The next morning, Mr. Smith and I parted company. I took the flight back to Orlando. Mr. Smith had more business in New York. He asked if I wanted to accompany him there, but I didn't want to wear out my welcome and politely declined. He didn't seem too disappointed. He said he'd probably be tied up with meetings for a week or more anyway and wouldn't have much time for socializing. So I flew back home and spent a couple days recuperating from jet lag and savoring the magical moments of the previous days with Mr. Smith in Venice. My first couple of nights after my return, I continued having wild and crazy dreams about being a merman with Mr. Smith. The mysterious merman from my first dream kept appearing, but not saying anything. The handsome strange merman began haunting my daytime thoughts as well. So on the third day, I went into my studio and prepared a canvas. I didn't know what I was going to paint, but as I sketched and painted, a portrait gradually began to emerge. It took me several days and many false starts to finally reach a point where I was satisfied. I custom built a frame for it and hung it in the parlor where my grandfather's clock was. I was rather proud of how he had turned out. He looked exactly as I recalled him from my dreams. I wondered what Mr. Smith would think of him. A few days later, Mr. Smith showed up at my doorstep as he usually did. We greeted each other happily and I pulled him into my front room. We sat down and reminisced about the great times we had in Venice. He told me his time had been very boring in New York, but that there, as well as Venice, business had been very good and that he should have quite a bit of free time on his hands, at least for awhile. He asked what I had been doing, and I told him I had done a painting. He seemed curious so I asked him if he would like to see it. He said he would love to, so I took him into the parlor for a viewing. I wasn't prepared for his reaction though. It was like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer. He turned very white. Jabba had been standing by my grandfather's clock and looked up at Mr. Smith with a suprized look on his face. A grimace of barely controlled grief crossed Mr. Smith's face as he uttered 'He looks exactly like my late companion!', as he burst into tears, water flowing down his cheeks. His emotional outburst threw me into a frenzy. I was totally aghast at what I could have done to this person I was growing to love. I would never knowlingly hurt him for the world! I could tell he was desparately trying to bring himself under control, but the more he tried, the more pained he became. I was in such a state of shock myself that I was stunned to silence. I kept thinking to myself, 'What have I done? What have I done?'