“Yeah, she must have been screwy in the head to fall for me in the first place.”

“Nathan,” Dad corrects me with a stern voice. “I don’t want to hear you talk like that. You know you’re a loving and devoted partner. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with you otherwise.”

“All right, sorry.” I look down and kick some leaves gathered on the sidewalk. “I guess you’re right, I am a good partner.”

“That’s more like it,” he agrees.

“You know while you are waiting for her, why don’t you write her a letter explaining how you feel. It could be cathartic. And once you’re done you can consider whether you want her assistant to give it to her or not.”

I nod my head and listen as he continues.

“I think you need to start at the beginning and explain to Brooke not just why she inspired you, but your fears all along in telling her the truth.”

His advice makes sense and I nod in agreement. It’s time to tell Brooke the whole truth. Even if it’s too late…it still must be told.

As we continue to walk, Dad changes the subject, and we talk about the cases Walter has already uncovered that support our position. Everyone seems optimistic, and it gives me hope. Walter has also contacted Sharper Edge and established a relationship with their lawyer.

Some comic book companies of late, have begun giving more rights and recognition to the artists that create their characters, while also giving them freedom to develop their own properties on the side. That bodes well for my case, considering any work I did on B-Girl was always at home and not at all related to the shows I worked on.

“Are you really hopeful, Dad, or am I just wasting money fighting this?”

“I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Nathan. This could be an ugly, extended battle in court. But we’ll support you through the case, not just emotionally but however you need us to financially, because we know it must be done.”

“But Dad, I don’t want to take your money…”

“We want to help. I think you know Mom and I have dealt with several lawsuits over the years regarding my inventions. If you don’t fight for your creations, believe me, people will walk all over you…but even worse, it will kill your creative spirit.”

I nod. Dad’s right. I doubt I’ll ever have the heart to create again if I don’t get B-Girl back and Arnold does what he wants with her.

Later at home, I check the calls I’ve missed and marvel with each new round of information from the dramatic day at Sketch Republic. Nick’s message informs me that in the afternoon all four hundred and seventeen Sketch Republic minions were marched into the auditorium to be yelled at. Despite management’s threats, no one got called out, nor did anyone step forward. The whole execution was so flawless that not a single person is identified as mastermind, instigator, accomplice, or implementer of the grandest gesture in the history of animation studios. I conclude that it’s a day that will live in infamy; a story that will be passed on from cartoonist mothers and fathers to geeky sons and daughters, for generations to come.

• • •

Despite the encouraging things that happened earlier, that night as I lie in bed, the melancholy sets back in as I recall how different my life was just a couple of weeks ago when I still worked at Sketch Republic and got to see Brooke and my friends every day. I feel so isolated now.

I also longingly remember how it felt all the times Brooke was here with me. Sometimes I would just run my hand along her sides, and over her hips, filled with disbelief that she was actually here in my arms. I coveted those moments, every one of them.

I toss and turn, dozing off and then fretfully awakening with a start, gasping the still air of my darkened room. The dreams that torment me are fragments, flickering animation frames interspersed with images of Brooke that shift from Black and white, to color and back again. After the third nightmare jars me from sleep, I give up and finally get out of bed.

I continue my sick ritual of checking my cell phone every hour for messages, and the crushing disappointment when there aren’t any. Whatever she’s going through, I just desperately wish she’d call.

After turning on the T.V., I make some coffee and fire up the remote, flipping through all the channels and trying to find the most distracting show as possible to watch. Despite the magic of satellite, there still isn’t much compelling to watch at four-thirty in the morning.

As I sprawl on the couch I look through a sketchbook that had been left on the coffee table until I find an empty page. Remembering Dad’s advice, I slip the cap off a pen and consider the blank slate. There is so much to say that I hardly know where to start.

Dear Brooke…

I sit with my pen suspended in mid-air until I finally give up and lay it down.

How do I explain that it hurts to breathe without her here? That as much as I had initially admired and desired her, I had no idea how truly spectacular she was, and is, until I held her in my arms.

As my thoughts tumble, I grab the pencil lying next to the pen, and start moving it over the page as I think of her. The lines are loose, but I keep circling back until a sketch of Brooke and I at the Hollywood Bowl comes to life. I smile at the happy memory.

I hold it out in front of me, studying the image. Inspired, I continue on, tightening the drawing and adding a few background details. When it’s to a place I’m satisfied, I write underneath:

Although I always had a dream for us…this was the night I realized a future with you was truly possible…that it was unfolding right before my eyes.

I feel a surge of emotion as I study it again and suddenly it comes to me. There’s no better way for me to show Brooke what’s in my heart.

I grab my coffee and head to my studio. The whirl of the pencil sharpener ignites me as I flip to the opening page of a new sketchbook. I write the words first.

There was once a boy, who longed to meet a special girl. He desired to find his true love, yet he couldn’t find her…

…that boy was me.

As I stroke my pencil across the page, a rendering forms of a younger me perched at my drawing table. In the sketch, my hand cups my cheek as I lean forward and daydream out the window.

I turn to the next page.

Every girl I met was too hip, or mean, or not appealing…or just not for me.

I started to wonder—would I ever find my girl?

This sketch is more animated. I look flustered in the drawing where I’m in the middle of the page with a question mark over my head, while surrounded by little caricatures of different types of girls. Judging from my expression and body language, none of the girls are to my liking.

But one day, while I sat in the audience at a big company presentation, the most beautiful girl walked across the stage.

The drawing is of a stage with Brooke approaching the podium. The audience in the foreground is dark, with simple lines indicating the people in their seats, except for one seat where there’s more detail. It’s as if a beam of light shines down on me, and from my expression as I watch her, it’s obvious I’m enraptured.

She was smart, and funny, warm and charming…and so, so beautiful.

I happily sketch a close up shot of Brooke at the podium, smiling as only Brooke can do.

And in that single moment, I fell in love…

From then on, everything was you, Brooke.

The page features a close up of me, my eyes wider than my glasses as I watch her. There is a thought bubble over my head where she is in my arms and little hearts float around us.