A/N: I love this movie, and came upon it by accident while reading one of those "Movies you may have missed" lists. As I watched the movie I thought I recognized the style of the cartoon drawings shown briefly by the adult Walter. After it was over I scanned the credits and found that I was right; they were done by the same artist that drew the "Bloom County" cartoons. A great movie, but it never explained how the main character got to be an artist. The adult was an artist, the kid didn't even draw. Something needed to bridge the gap...

There's a further metaphor with the airplane subplot I didn't explore because that wasn't my focus.

Drawing Conclusions

"Mr. Caldwell, when did you start cartooning?" The young girl who couldn't have been more than 11 or so was thrusting a sketch book forward for Walt to sign. He quickly leafed through the pages and saw that most of the girl's sketches were horses, with a sprinkling of flowers thrown in. During the book signing that day there had been a few aspiring artists wanting his opinion on their work, but nobody had asked anything about him until now.

"And what is your name young lady?" he asked.

"Zoe."

"That's a beautiful name, Zoe. Did you know it's Greek for 'life'?" She nodded her head. "Well, when I was your age I hadn't even really started to draw yet. I can see you're a lot better than I was. But when I got older…"

...

Walter Caldwell checked the mailbox. The newspaper, a magazine, a few mail-order catalogs, and a lot of simple sales flyers promising the next great shopping opportunity of a lifetime if you act right now and send a check to the address below.

No letter from mom.

Walter wondered if it was because she had finally settled down somewhere and was so busy with her new life that she hadn't had the chance to buy postage stamps yet. Or maybe ran out of envelopes.

Hope may spring eternal, but in reality springs can dry up. Several times a year there had been a letter telling him how wonderful things were going. It was always from Mae Something, the last name changing to that of her current boyfriend/hero/savior and an address usually from a different state than the last one. Over the last three years since he'd come to live with his uncles the trickle of letters had slowed until he barely got one on his birthday and another at Christmas. He had already decided that the next one to stop would be the Christmas letter, but with his birthday in less than a week he wasn't holding his breath in case he guessed wrong. He didn't even know what she looked like now; the last picture in his head he had of her was the day he had jumped out of the car before coming here to stay. Come to think of it, that was the last time he'd seen her.

There was a letter from the mechanic in Tyler. Uncle Hub would want to see that right away. After making his way back up the drive, he headed toward the barn. Even before he got near the entrance the pounding noise from inside told him his uncle Hub was hard at work on the plane. Walking into the barn, he paused while his eyes adjusted to the darker setting. Uncle Hub was pounding on the undercarriage, trying to get the two wheels to line up.

"It needs to go a little more to the left" Uncle Garth said from his chair over to the side. His iced tea perspired more heavily than the man swinging the mallet.

"And just how can you tell from that angle?" Hub asked, straightening up from his crouch under the fuselage.

"Easy; just look at the shadows, they aren't parallel." And it was true; the light coming in from the door on the opposite side showed the wheels to be slightly off.

"It'll be fine. By the time the weight of the plane sits on them, they'll be squatting down anyway. Anything interesting in the mail kid?" Garth gave up. If Hub wanted to veer off into a field when the plane landed, hopefully there would be something soft to crash in.

"Usual stuff, but you got a letter from that mechanic Bartlett in Tyler."

"Hand it here." Although he had done most of the work on the body, the plane's engine was another matter entirely. Part of his mistrust of airplanes was the fact that if the engine quit while you were in the air, you couldn't just get out and walk home. So he found a mechanic in Tyler that agreed to work on it. "Probably writing to let me know he's having a hard time finding parts."

He took the letter and opened it, then read the short one page of script. He started getting excited and pacing one way and then the next. "It's ready. He said it would be six months but he got it done in three. Let's go get it."

"Now Hub, what is today?" Garth hadn't stirred from his chair yet.

"How the hell do I know? I'm retired, they're all the same!"

"It's Saturday. Barnett is closed on the weekend. You'll have to wait until Monday." What Garth lacked in fire he made up for in level-headedness. That's part of what made the brothers a good team as long as they were on speaking terms.

"I've already paid for it, and it's ready. We'll break in and just load it up; no need to bother him." Hub was itchin'.

"No.

