The Way I See You

Bill was relieved by the knocking at his apartment door. It snapped him out of his concentration, and while he was mildly annoyed at being distracted, his wing appreciated being able to uncurl from the brush it had been holding. The painting wasn't going well, and Bill was glad to turn his back on it for now. He opened the door, and a familiar shadow fell over him.

"Oh. Hi, Aldo" he greeted.

"Hi, Bill!" the alligator greeted, and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "You ready to go? Boy, I can already taste that two-for-one milkshake deal down at Bev's!"

Bill clapped a wing to his forehead as he remembered their plans for the afternoon. He'd completely forgotten.

"Ohh-hhh" the duck groaned, and aimed an apologetic expression at his best friend. "Would you mind if we waited for a little bit? I've gotten into something I need to finish first."

Aldo's stomach rumbled faintly, but the gator kept himself from looking too disappointed.

"Well, okay" he conceded. "I guess those milkshakes will still be there, later."

He let himself into Bill's apartment, looking around for the "something" his pal was working on.

"You don't have to wait for me; you could go on ahead" Bill said – partially out of courtesy, but also because he anticipated Aldo's inevitable restlessness.

"Naw, it's not as much fun without you" the reptile replied, before coming to a stop in the middle of the living room. "Hey, is that what you're working on?"

He pointed at the canvas resting on the easel in Bill's art corner. The image Bill had been illustrating – about three-quarters of the way finished – was of a duck standing on a hill at sundown, its beak upturned at a flock of birds flying far overhead. It was a more dramatic-looking picture than Bill usually painted, and Aldo stared it longer than he would at Bill's other works.

"Yeah, that's it" the artist replied, gazing at his painting. "The art gallery's hosting an exhibition for local artists, and I reserved a spot for me. I've been trying for days to come up with something new…"

He motioned towards the opposite corner, where the trashcan was overflowing with discarded canvases.

"Well, this one looks pretty great!" Aldo said heartily.

His compliment sounded genuine, and Bill appreciated it. He felt a little pretentious being self-critical around Aldo, and tried not to disparage his own work too much.

"It's not bad. The shading turned out better than I hoped. But I just don't know if this is unique enough. I think a lot of artists will be working with the same theme."

He looked up at Aldo.

"I'm sorry for making you wait, but today's the last day the gallery's accepting pieces. I don't have much longer before I have to take this down there. We'll go to Bev's on the way back."

Aldo laughed warmly and turned away, looking for a place to sit. "Don't sweat it. There'll be other exhibitions, I'll bet."

"Yeah…" sighed Bill, climbing back onto his stool and beholding his picture with dissatisfaction.

Aldo had been heading for the couch when he noticed the lawn chairs standing by the balcony door. Bill had brought them in the night before because of the rain, along with the bongos, and now the midday sun was shining right onto where they stood. The sight was too tempting for Aldo's reptilian blood, and he turned the larger of the two seats so the sun would fall onto his back when he sat. He pulled the bigger set of bongos towards him, but realized at the last moment that music would probably distract Bill (which would further delay their getting to Bev's). Instead of playing, he leaned on the instrument with his forearms. The pleasant warmth of the sunshine coupled with the ambient silence and soon had him feeling sleepy.

With half-closed eyes, Aldo watched Bill's back. The duck was tentatively stroking the canvas with his brush, his body tense with concentration. Though it would've been hard to put into words, the alligator found pleasure at the sight of his friend so involved in his passion. He personally didn't understand the appeal of painting, but it did his heart good to see his pal immersed in an activity that meant so much to him. And while sitting and watching Bill paint wasn't his idea of a great time, it made him feel even more serene. Gradually, the gator began to doze.

A short while later, Bill turned on his swivel chair to tell Aldo that they could go. He'd given up on achieving his vision, and had thrown a bit more color onto the canvas just to call it complete. However, he shut his beak at the sight before him. Aldo's eyes were closed and his head was down, pillowed by his arms resting on the bongos. The sunlight streaming in behind him outlined his form in gold, exalting Aldo with an aura of natural wonder.

Inspiration struck Bill like a lightning bolt.

He grabbed his easel and set it so that he could face Aldo. He set aside the completed failure (pessimistically titled "The Futility of Hope") and prepared a new canvas. He cleared his palette, removing the dabs of red and replacing them with green and yellow. Mixing at top speed, he laid the first brush strokes down within a minute and felt a promising twinge of anticipation in his gizzard when – for the first time since beginning this endeavor - he didn't feel like he was already doing something wrong. Bill went on painting, increasingly aware that he was creating something good. Not only was it good, but he was certain that the theme and feelings he captured wouldn't be common among the gallery's other works. He'd painted his friend many times before, but this was turning into something special.

