't draw, huh Bry?"

"Oh, no, I have no talent at all. Can't even draw the proverbial straight line. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"If you come over here, I'll tell it to you." He said smiling the same wicked grin that I had seen a few minutes ago.

I had no choice but to leave the safety of my spot and walk over to the counter to shake the outstretched hand he was offering me.

"I'm Dante" he said as he wrapped his large, soft and incredibly warm hand around mine, shaking it firmly. Up close, he was even more beautiful. Not a single wrinkle was evident anywhere on his face no matter how hard I tried to find one. I had heard of and read about eyes that sparkled before but didn't know such a thing actually existed until this man's pale aqua beacons glittered like a sequined dress before me. It was almost impossible to look away from him...

"You're trying to figure out how old I am." He said simply.

Flustered, I replied "Well, yes I am."

"I'm older than you." He said laughing gently. I got the hint that he had no intention of sharing his secret with me.

"Well, you can't be that much older than I am. And if you are, then you really look great. You must truly love what you do."

He leaned over the counter slightly and whispered, "You just guessed one of the secrets that I was going to share with you."

"There are others?"

"Yes there are Bry Boy."

I could not comprehend how in the matter of a few moments, the conversation had turned completely familiar and I was speaking to this man as though he had never been a stranger. I felt my defenses leave me with each second I stood near him...

He walked around the counter to the front door, turned the "Out To Lunch" sign around and pulled down the shade. The only remaining light in the room came from what little could find its way through the crowded display windows and from the skylights above. As I looked up towards the barreled ceiling, I noticed that a high shelf ran around the perimeter of the store. On display all around it were beautiful costumes from every era. Some displays included various props that seemed to go with each gown such as lanterns, daggers, or exquisite jewelry. Each display featured an enormous photograph showcasing the wearer of the costumes caught in mid-performance. and in every one, the same incredibly stunning woman was in a publicity shot from the production. As I scanned them all, it became obvious that no camera could actually be up to the task of completely capturing this woman's essence, if she could even be captured at all. Each photo was more brilliant and intriguing than the next and with each one, a saddening dissatisfaction grew inside me as I realized how many intensely magical moments I had missed having never been in her audience. With just a few photographs alone, I was suddenly aware that I knew nothing about beauty. I knew nothing about passion and, I knew nothing about love. I was suddenly left with no soul...

"My wife is an incredible woman." Dante interrupted my trance with this monumental understatement.

"This is your wife? She's here right now?" I could barely believe it. I was thinking that this was all a collector's homage to some remote, aloof superstar, not a husband's proud display of his wife's talent...

"Yes, she's an opera singer. She's quite well known. Within the opera world that is." Dante added humbly. "In Italy they are calling her "La Divina" which is what they used to call Callas. It's quite a compliment. I call her "honey" but you can call her Angelica when you meet her."

It was just too much. The power of this woman's voice, the colors in the store, the photos, this man with his hands on my shoulders speaking into my ear... my head began to spin again.

"I want to show you something." he said simply, interrupting my reverie and guiding me back to the front counter. On the counter, where the cash register should have been stood a large, beautiful cake under a crystal serving dome. Well that would explain the wonderful smell, I thought to myself. From behind the counter he pulled out a large, white pad and a set of oil crayons. He opened the box of crayons, carefully set the box inside the lid, folded the cover of the pad back and set it on the counter all the while looking at me as though he knew a great secret.

"I want you to draw this cake for me Bryan." he said in a manner that was as matter-of-fact as it could possibly be, as though he were asking a child to do his homework...

"I... uh... what?" was the only answer I could manage. All the old fears of public embarrassment suddenly rose to the level of my heart, which suddenly began to beat quite audibly. My ears began to ring, my palms began to sweat and I suddenly felt the urge to pee. It was the exact same burst of momentary panic I always felt immediately before making an entrance on stage, but of course, by that point, it was always too late to turn back...

Dante's eyes still had not left me and he smiled, placing the blank pad in front of me.

"I know that you think you can't draw," he said, pushing the box of pastels across the counter towards me, "but I think that you are about to be very surprised."

It had already turned out to be a fairly surprising afternoon I thought. Well, there was no one else about and I doubted that this man would be so rude as to make fun of me...

The colors in the box twinkled and shone like tiny jewels, beckoning me to touch them. The cake was covered in a layer of milk chocolate icing so I reached for the brown pastel and gently removed it from the box. Looking up at Dante for encouragement, he gave me a faint nod and a smile. I looked down, took a deep breath, and touched crayon to paper for the first time in almost twenty years.