"Well, I'm gonna look over those instructions again at least. I want to be able to fly this thing in my sleep. I think the first thing I want to do is buzz Ralph and Helen's house." Walter didn't know much when he came to the ranch, but he did seem to know how to annoy those two gold digging relatives; all he had to do was be here. Since he came to live they showed up less and less; with any luck the McCann brothers would outlive them.

"Don't go putting another bee in their bonnet" said Garth, "they're still sore from being on the losing end of the competency hearing last year. They think us being loners is the same as being senile. Good thing the judge had a lick of sense."

"I think us loners should go into town and celebrate with an ice cream. If there aint any customers at the counter, so much the better." So they loaded themselves into the pickup and headed into town to the drug store and its ice cream counter.

While they were enjoying their ice cream (Hub always vanilla, Garth chocolate or strawberry, Walter the flavor of the month) they looked out through the large front window at the main street. A police car driving past stopped, backed up and parked next to the truck.

"Hub, have you beaten anybody up lately?" Garth asked as the officer got out of his vehicle and looked the truck over.

"Let me think…nobody today" Hub assured him. "Come to think of it, I don't believe I have in over a year. Must be gettin' more tolerant."

"How about threatening someone with your gun?"

"Do salesmen and relatives count?"

"Of course not."

"Then I haven't done that either."

"Well, I guess we don't need to sneak out the back then" Garth concluded and went back to his ice cream.

The deputy came into the store and looked around until his eyes met theirs and he walked over to where they were sitting. "Excuse me gentlemen, I'm Deputy Grady from Smith County. Are you the McCann brothers?"

"Our name's McCann and we had the same ma and pa, so I reckon the answer is yes" replied Hub.

"Could I speak with one of you outside for a moment please? It doesn't matter which one." Garth had already finished his treat so he followed the officer outside to the sidewalk. The closed door muffled what the officer was saying; with hands in his pockets it didn't look like it was going to be anything violent. Occasional glances into the store did cause some concern though. The officer shook Garth's hand, after which he came inside and spoke softly into Hub's ear. They changed places and Hub went outside to talk.

"What does the officer want?" asked Walter. "Is it something about the airplane engine?"

"No, its…personal business" Garth offered without going any further.

The officer shook Hub's hand and returned to his patrol car, which he got in and drove away. Hub came back into the store and finished his nearly melted ice cream in silence. Afterward he told Walter they had to get back home.

Back home, they sat on the porch and looked out at the wide open skies. A man not given to talk, Hub wasn't saying anything but his restlessness showed he had something to say.

"Boy, what are you now, 17?"

"17 next week Uncle Hub" Walter replied.

"I've fought wars with and against men that were younger than you. If a person your age can handle war, they can handle just about anything. So I'm going to come straight to it; that deputy that we talked to at the drug store told us that your mama has been killed in an car accident."

Walter went cold. There would be no letter for his birthday. No Christmas letter. No ever.

No mom.

"He didn't have all the details, but while she was driving out in California somebody missed a stop sign. Her car was full of her things, but there was a fire and most of it was destroyed. They said she didn't get burned, but died right after they pulled her out of the car."

"Wait" Walter said, "that can't be right. How did they know about me if she died?"

"They got your name and address from a letter she had written but hadn't mailed off yet" answered Garth. "They figure she was moving and had everything packed up; the letter was in the box of things that didn't get burned up.. The sheriff has the box and he's gonna bring it by tomorrow but he thought it was better hearing it from family than him."

"Excuse me." Walter got up and walked away from the house to think. He really didn't have a destination but he ended up beside Jasmine's spot. They hadn't gardened there again after they buried her, not wanting to disturb her final resting place. He sat down to think.

His mother was gone. She'd been gone for a while now, but this time she was REALLY gone. He was sure that some part of her loved him; she just couldn't handle her life and his too. Now it seemed they had kind of drifted apart; life had taken them down different roads. He hardly even knew her any more.

Then why was he crying?

Back on the porch a few minutes later Garth looked over at the sobbing Walter and then at Hub. "Figure it's been long enough?" He tipped his head in the direction of where Walter was sitting.

"I think he needs a little more time. I'll make my way over in couple of minutes."

"I meant for the 'What every man needs to know' speech."

"So did I."