Aldo grunted in near-sleep.

"I'm actually getting something, here" Bill declared excitedly. "Aldo, is it okay if I submit this portrait of you to the gallery?"

"Mmmph" replied the gator dozily. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want."

He yawned, then went to sleep entirely. Bill didn't notice, and his inspiration allowed him to finish in record time. He felt immensely proud as he signed his name to the corner, and gave the completed work one more proud inspection before looking 'round at his subject.

"Hey, you wanna see how you turned out?" he asked.

Aldo only answered him with a snore, making Bill chuckle. Good old Aldo, he thought as he set his palette aside and hopped from his stool. The gator didn't wake in the time it took for the paint to dry, and as the deadline for submission ticked closer, Bill decided against rousing him. He didn't have the heart for it. Aldo looked more peaceful than he'd ever seen him, and quite in contrast to how he usually slept with his maw open and at least two limbs hanging over the edge of the couch. He decided to just leave Aldo here. He scribbled a note, telling the reptile where he'd gone and that he'd bring the milkshakes back with him. 'Thanks for posing for me. Everyone is going to love your portrait,' the note concluded, and Bill left it where Aldo would find it when he awoke.

"You're the best" he affectionately informed the sleeping alligator, smiling when Aldo guffawed in his sleep.

Bill covered the canvas with paper and made sure to be extra quiet as he pulled the door closed on his way out. As he drove to the gallery and back to his apartment from the Decoy Café, a content sort of excitement radiated in his breast and he reveled in the feeling of having accomplished something noteworthy. He wasn't a prideful duck, but he was very eager for the next day's unveiling. Most of all, he couldn't wait until Aldo finally saw it for himself.

…That is, until he got back home.

"You did what?!" Aldo demanded, clutching the note in his hand. His eyes were bigger than duck-sized dinner plates.

Standing in front of his friend with the four milkshakes still in his arms, Bill regarded the gator with surprise. This wasn't the reaction he'd expected, and assumed that Aldo must have misread his message.

"I just took the portrait of you to the gallery. It's going to be part of the exhibition" he stated. "Aldo, would you help me with these? I think Bev managed to pour a half-gallon into each of 'em…"

Aldo groaned and turned away, walking into the living room with a hand over his eyes, and leaving a surprised Bill to carry the four paper cups to the coffee table. He set them down and watched Aldo pace about agitatedly.

"Bill!" the alligator exclaimed. "When did paint me?"

"While you were in the chair" Bill replied.

"While I was-" Aldo sputtered, whipping his head around to glance at the chair by the bongos. "You should've asked me!"

"I did!" Bill insisted, his tone rising, and recounted the exchange to the slack-jawed alligator.

The revelation seemed to stump Aldo, and he wasn't happy about it. He closed his mouth and his eyes formed an angry slant. Bill was confused.

"What's the problem? I've painted you lots of times and it's never bothered you."

He cast his wing about the apartment, showing off the numerous works he displayed: both of them riding on Bill's scooter, both playing the bongos, Aldo about to launch Bill for an attempt at flight… The gator glanced at these framed pictures, but even though his aggression seemed to abate, he shook his head in discontent.

"That's the both of us. It's different" he insisted. "And these are just hanging in your home! I don't like the thought of hundreds of people staring at a picture of just me, asleep. I just don't like it."

Bill felt his insides go chilly. He also experienced an ember of hot irritation at how Aldo was reacting, but knowing that he'd done something to potentially embarrass his friend was decisively the worse feeling. He stood silently for a moment, reflecting with great remorse on how his presumption had cost Aldo his peace of mind. In desperation, he imploringly held out his wings to the gator.

"But Aldo… It's good" he insisted in a gentle tone. "It's really, really good. I think once you see it…"

But the Swampwooder only shook his head and lowered his gaze. With his tail hanging low, he headed for the front door.

"I know you didn't mean anything bad by it, but this really bothers me. I'm gonna go."

"But- But-!" Bill spluttered, his remorse compounded by sudden helplessness. "But Aldo-! Your milkshakes…!"

"You can have 'em" Aldo muttered, adding before he closed the door "I lost my appetite."

