The Vitruvian Man

Leonardo da Vinci was everything anyone could ever hope to be. Among his modest amount of paintings and sculptures, were the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper. He developed early forms of solar power through various experiments but “focused” more on astronomy, anatomy, hydrodynamics and mathematics. Among other research, he would hypothesize the existence of Earth’s plate tectonics nearly 400 years before proven correct. And in his spare time he made revolutionary conceptual designs for tanks, helicopters, calculators, double-hulled ships and hang-guilders.

On his deathbed, Leonardo da Vinci’s last immortal words were, “I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.”

I’ve been thinking about Leo da Vinci a lot lately. Colin never liked it when I called the man Leo—which actually reminds me about a story about Colin. I don’t think Leo da Vinci is related but I’m sure someone somewhere could make a connection.

It’s was about a year ago, no wait--it was more like six months ago. So anyway, about three months ago, Colin calls me up. He hadn’t called me for some time so I made sure to answer. Not that I was doing anything terribly important. I would have answered the phone for anybody I suppose. He said the flame of his life had run away--or burned out or something like that; it was actually rather poetic whatever it was. Apparently he was walking a dog down the street when Colin’s boss drove around a corner too sharp. Colin’s boss swerved Colin, ramped up the curb and crashed into an butternut tree. Maybe it was an elm tree. Anyway Colin’s boss broke his hand and the front axle suspension. Also he ran over and killed the dog. Colin was pretty broken up about it, but Colin’s girlfriend was more devastated since it was her dog. Think the dog’s name was Atticus. Don’t remember the girlfriend’s name. Actually now she's the ex-girlfriend.

Anyhow Colin was fired for off-duty negligence and decided to call me up because he was feeling kind of blue. I asked if he wanted to go get a drink but he said liver disease was too slow. The week prior he had bought himself two handguns on account of the Democrats getting back into the White House. Actually he got a free gun, too, because of a buy two, get one free deal. Personally I don’t know how a fellow could properly use three handguns at one time, but I guess it was a pretty good deal. Regardless of how many guns Colin bought, he only needed one and intended on using it right quick.

I hung up the phone and drove over to Colin’s house as fast as I could. About half way there I realized I probably shouldn’t have hung up on a man with suicidal intentions, but that would just have to be a lesson learned for next time.

I went to Colin’s house and got inside. I noted that I should tell Colin to lock his door so those punk kids don’t come robbing the place. But then I found Colin sitting, and breathing, in his favorite chair. He had a gun in one hand and a piece of people in the other. He handed me the piece of paper. At first I wanted the gun but I took the paper anyway. Go figure it was a suicide note not yet put to use. And what I read was simply incredible.

The words flowed like mountain water. Colin had written in brisk imagery, joyous alliterations and heart-crushing metaphors. The words created a rhythmic pattern Buddy Rich would envy. Colin had created silk with his vocabulary alone. The sheer linguistic beauty of what Colin wrote rendered me to tears. In short, it was a bit more fluent than this here story.

And my reading experience wasn’t alone. Colin told me that after he read what he wrote, it was too wonderful to kill himself. If he died, he could never read it again. If he died, he could never write like it again--and that wasn't fair to the world. It was on that day there that Colin decided he would forever be cheerful, energized and inspired. From that day on, Colin would be a writer.