After a few more minutes Hub leisurely got up out of his chair and slowly walked over to where Walter was sitting, to give him enough time in case he wanted to compose himself. He stood beside the sitting boy and put his hand on his shoulder while looking at the horizon over the pond. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Walter looked up. The tears had slowed, and much had been hastily wiped away as his uncle approached. "There are times when days went by that I didn't think of her. She hasn't been a part of my life for even longer than I've lived here. But" he said as he started to cry again "why does it hurt so much? I almost can't remember what she looked like!"

"Because you still love her, like a good son should. She may not have been a very good mother, but she WAS your mother. What did I tell you before about true love?" Hub was referring to the small part of his speech that he had given him the night he told him what happened to his wife Jasmine.

"True...true love never dies" Walter said hesitantly.

"That's right; you're a good boy to remember. Now, true love comes in different kinds. I loved Jasmine, and will until I die. I love my brother, even if I want to kill him sometimes. I love my nephew even if he confuses the hell out of me once in a while. And you love your momma, always will. But when someone we love dies and we hurt, you have to let the love win over the pain. It might take a while, but you have to believe it will..."

"...because it's one of the things a man needs to believe in the most?" asked Walter.

"You remember that part too, good. But in the meantime losing someone you love can be like our special door in the barn. You can be walking on it and not think a thing. Take it away and you damn better grab on to something before you fall too far. Walter..." That was different. Uncle Hub almost never called him by his name; it was usually some variation of 'boy' or 'kid'. "...I think it's time for that speech; the whole thing, and you don't even have to get in a fight to hear it. Let's go for a walk." Walter struggled up and, with his uncle's arm around his shoulder, took a leisurely walk down the driveway while Hub finally gave him the 'What every man needs to know' speech he promised to give years ago.

Garth waited. It wasn't his speech, although he had heard it many times when his brother had given it to others. No, the kid was old enough and he needed a little help right now; it was a perfect time for Hub's talk. He watched as they made their way down the drive and back, pausing at times while Hub emphasized a point. They both came through the gate and onto the porch. "Garth, we got ourselves another man in the family now" said Hub.

Garth stood up and came over to the pair, sticking out his hand. "Glad to meet ya, mister. Can I call you Walt?"

His nephew ignored the hand and went for the hug instead.

The next morning Walter came down from his room in the tower. He had slept some, but his head was so crammed full of stuff it hadn't been a restful sleep. But things felt different now. He felt kind of alone now that his mom was gone for good, but at the same time he felt older. And it wasn't even his birthday yet.

"You want some breakfast young man?" Hub was at the stove, frying up some bacon.

"Yeah, I guess so. What time is the deputy supposed to be here?"

"He said by 10 this morning. He had to go get the box from the station in Tyler."

Later that morning not long before 10, a plume of dust coming up the driveway foretold of the arrival of the deputy. While Walter stayed on the porch, Hub and Garth walked out front to greet him as he stepped out of his patrol car. Out of the trunk he produced a cardboard box which he carried over to the house before setting it on the porch.

"Walter, I'm Deputy Grady and I'm really sorry about your mother. Your uncles said they pretty much told you everything." He stuck out his hand.

"It's Walt, sir" Walter said as he took the offered hand. He felt older today, and so decided that maybe Uncle Garth had an idea with the shortened name. "They didn't say when it happened though."

"Two weeks ago. Your grandmother Pearl identified the body and took her to be buried in Arizona, but she left the box behind. That's when they got the idea to look you up from the letter." He handed Walt the letter, which had been opened of course; no stamp on it either. A note was written on the back 'Opened for I.D. of next of kin' with some initials. "It took that long just to get here from California. She didn't seem to have anything else that we can tell; no house, no other vehicles, no bank accounts."

"No, she wouldn't. She never really had much" Walt explained. "We used to move around pretty light." She always talked about having a house, a garden, a white picket fence with a dog in the yard. But it was a dream, not even a real goal.

"Gentlemen, unless you have any other questions I'll be on my way." They wished him a good day and he drove back down the dusty driveway and away on down the road.

"Aren't you even going to open it?" Garth asked an hour later.

"Not now. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few years."

The rest of the day passed as most did. Walt was quieter than usual, but the uncles didn't press the issue. He had to work things out in time; they were there for advice, not be a set of training wheels.

The next morning when Walt came downstairs his food was already on the table. "Hurry up," Hub said excitedly "we've already eaten. We have to go into Tyler and get the engine today." He wolfed down his eggs and excused himself to get dressed.

