The Drip on the Letter O

Lise worked for a sign painter named Bertil. Their small shop stood on a busy street. Every morning, Bertil mixed the paint. Every morning, Lise washed the brushes.

She was new, and she wanted to paint. But for three months, she only cleaned.

One Monday, Bertil looked at his sore wrist. He put down his brush.

"I have a job at the shoe shop," he said. "Henrik wants a new sign. I cannot hold the brush today."

"Who paints it?" Lise asked.

"You do," Bertil said.

Lise looked at him. "Me? Alone?"

"You know the letters. You watched me for months."

"I only watched," she said.

"Then now you paint," Bertil said. He gave her a ruler and a pencil. He gave her black paint.

Lise walked to the shoe shop. Henrik stood at the door. He was a tall man with kind, tired eyes. Above him hung the old sign. The paint was gone.

"Where is Bertil?" Henrik asked.

"His wrist hurts. I am Lise. I paint your sign."

Henrik looked at her hands. Then he nodded. "Please begin. I have shoes to fix."

Lise drew the letters in pencil first. She measured each one with the ruler. Her hand was slow, but the lines were straight. People stopped and watched her. A boy said, "She is good."

Then she took the brush. She painted H. She painted E. She painted N. The black paint was smooth and bright.

In SHOES, she painted a big round O. She was almost done. Then a drop of paint fell from the brush. It ran down the white board. It made a long black line under the O.

Lise stopped. Her face went hot.

"No," she whispered. She wanted to wash it off. But the paint was already dry at the edges.

Henrik came out of his shop. He looked at the sign. He did not speak.

"I am sorry," Lise said. "I paint the whole board again."

"That takes all day," Henrik said.

"Yes."

"Wait," said a voice behind her. It was Bertil. He held his wrist in his other hand. "I walked here. I wanted to see."

He looked at the long black line for a moment. Lise waited for him to be angry.

"Every painter makes a drip," he said. "I made one last week."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I looked at it. A drip is only a line. What can a line become?"

Lise looked again. The line was thin and long. It had a small round end at the bottom.

"A shoelace," she said slowly.

"Maybe," Bertil said. "Paint it."

Lise took the thinnest brush. She made the line curl to the left. Then she made a small loop. She added two short tips at the end. They looked like a real lace. The O became a shoe with a lace hanging down.

Nobody spoke. Henrik walked closer to the sign. He touched the air near the lace.

"It looks like a loose shoe," he said. "That is my work. People bring me shoes with loose laces and holes."

"I can make it neater," Lise said.

"No," Henrik said. "Leave it."

Bertil smiled and gave her a small paper. It was his old list of paint colors. "Tomorrow you paint the bike shop," he said. "I hold the ladder."

Lise put the brush in the tin. Henrik hung the new sign above his door. Then he turned the card in his window. CLOSED became OPEN.