The serene silence that had filled Bill's apartment before was replaced by a voiceless gloominess, now that the duck was alone. Eventually, Bill – whose appetite had now gone, too – sat down on his couch and watched as perspiration formed on the paper cups. Two of the lids had been marked with an "A" in black marker, which Bev had made especially for Aldo by crumbling bouillon into the milkshakes. Bill certainly wasn't going to drink them, but try as he might to alleviate his guilt by thinking of how Aldo's overreaction had cost him two milkshakes, he couldn't deny his own fault in this.

He hadn't had the slightest notion that Aldo wouldn't want his portrait displayed, but he'd been so eager to show off that he'd jumped the gun on his pal. He knew Aldo hadn't comprehended his asking permission while half-asleep, and Bill admitted that he'd been happy to take the gator's feelings for granted. Now it had cost Aldo, and because Bill had never embarrassed him to such a degree before, he wondered just how hard the gator would take it.

When Bill eventually rose from the couch to transfer the milkshakes to the refrigerator, he decided that he had to make amends. The gallery was closed now, but he would be there as soon as it opened on the following day. He would beg the staff to give him his painting back, even if it meant replacing it with the less inspired work he'd slapped together earlier. The curator – Mr. Salvador Ducki – had been impressed by the portrait and would no doubt see that the replacement wasn't a fair trade, but Bill would insist. Even if it meant that he might not have his work displayed in future exhibitions, Bill committed himself to retrieving the picture and mending Aldo's feelings. Their friendship was more important than pride, even when it came to the best picture that Bill had ever painted.

His mind far away, Bill took one of the milkshakes from fridge and failed to look at the writing on the lid before taking a sip. He spat the salty mouthful all over the floor.

Much to Bill's distress, the morning was not on his side at all.

Though he'd decided to arrive at the gallery before opening hours, his doorbell rang just as he was heading out.

"Ducktown Water Works Association!" announced the duck in the uniform. "Time to read your meter!"

This buffoon read Bill's electricity, clocks, and television guide before finally locating the water meter. Had he finished but a minute earlier, Bill would've been able to slip past the census taker, the bow tie salesman, and the evangelists that successively blocked his doorway and cost him valuable time. He was at least able to dash out of reach of the cookie-bearing scouts heading outdoors, his replacement painting under his wing. He may yet have made it to the gallery with moments to spare, were it not for the ice cream vendor whose cart he rammed with his scooter.

The worst thing wasn't being shouted at in Italian, the police citation, or the broken headlight, but the fact that he hadn't thought to wrap the replacement painting in paper. It now looked as though he'd painted it in gelato. Bill didn't even entertain the thought of trying to exchange it in this state, and stuffed it in the nearest trash can.

By the time Bill finally made it to plaza in front of the art gallery, the exhibition had opened. He knew it had: he'd checked his watch while his citation was being written, and his heart sank upon realizing that he'd no longer be able to keep everyone from seeing the painting. At least the art connoisseurs would catch a glimpse. But as Bill realized upon reaching the scene, not only Ducktown's resident art-lovers were present. In the biggest, cruelest jest of the morning, he would've sworn that the entire town had turned out for the exhibition. He even spotted Fred the penguin in the crowd streaming into the building, sporting a dozen ice packs strapped to his body.

"How…? Why…?" Bill asked aloud. "Why is everybody interested in art today?"

"Eh, eet's something to do" said a familiar voice, and Bill looked about to see Raoul the crow striding his way, slurping a boxed drink and clearly just having exited the building. "And there's some prooblem weeth the satellite station, so there's noothing on TV."

As Bill uttered a despairing groan, Raoul nudged him with an elbow.

"Cheer oop, Señor Duke. As laughable as your attempts at flight may be, so mooch better ees your picture."

"Oh, no" Bill whispered, hiding his face in his wings. "If you've seen it, that means everyone's seeing it!"

"So looovingly painted" Raoul teased. "'Choo better be careful, unless 'choo want people talking about your friend and 'choo."

Bill was already off and running by the time Raoul finished speaking, his need to reclaim the picture now positively urgent. The crowd wasn't tightly-packed but he had to weave around other ducks as he searched the hallways for his painting. He had no idea how many local artists must be in the city, for there was no shortage of works that weren't his. He felt weakly vindicated by his decision to ditch his first painting, because flight was indeed the predominant theme among the paintings, sculptures, and performance pieces. In search for his picture, he peered through the arc of a statue featuring two airborne ducks forming a figure eight, dashed through a corridor lined with a series of paintings illustrating a duck taking off, and almost ran into a painted performer who was doing an impressive job of miming flight.

