An art project opens the door to a child's thoughts of death.
Finding Peter
IN PREVIOUS SUMMERS, the break from teaching had never seemed long enough, but this summer felt like it would never end. Her blouse still damp, a bra chafing her skin, Anna Ringaard splashed through puddles on Prague's Charles Bridge. A dozen sooty saints scowled down from the balustrades. Cowering like a mom who'd let go of a toddler's hand only to have him disappear, she offered her missing-person's flyer to Czech street artists in olive drab. The flyer's picture looked a little menacing; her son's eyes glowered out from under his mop of hair. Peter hadn't liked being photographed. No biggie. Art was more truthful. It spoke from the soul, her soul, at least. She had drawn him as she remembered him: a troubled young man.
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