Ode to Wojtek

Today's post is a long time coming. Some of you have mentioned my banners at the top and bottom and wondered about them. My dearest friend in the whole wide world took pictures of himself to portray my MC in the manuscript I'm querying currently. He's in Poland. We met years ago through DeviantArt.com and about eight months ago I wrote this little short about him and posted it on dA.

His page is linked on my sidebar under Wojciech Zwolinski on the sidebar. He did the covers for Melissa de la Cruz's vampire series, the Polish translation. Please, go check out his work. He's amazing (and one of the most popular artists at dA *totally pimping*). He came to America last summer and spent three weeks with me. The above image is a picture I took of him at the Grand Canyon, as he's ALWAYS behind or in front of a camera. I think it was born attached, actually. Yes, I manip'd the crap out of it.

Here's "Ode to Wojtek" (his nickname)

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Again, I find myself watching the clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Only it doesn’t make that sound since it’s digital, as most clocks are nowadays. Have we lost something as a society by not having the sound of impending doom echoing loudly in the dark as we sleep? The sound is just in my head, counting off the minutes until it’s okay to call.

I don’t remember what his face looked like the first time I saw him, I only remember the circumstances, which is odd. I normally remember the expression on someone’s face when they first meet me, but we still haven’t met so maybe that’s why I can’t recall. He entered my life through a photograph, years ago. Someone I don’t talk to anymore told me to look at him, so I did. I thought he was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I disliked him immediately.

We all do, don’t we? Hate the beautiful people just a little bit for being so lucky while we’re not? The internet being the imperfect medium it is, I also perceived arrogance, vanity, and a sense of superiority in him. This judgment was based on nothing but the photographs he posted and the comments he left. It’s enough, isn’t it? We all do the same. We decide a person is deep or shallow, friendly or hateful, cynical or optimistic, and all by interpreting their work and their words with our own voices.

I was dead wrong, and I’m ashamed of myself.

He is that breath of life I needed, the extra piece that was missing from the puzzle that is me. Through his eyes I see the world anew, and gods save me, I feel hope again in a way I haven’t in a long time. I can forgive him anything, overlook any fault without prejudice, and love him precisely as he is. He is my little brother from a littler mother, and though he is just as flawed as any of us and asserts he is no saint, I would still sacrifice a boatload of toddlers if it meant keeping him alive, giving the gift of him back to the world.

Mostly because I hate kids, so it wouldn’t be that hard. I’d hesitate at a boatload of dogs, though.

Sorry, sweetie. You’re just not that special.