He'd almost circumnavigated the entire gallery – and was growing hopeful that his painting may not have been displayed - when he finally found it. Given how the rest of the day had gone, he supposed that he shouldn't be surprised that the curators had ensured that everyone would see his picture. He'd hoped that his painting may at least have been hung in some shadowy corner or behind a sign telling visitors not to touch the art, but instead it had been positioned in the center of a wall, slightly apart from the adjoining works, and one of the overhead spotlights shone down on it.

A crowd was gathered in front of the picture. The curator, Mr. Ducki, was talking rapturously to the audience, gesticulating and pointing for emphasis. Bill wanted to cry.

Nevertheless, he rallied his resolve and began walking slowly towards the crowded painting. Under different circumstances, he would've been thrilled at how his art was received and would've liked nothing more than to let people know he had painted this fantastic work. He felt prouder of his painting now than he had yesterday…but that didn't matter. He had to get it off the wall. If he couldn't successfully appeal to the curator, he was earnestly considering shredding the canvas with his own wings. He steeled himself for that distinct possibility, and wondered whether he could be arrested for destroying his own painting.

"Ah! The artist himself!" exclaimed Mr. Ducki as he spotted Bill in the crowd. "Up here, please!"

The townsfolk parted and a moment later, Bill had the mustachioed curator's wing on his shoulder. He tried to speak to him confidentially, but Mr. Ducki was already going on loudly.

"As I was saying, the concept of this piece – absolutely inspired!" he declared in a tone usually reserved for audiences ten times this size. "As ducks, it is natural for us to recoil at the sight of an alligator and thank our lucky stars should he be asleep, but the feeling that this young man has captured here – the enticement, the temptation… Fascinating impression, dear boy. Why, just look at how the use of shading – the shadows brightening into sunlight – beckons the viewer closer to investigate the beast! I almost want to reach out and pet him!"

Bill pursed his bill and tried to withstand the praise. He so very much wanted to bask in the commendation and wallow in the validation, but he couldn't let himself lest he lose his nerve. He opened his mouth to get the curator's attention, but a familiar voice from the crowd beat him to it.

"I'm struck by the intimacy of the picture" said Bev, who had slipped Bill's gaze despite standing in front of the throng in her gaudy glasses and leopard-print hat. "Even someone who's never met an alligator before – or who's only been chased by one – can look at this painting and feel like in the presence of someone they've known for years."

She caught Bill's eye and smiled at him. "Bill, this is a very moving portrait. I'll bet Aldo loves it."

An uncertain smile that squiggled across Bill's beak. Mr. Ducki, on the other wing, didn't look pleased at all for having been interrupted, but before he could go on, more familiar voices interrupted his monologue. Ed, Oly, and Waddle had pushed their way to the front of the crowd, and the two foremost brothers gave the picture a cursory glance before loudly offering their opinions.

"I don't get what the big deal is. It's just Aldo" Ed said dismissively.

"Yeah, an' he's jus' sleepin'. What's so special about that?" Oly added.

"Why don't you bring one of the pictures you did of the both of you?" Ed asked Bill. "At least there's some action goin' on in those. Heh, like the one where he's about to go long with you – you know the one I'm talkin' about?"

"Or th' one where you're both dancin' like a coupla fools" Oly added with a grin. "Jus' sayin'. Nothin' personal, Bill. Seeya later."

"Seeya" Ed added, and moved with Oly to detach themselves from the crowd.

They had gone a few paces before realizing that their remaining brother wasn't with them. They turned in time to see Waddle approaching the painting. He peered at it intently, then offered his analysis.

"I see a slumbering predator who could wake and become dangerous at any moment" he began, his childlike voice uncharacteristically serious. "But at the same time, he looks vulnerable. As dangerous as he appears, there's an implication that he's worth the risk."

Bill, Bev, and everyone else who knew Waddle stared at him in the wake of such unexpected astuteness. His brothers were the first to recover, and turned their beaks towards the painting for a longer look.

"…Okay, now I see it, too" Ed said matter-of-factly, and glanced towards Bill. "Nice one."

"Yeah. Really cool, Bill" Oly added.

It was finally too much for Bill's convictions to withstand, and he burst into an ear-to-ear grin. In this moment, pride and recognition eclipsed his sense of loyalty. Other people thought his work was good; they were praising something he had made. He was receiving the reward that all artists hoped for, and had to clasp his wings before him to keep from fidgeting with happiness. He looked at his picture and delighted as he saw for the first time that it was hanging above a card bearing his name and the title he had given it: Alligator at Rest. He gazed back at the crowd and drank in the sight. Some were smiling outright at his work, others were scrutinizing it. A few pairs of ducks in the back were even discussing it amongst themselves.