I would love to tell you about the masterpiece that poured forth from me that afternoon, but unfortunately, I can't. What actually came out was a crude line drawing with some poor attempts at shading that no one would ever decipher in a million years. The moment I stopped to look at it, all the artistic fears and insecurities of my childhood came rushing back to me. Before I could open my mouth to berate myself, Dante interrupted me.

"Hmmm. Just as I expected." He said sounding very much like a doctor making a diagnosis. He took the pad from me, turned the page over exposing a clean sheet, and set it aside. He then produced a large knife which shot chrome colored light beams everywhere and cut a giant slice of cake, setting it before me on a cloth napkin.

"Touch it." He directed simply.

"What? Why?" I asked him. But no sooner had I asked it than I suddenly realized, I did want to touch it. I reached a tentative hand forward and gently poked it with my index finger. It immediately sprang back leaving only the slightest indentation. A bead of icing clung to my fingertip and I slowly rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger feeling how it suddenly began to conduct heat. I again pressed my finger into the dark depths of the cake and it yielded to my touch, surrounding my flesh with its moist darkness. It was mud pies, it was cotton candy, wet paint, Play Dough, Silly Putty, marshmallows and that white paste we all ate in grade school all wrapped into one. I had never touched anything so amazingly... tactile, so... sensual.

Suddenly, I realized that there was cake everywhere, all over the counter, the floor, the cash register... but before I could apologize Dante picked up a piece of the cake and proceeded to feed it to me. I leaned over the counter and opened my mouth to receive it. Quite a bit of it remained around my mouth but neither one of us made any move to clean it up. I closed my eyes and savored the texture, the smell, and the incredible flavors of this chocolate nirvana. It was as though my mouth had instantly become a flavor computer. I could immediately taste every single ingredient that was used in its' making; the dark Belgian chocolate, the flour, the eggs, (whites only) the butter (unsalted), the rum (dark) and all the other ingredients came to the forefront of my palate one by one. I could see the ingredients, mixing, swirling, pouring, and baking, the ovens' heat caressing and coaxing them into a swollen state...

I swallowed and opened my eyes eager for the next piece. All traces of the cake were gone. In front of me stood the clean drawing pad and the pastels and Dante smiling at me as though he had just discovered a secret he had no intention of sharing with anyone.

"Now, draw the cake again Bry-boy." he said as though he were a childhood friend daring me to touch a garden snake in his backyard...

I reached for the pastels without hesitation. Just as I took color to paper, the beautiful music I heard outside returned. Between the colors in my head, the flavors on my tongue and the beautiful voice spurring me on, I drew quickly and wordlessly, afraid the magic would vaporize before I could finish the job...

"Absolutely perfect." Dante claimed as he held up the finished work. A myriad of Hockney-esque colors and shapes did indeed suggest a cake on a platter with a slice removed and even a waiting fork on the side. I stared at in complete disbelief. I could barely conceive that the work had actually come from my own hand...

"And now it's time for you to meet my wife." Dante said. As in an English comedy, she appeared perfectly on cue from the archway behind the counter and swept around to the front as though she were late in meeting me for a lunch date.

"If it isn't Bryan-with-a-Y! Welcome home Bry. My husband and I have been following your career. We loved that comedy you did with Joan Cusack." she said as she slipped her arm in mine and strolled with me down the isles as though we were walking through Lincoln Park on a sunny afternoon. She rambled on about my performances in various pictures I had done but I couldn't pay full attention for the warmth of her at my side suddenly made me wonder if I had left my oven on at home...

I shyly avoided eye contact as I had no clue what to say and didn't want to embarrass myself in front of such a great talent. When I finally got the nerve to cast a shy glance in her direction I was shocked to notice how truly ordinary she looked. I looked up at her photos to make sure it was the same person. It was like identical twins where one is just a little more polished, a little more gleaming, and a little more perfect than the other. She was still tall, beautifully proportioned, elegant and amazingly attractive but something was missing...

We arrived at the rear of the store which was actually t-shaped and we took a left and walked towards the far wall where a large platform about 3 feet high extended from one wall to the other and about 10 feet in depth almost like a stage. In fact that's exactly what it was, for as I looked up at the barrel ceiling, a lighting grid hung there laden with assorted lighting instruments. Giant twin speakers stood at each side of the rear of the platform and towards the front, a carved mahogany desk stood with a matching ornate chair. On the desk lay a hand mirror, a quill pen, a rolled up parchment document and several other smaller props. A various array of easels, benches and chairs were strewn about the perimeter of the stage. Late afternoon beams of sun from the skylights above draped themselves effectively across the scene, placed there by the ultimate lighting designer Himself.

