Juliet loved to draw. Not with just crayons, though she liked those too. Juliet used anything she could find. She drew with sticks in the dirt, with her finger in spilled juice, with charcoal from the fire. Her drawings were strange, some might say. They weren’t like the perfect pictures in her coloring books. But, they were hers.
Many adults didn’t understand Juliet’s art. “What is it even?” they’d ask. “It doesn’t look like anything.” They’d look at her drawings with a puzzled face.
Sometimes, this made Juliet feel small. Like her drawings were wrong. Her heart would feel a little tight, like a balloon losing air. “Maybe they’re right,” she’d whisper to herself, tracing the lines with a sad finger. But then, she would look closer at her art.
She saw the big, swirly lines were like the wind through the tall grass near her home. The splotches of color were the wild flowers blooming in the field. The strange shapes were her feelings. She loved the way it made her feel, happy, sad or anything in between. It was like her heart was talking.
One day, in the town of Thistlemere, there was a big art fair in the town square. All the kids were showing off their paintings and drawings. Juliet’s mom, Rose, convinced her to bring a few of her pictures. Juliet was nervous. Her stomach felt like it had butterflies doing flips.
“You’re art is amazing Juliet, ” said her mom, giving her a warm hug. “Just be yourself. Don’t worry too much, just have fun.”
When they arrived at the fair, Juliet’s heart pounded. It was loud and crowded. Lots of kids giggled. She saw kids with paintings of perfect trees and houses. Her drawings looked messy next to them. She saw a group of girls, looking at her art. They had their noses up and looked at each other with a smirk.
Juliet wanted to hide. She grabbed her mom’s hand. “Can we go home?” she asked softly.
Rose smiled kindly. “Let’s walk around first, okay? Just look at everything.” They walked around, slowly. The smell of hotdogs and popcorn filled the air. Little kids were laughing and running around. Juliet started to relax a little. She looked at the art, really looked, not just at the perfect ones.
She noticed some drawings, not perfect. They were messy and fun and beautiful too. It made her smile. She went back to her little spot where her pictures were displayed. As she stood there, a young boy, about her age, with bright red hair and a splash of freckles on his nose, came up to her pictures. He stopped and stared, his eyes wide.
“Wow,” the boy said. “These are… different.”
Juliet’s cheeks turned pink. “Different good or different bad?” she asked softly.
“Different good!” he said with a big smile. “They look like how feelings feel, you know?” The boy’s name was Edgar. He went on, “Like… the big swirly one, it’s like when you spin so fast, you get dizzy, but in a fun way!”
Juliet’s eyes widened, “Yes! That’s exactly how it feels!” She was so happy someone understood. They talked for a while. Edgar told her his feelings were like loud clanging bells. She nodded. She understood. It was like Edgar was seeing the colors in her heart, just like she saw the colors in her drawings.
Others started to come over, too. Kids, and some adults. They asked her about her art. They listened to her explain what each line, each color, each shape meant to her. It felt really good. Like the sun was warming her face.
One lady with kind eyes and silver hair asked her, “How did you learn to draw like that? It is so unique.”
Juliet smiled. “I didn’t learn it, ” she said. “It just comes out of my heart.”
The lady nodded and smiled back, “That makes it even more beautiful.”
That day, Juliet didn’t just show her art. She shared a part of herself. She learned that even though her art was different, it was special. It was her own voice. She also realized that sometimes, people just need a little help to see things in a new way.
Later that evening, as the sun began to set over the town of Thistlemere, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, Juliet was looking at the sky with her mom, Rose. It felt warm and magical, just like her feelings that day. She looked at her mom and said, “I think I’ll draw the sky tomorrow. But, maybe I’ll use finger paints!”
Rose smiled and squeezed her hand. “That sounds wonderful, sweetie.”
Juliet took a deep breath of the cool evening air, she picked up a small pebble from ground and started tracing lines on the ground. A small smile touched her lips. The lines were not perfect, but they were beautiful in their own way. She continued to draw on the ground, enjoying the feel of the pebble in her hand. The pebble felt like her art, simple yet full of feeling.
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