And behind them, standing close to the opposite wall and staring up at the mounted canvas, was Aldo.

Cold dread splashed over Bill, every bit as intense as if he were facing the chopping block.

"Aldo…!" he choked.

The alligator went on staring, his eyes wide.

Whimpering with anxiety, Bill pushed his way through the crowd until he reached his friend. The reptile didn't even look down.

"Aldo, no-! I'm- I'm so sorry!" Bill cried. "I- I was going to be here early and tell them to take it down, but then… The meter guy…! The ice cream cart…! And then I couldn't find…! Oh Aldo, I'm sorry!"

Aldo said nothing. He strode forward, easily parting the crowd. With Bill trailing him, he walked right up to the painting and beheld his illustrated self point-blank, his lower jaw hanging delicately.

"Please, sir – no panting on the painting" Mr. Ducki bade.

Slowly, Aldo turned from the painting to look at Bill, who was wringing his wings.

"Bill… This is what you painted yesterday?" Aldo asked. "I had no idea. This… It's the best thing you've ever done. And not just because I'm in it."

Bill, having been ready to migrate on the spot, relaxed incrementally.

"But…how do feel about this?" he asked. "I promise, if you want to rip it off the wall and run, I'll distract security!"

Aldo laughed pleasantly, and the sound loosened the muscles that had tensed deep inside of the duck. The alligator reached down and gently shook his best friend by the shoulder, which had the effect of shaking a smile back onto the duck's face.

"Everyone!" Aldo addressed the crowd. "Do you see this picture? Do you see how good it is? My friend painted that in less than an afternoon! And he did it on an empty stomach! Can you get any better than that?"

The crowd valued that sort of achievement, and an appreciative applause went up. That was just gravy for Bill, who was happiest for the fact that Aldo was smiling at him again.

It was as though nothing had happened. For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Bill and Aldo walked around the gallery – sometimes looking at the art but otherwise remaining deep in conversation. They talked about painting, artistic themes and exhibitions in general, and from there branched off into milkshakes, scout cookies, and unwanted visitors. Inevitably, they ran into Bev, Ed, Oly, and Waddle again, but even the brothers could sense the reconciliation going on and didn't press their conversation for too long.

Eventually, the gallery began closing its doors, and the last few visitors headed for the exit. Bill and Aldo were among them, but paused along the way. Their path had taken them by Bill's painting, and both stopped to look at it again. Alligator at Rest was rendered dimmer by the overhead light being turned off, but hadn't lost any of its grandeur. It would hang there for the rest of the week, after which Bill would finally reclaim. He planned to give it to Aldo.

"So… You're really all right with it hanging here?" Bill asked, keeping his voice low in the empty corridor.

"Well…" Aldo replied. "It still bothers me a bit – just a tiny bit. But it also makes me feel good. I look good, definitely. And people love it."

"You are a great model" Bill stated.

Aldo chuckled, then his laugh faded into silence. The two stood before the picture for a while longer, saying nothing. The mood between them had grown intimate; personal. It was as though the world at large had gone away and Bill and Aldo were the only ones who existed.

"Hey, buddy" Aldo murmured, eyes still on the picture. "I'm sorry I got so upset at you yesterday."

"It's okay" Bill assured him. "And I'm sorry for having done this without your permission."

"Don't worry about it."

Bill's mind had begun to drift to other matters, like whether those milkshakes in his fridge were still good, when he felt Aldo's hand on his wing. He looked down to see the alligator's thick, green digits clasp the tip of his limb, pressing their palms together. He looked up and found Aldo's eyes on him. They were serene and warm.

"I like how I look to you" Aldo quietly confessed.

This simplest and most heartfelt compliment, coming from the person he cared most about, was the nicest thing Bill had heard all day. It warmed his heart so much that he couldn't keep a renewed grin off his face, and he beamed at Aldo while giving his hand a heartfelt squeeze. The two of them were still holding each other's gaze when Mr. Ducki finally found them and directed them off the premises.

"C'mon, you big lug" Bill chuckled as they headed down the sidewalk. "There are four milkshakes still waiting for us at my place. When we're done with those, maybe I'll teach you how to paint, and you can let me see…y'know…how I look to you."

"That sounds great" Aldo replied, meaning what he said; painting suddenly seemed more of a worthwhile endeavor. "Don't take it personally if you come out a little two-dimensional at first – I'm still new at this."

The two of them held hands all the way to Bill's scooter.

The End