An hour later they pulled up in front of Barnett's Garage. Hub fumbled with the door knob in his excitement, but managed to make it into the garage office without hurting himself.

"Ah, Mr. McCann. I figured you'd be here early today. I'm surprised you didn't try to sneak down and get the motor over the weekend." Garth exchanged looks with Walt and Hub but said nothing. "Did you bring in the plane?"

"Of course we didn't bring the plane in. It's got no motor, you think we're gonna just GLIDE it in here?"

"No Mr. McCann, of course not. But you can bring it in on a trailer and we'll install it."

"Aint got no trailer. Just put the motor in the back of the truck and we'll take it home and figure out what to do with it." Hub hadn't worked it out that far in advance yet, but he'd figure a way.

"Can't do that. If I put it in the back of your truck it's going to destroy the exhaust manifolds; the weight will just crush them."

"How about I borrow a hoist from you? I'll put that in the back of my truck to hold the engine in the air."

"Won't work. As soon as you stop quick or turn a corner that motor will swing and it's going to topple over. Now I can arrange something to take it to your place Wednesday if that's okay."

"Well…" Hub was deflating faster than a punctured tire. He briefly considered the gliding option but knew the plane wouldn't even be able to do that if you threw it off a mountain. "If that's the only way."

"Sure. Just have your plane outside where we can have full access to it and we'll be able to get it finished in less than an hour."

Hub agreed and left the office. Once they were back in the truck Walt said "Umm, Uncle Hub. Just how are you going to get the airplane outside the barn?"

"The same way I…brought it…damn." He had built the airplane inside the barn, putting together the parts without any thought about the size of the completed project. The fully opened doors were still much too small for the wings of the plane, and making a bigger door would compromise the support beams that held the barn together. "Don't say anything!"

Garth had suggested before that they get a hanger to build the plane in.

"There's got to be a way around it" Hub continued. "I haven't done all that work for nothing."

On Wednesday morning Walt watched as a parade of vehicles came up the drive. The first was a flatbed truck loaded with lots of wood and metal. The second was the tallest crane he had ever seen. The third was a large truck with a tripod that was part of the back. Hanging from the tripod, held immobile with chains, was the airplane motor. The last vehicle was a small bus with an army of workers. After the other trucks parked, the bus disgorged its load of workers into the area.

What happened next made Walt believe they could have built a pyramid on the farm if they had wanted one. Workers took wood and metal and braced up the inside of the barn, then freed it from the foundation. Next the tall crane came and actually LIFTED the entire barn up in the air about 15 feet. The workers then quickly pulled the airplane out of the hanger, and the barn was set back down carefully and reattached to its foundation. While all the bracing was being removed, the truck with the tripod backed up to the plane. Another set of workers set about hoisting the motor on a swingout boom to the front of the airplane, where mechanics inserted the motor like a team of skilled surgeons.

In less than three hours the whole circus was over, with the only evidence being a lot of tire and foot tracks and the plane outside with its rebuilt motor.

"Gonna need a tarp to cover the plane" suggested Garth.

The rest of the day consisted of Hub checking out the installation of the motor, and finally getting the one wheel pointing straight ahead. There was a run into town for a few odds and ends for the plane including some fuel. Hub declared the next day would be the true test; actually firing up the motor.

The next morning Walt came down to the table to find a birthday candle lit and stuck in the middle of his stack of pancakes. As usual, they didn't sing; the birthday song had been permanently banned in the house for years.

An hour later Walt stood beside the barn and watched as Hub climbed into the cockpit. Through a series of yelling and hand gestures they managed to eventually do the proper things in order, although whether it was by accident or not was hard to determine. The engine roared to life in a cloud of blue smoke, and all three let out a yell while the dogs added to their chorus. Hub played the throttle and the engine went up and down in pitch. He moved the stick and the front wings responded properly, although the rear wings just sat there due to their incompleteness. The bird sang, but its wings were still clipped.

Garth quickly went around and climbed into the cockpit as well, and Hub gave it enough throttle that the plane began to move. In a cloud of dust they slowly moved away from the barn, and then picked up a little speed running and bouncing down the drive. Through some miracle they got the plane turned around at the end and brought it back just in time to have it sputter and run out of fuel. Walt helped bring up a small stepladder and they got out of the plane, excited as kids with their first bike.