"Our little classroom area has grown into quite the little underground theater Bry." Dante said suddenly appearing behind me and speaking into my ear. "What began as a place for Angelica to practice has become a very popular theater space. In fact, I never know when a performance is going to break out." He said this directly to his wife and a knowing smile suddenly broke out across her exquisite face.

"Is Celestia still here?" Dante asked his wife as he searched through a pile of CD's near the sound equipment.

"No, I cut her lesson a little short honey. Doesn't she have an amazing voice Bry? I'm sure you must have heard her." Angelica said as she walked about the stage adjusting props.

"I thought it was you singing...."

They both laughed at this apparently stupid comment as they walked about preparing. But for what? I thought to myself...

Dante appeared behind me again, took me gently by the arm, and led me to an easel set up center stage. He motioned me to sit on the bench. I moved up towards the front and he then sat behind me. "Do you know the story of Tosca Bry?" he whispered in my ear. I nodded my assent. The Puccini opera about a heroine who sacrifices her relationship with her lover to keep him alive only to be tricked and lose him in the end was very familiar to me. I had even performed in its chorus a few years back... "Then you're in for a treat Bry." He said as he pressed a remote control in the direction of the sound system. An orchestra began to play...

I looked around wondering where Angelica had disappeared to. As soon as the music began, she suddenly appeared in a beam of her light. She was dressed in a burgundy velvet costume of Empire style with gold sleeves and a gold circlet around her head accented her auburn hair now piled high with curls cascading down. The very instant she took the stage she suddenly ceased to be an ordinary woman. This was the woman of the photographs, the woman known as La Divina...

And just when my heart and soul were so full of the very sight of her...

She began to sing.

Dante's warm hand made small circles on my lower back as he leaned forward and whispered in my ear...

"Draw her."

Why, oh why hast my Heavenly Father forsaken me?

The colors on the page blended through my tears in a mixture of pleasure, pain, and unparalleled emotion. I had been guided not by some outside supernatural force, but by my own soul. The evidence stood on the paper before me in a mixture of shape, color, texture, and line. I looked at it like a long lost friend I could barely recognize. Then recognition came and when I realized where it had actually come from I started to cry.

"Shh... it's o.k. Bry-Boy." I felt Dante's warm hands everywhere as he comforted me. In an awkward gesture of thanks, I twisted behind me to face him. A small spot of light hit his perfect face and as he smiled at me I leaned forward and kissed him, still holding a burgundy oil pastel in my hand. The moment our mouths made contact, the pastel melted in my hand...

Angelica appeared kneeling at our side looking quite ordinary again. I turned to her smiling face...

"Thank you." I said to her.

Kissing her was like getting out of the hot tub for some cool air after kissing Dante.

Both tasted like chocolate cake...

A few hours later, I stood outside the shop window guiding Dante as he placed my large, riotous oil painting of two nudes in the center of the display along with the others. When he was satisfied with its placement, he smiled and waved a final good bye. I was still in a daze as I turned towards my car, colliding with a handsome young blonde man in the process. I gently untangled him as he apologized.

"No problem." I said as I headed towards the drivers side of my car and unlocked the door. He continued looking at me suspiciously and as I drove off I gave him one last look and a grin...

On my way to the airport the next day, I drove by the shop to see my painting just one more time. I realized that I had gone too far and turned around. After this happened a second, then a third time, I realized the store itself was gone. I parked quickly in front of where it should have been but the storefront stood as empty as its neighbors, no evidence whatsoever of it ever having been inhabited. I wandered around to the back of the store looking for trash in the dumpster, fixtures being thrown out, but there was nothing at all. There were no other shopkeepers around to question. I walked around to the front again, shielded my eyes, and tried to peek into the whited out window of the front door. Just as before, the door silently opened and I suddenly found myself inside...

My painting was leaning against the wall where the counter would have been and was now in an exquisite ornate frame. I picked it up and walked out the door, shutting it firmly behind me.

As I carefully placed the painting in the trunk of my car, I felt a small parcel taped to the back of the painting. I carefully removed a small rectangular package wrapped in newsprint that had been water colored in a million different hues. I unwrapped it. It was a home-made cassette. I placed it into the tape deck. A familiar voice emanated from my JBL speakers and surrounded me like a warm fog.

I have lived for love...