"She likes to paint," said the nurse. She and Willy were walking down to Jane's room, talking about any new breakthroughs. "Yesterday, when they were in school, during break time she found the cupboard with the paints and started painting something large. She won't let nobody see it, probably not until it's done."

"Isn't that what all the great artists do?" he asked.

"She's painted something for you too. It's lovely. You oughtta check it out."

"She said it was for me?" he asked, hoping that meant she was talking.

"No, but it's pretty obvious it is. You'll see what I mean. And she's still not talking, if that's what you were wondering. Poor thing won't crack." He nodded and they passed the main room where Jane usually was.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"In the classroom. That's where she likes to paint."

"I didn't realize there were classrooms in a hospital."

"It's optional for them to go. The majority of them choose to because they know they get the credit for attending regular school if they do."

"You can run, but you just can't hide," he muttered.

"Actually, the majority of them like this better. School goes for only two hours, and there's two twenty minute breaks." Willy glanced at her and the nurse chuckled. "I know. Not much of a school is it?" He smiled and they approached a door. The nurse swiped her ID card through the slot on the side and was allowed through. To Willy, it felt like being in a prison every time he walked in. All the doors had locks on them that only nurses could open, there were security cameras everywhere, and the windows were all locked and built with bullet proof glass. Anyone in there would have a hard time getting out, that was for sure. There was little freedom for the patients, if any, which he didn't understand how any of them could live with. Freedom was taken away for their protection, and given to them during certain times through the day, then taken away again as if it was something that could be passed out. It seemed cruel almost, but when he saw how some of the other patients were, it made sense. He only felt bad for the ones who never did anything bad.

"Right this way," said the nurse, and she unlocked the classroom door and let him in, where Jane stood in front of a large canvas, mixing colors an carefully stroking them on. "Jane, you've got a visitor." The girl turned to look, and turned back to her canvas, picking it up and laying it down on the shelf in the closet and shut the door. The nurse left, and Willy stepped in, looking around.

"So this is your classroom?" he asked. "It's a little small." She held up two fingers and he looked. "Two rooms?" She nodded and he said,

"Oh." There was a radio playing from the back of the room and she walked over to it, turning up the volume. "You like music?" This was a very stupid question and he knew it, but was willing to try in order to get her to talk. The attempt failed and she simply looked at him and walked back to the counter. That was when he began to wonder why he was even there. He didn't know her at all, never had seen her before in his life. She didn't know him either. Heard of him, perhaps, but didn't know him know him. In fact, she was probably wondering why this strange man with a top hat and cane continued to see her.

But every time he saw her eyes, he recognized something. Whether it was the emotion or the internal pain, he recognized something, and saw some of himself in her. Not his bright cheery self, because she was far from it, but the part of him that came out on days when he was forced to remember his mother. Just the thought made him feel as if he were darkening on the inside, and when she glanced at him again, there was a brief moment where he felt like he was connecting with her. It was like their pain was the only thing they had in common, besides a love for chocolate of course.

"The nurses told me you love to paint," he said, looking at her.

She walked over to the other counter and picked something up. It was another canvas, only smaller than the one she had been working on, and she handed it to him. "What's this?" he asked, and she made a face that said, "Well, look at it dum-dum." He looked at it and was speechless. It was a painting of himself, perfectly done with every highlight, every detail, even in the hair. She had painted him standing outside his factory, one hand supporting himself with his cane, and the other pinching on to the brim of his hat with his fingers as if he were about to tip it. It was better than a standard, stand n' smile painting. It was beautiful, and he looked at her in astonishment.

"You did this?" he asked. Her eyes said yes, and he smiled. "This is beautiful." He started to hand it back, but she shook her head and pushed it back to him. "For me?" Another silent yes. "Thankyou. Thankyou very much." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a Wonka bar, her eyes immediately seeming to show a faint sparkle when she saw it. "I believe I promised you this," he said, and handed it to her. She took it and unwrapped it, taking a large bite into it. "I know you won't talk to me," he said after she was halfway through the bar. "And that's all right. It's your choice. But let's play a game, shall we? Tap once on the table for yes. Twice for no. All right?"

One tap. He smiled and leaned against the counter. "Do you have a family?"

She didn't look at him, but slowly reached to the table and did one tap.

"Do you live with them?"

Two taps.

He thought for a minute, not sure if it was a good idea to press on that topic so soon. "Do you have a favorite color?"

One tap.

"Red?"

Two taps.
"Green?"

Two taps.

"Yellow?"

Two very loud taps.

"Purple?"

Two taps. He was running out of colors.
"Blue?"

One tap, and it felt like he had just achieved a victory.

"Do you have a mother?"

One tap.

"Father?"

There was a pause, and she finally tapped once, a sad look on her face as if the thought pained her.

"Do you miss them?"

One tap. Tears were in her eyes now, and he decided to change the subject again.

"Do you have a pet?"

One tap.

"Cat?"

Two taps.

"Dog?"

Two taps.

"Does it have hair or fur?"

One tap.

"Is it a big animal?" This was beginning to feel like twenty questions.

Two taps.

"A mouse?"

Two taps.

"A rat?"

One tap. He made a face, and there was amusement hidden behind her eyes.

"Does it have a name?"

One tap.

"What's its name?" She glanced at him, and he caught himself. That was not a yes or no question, so of course she wouldn't answer, except with that face she was giving him. He sighed, and looked at the painting again. "This really is beautiful. You could be a great artist some day." She didn't look at him, and walked over to the far back of the room. "Will you ever talk?" She glanced over her shoulder, and reached out to the wall.

Two taps.
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