"We're gonna need aviator helmets…"

"…and goggles…"

"…and maybe those long scarves that flap in the wind behind you…"

"…not in my face you don't!..."

"...we can make a runway through the field away from the fence."

Later the two brothers sat on the porch and looked at the plane. Walt saw an earthbound plane that needed a lot of work still, but in the faraway looks of their eyes they saw a majestic creation soaring among the clouds.

Walt excused himself and went into the house. Lying in the front room was his mother's box and letter. He picked up both and retreated to his room in the tower. Sitting at his desk by the window, he opened the letter and read its contents:

Dearest Walter, I hope this letter finds you well on your birthday. My little boy's 17! I bet you're so tall now. I hope I can see you by your next birthday, but I've got a surprise for you. I'm going to school and I'm doing it alone; no more boyfriends. I finally decided I have to do something that comes from me and not someone else.

Do you remember what we did when your daddy died? I mean besides cry; you were pretty young at the time, and so was I. That counselor told us we'd feel better if we drew pictures of what we were thinking; do you remember us laying on the floor together drawing? I remembered that, and pulled out our old drawings to look at. It got me thinking I might like to take some art classes since I really enjoyed doing it, even if I didn't like the reason we were. So I got some information and I'm going up to Oregon and try an art school there. I can waitress and earn some money to live while I do it, and if I do well they can help find me a job as an artist. It may not pay much at first, but it will be something I want.

Be a good nephew to your uncles, and wish me luck. I'll mail this off when I get to Oregon so you can have a letter from that state. Love you honey, Mom.

Various emotions washed over Walt. He was sad all over again for his loss, but also slightly happy that his mom was finally going to do something on her own. But he felt bad that she had never gotten the chance. He had vague memories of being on the floor with his mom drawing after the letter reminded him, but couldn't remember any details.

He put the letter down and opened the flaps of the box. Inside he found brochures for various art schools and maps for California and Oregon. He also found sketchpads and assorted colored pencils, rulers and erasers. Inside the sketchpad he found almost all of the pages had been used, with drawings of people, animals and objects. Some were in color, others in regular pencil. They were quite good, but many looked like they were unfinished. Some of the larger drawings were signed by his mom and dated over the last year.

At the bottom was a black binder which he pulled out and opened up on the desk. There were drawings that had been hole-punched and put in the binder. As he looked at them he realized that they were the drawings that he and his mom had done when he was young; from the date on the paper he must have been about 5. His were mostly stick figure people waving back at him in simple drawings. There was one with a house with a fence around it. Two taller stick people and one short waved. A stick dog was in the yard along with what might have been a garden. Someone with nice handwriting had put 'Dad', 'Mom' and 'Walter' under the stick figures. The dog's name was 'Hambone'. This must have been as close as mom got to her dream.

Seized with a sudden impulse, Walt raced down the stairs and onto the porch, shaking his uncles out of their daydreams. "Where's some paper I can write on?" he blurted out.

"There's some paper on the writing desk" Garth said.

"No, not lined paper. I need blank paper."

"Look in the top drawer of the desk, left side" Hub said. "I was using it to make some drawings for airplane parts."

Walt disappeared in a flash. The brothers could hear things being shuffled around and drawers opened and closed, then footsteps racing up the stairs.

Walt sat down at his desk and cleared the top. Putting his mother's pencils to paper, he started drawing what he saw out his window. A fencepost, the pig, a windmill in the distance; he tried drawing a little bit of everything. He then sat back and looked at his work. Not too bad, he certainly drew better than he did when he was 5. More importantly, you could tell what he was trying to draw. They were crude, but they had promise.

He sat and thought. If he could draw what he saw, could he draw something in his head? He tried to draw a picture of his mother, but failed. He simply couldn't remember enough details for even a rough sketch. It had to be something else that he really remembered. He got an idea, and tried again.

On the paper a lion and a young boy were standing in a cornfield. He looked at it and labeled it 'Walter and Jasmine by Walt Caldwell'.

...

Walt realized that he hadn't finished answering Zoe's question, so he signed her book and gave her a big smile. "To answer your question Zoe, I started when I found out that a cartoonist's hands and eyes are very important, but the most important thing you draw with is your heart; and that can happen at any age."

The End