Page 3 of Infinity Chronicles 1
I get a few more looks throughout the class period but nothing I couldn't handle.My last class of the day is the only elective available to me, art.To say I lack the creative gene would be too simple; frankly, I'm completely out of my element with anything artistic.
The teacher, a mild looking man in tan corduroy pants and a button-up shirt, is standing near a lab table.Oh no, these are the worst. I really don't want to share a table with anyone; it's hard to ignore someone sitting at the same table with you.
“Laura,” he addresses me in a smooth tone. I nod, stepping close enough that we won't draw too much attention from the others coming into the room. “I have an open seat for you right here.” He gestures to a table at the far left of the room. “We've been working on portraits for the display case at the front of the school for the past few weeks, after everyone arrives I'll get you started, and we'll see if we can get you caught up.”
I let my bag slide down my arm and to the floor next to the stool. The other seat at the table is still empty when I drop into mine. Do I dare hope it will remain that way?
I take advantage of the fact that few other students haven’t arrived yet and let my eyes scan the room.
The ceiling is high, leaving exposed gray beams crisscrossing above me, every inch of wall space from about ten feet down is covered with layers and layers of artwork. Some childlike with just smears of colors on aging construction paper, othersyou can tell the artist has real talent.
It's the most vivid place in the whole school; while everything else bleeds gray and bland, this room erupts in colors. It's a little dizzying honestly.
The scrape of a stool jolts me from my stupor as I stared at a particularly dark drawing. It almost covers the white paper completely in charcoal, but it still invokes a feeling of emptiness in me. I can'tmake out the images from my vantage point, but the desolation spans the room.Instinctively, I look over to the sound that disturbed me, and when I catch sight of a slightly scruffy chin, I snap my head back to face the front of the class.
I can't believe I was so distracted by the sketch, I didn't realize students were filling seats around me.
Mr. Adams greets the class by clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “All right guys, your portraits are due soon. I’ll make my way around the room to see if anyone needs a little guidance, if I don’t make it to you today, it’ll be first thing tomorrow. I want to see the best you have to give me.”
He makes his way over to my table, already carrying a large, thick piece of white paper. Mr. Adams leans his palms on the surface, and his eyes meet mine briefly before I move my gaze to the paper resting on the black desktop. “We've been focusing mostly on technique over the last few weeks, learning proportions and facial perspective. How familiar are you with portrait work?”
Looking at his thin neck and rounded chin, I whisper, “Not at all really. I haven't had art in a few years.”
“Ah, so no hope you'll be the next big E.J. Hill? Give Dante here something to work for?” I'm confused until I hear asnort next to me.
“Not a chance Mr. A,” my neighbor’s deep voice floats over me softly.
“Well I can always hope, can't I Dante?” the teacher responds lightly.After asking me a few more questions, the teacher leaves me with the paper and a sketching pencil, along with the overwhelming task of beginning my first portrait. I'm so lost.
Two
Iwalk home unhurriedly. Now that school is over for the day, I have a little free time to analyze the day.
My tablemate in art didn't utter a word as he worked on a beautiful picture of a woman. I had to stop myself from staring at his hands, moving across the paper so gracefully, at least three times. I finally understood what Mr. Adams was referring to when he was goading him. He must be beyond talented if what I’d seen today is any indication of his ability.
My meager drawing consisted of a few rough shapes, a large oval for the face of a pretty girl I found in a stack of magazines Mr. Adams said I could use for reference, and a trapezoid, the beginning form of her neck. I felt rather foolish with that guy Dante, beside me.
He seemed pretty popular, in art class at least four or five people greeted him by name when they moved around the room. He never did more than nod his head or a grunt in acknowledgment in return though. He seemed really taken with what he was doing.
When I get home, I know I'll find Mom either passed out on the couch, or bustling around our tiny home on wheels.
She only seems to have two speeds anymore. Lord knows she hasn't been sleeping at night for a while. I have to admit though, lately she's been off, even for her.
A large wooden sign that's lost most of its paint announces Turtle Park Resort as I pass from the black tar road to the gravel driveway of our new temporary home.
A “resort” it is not. Most of the sites are empty, and tall grass pokes through the gravel pads where most people park their RVs for a weekend camping trip. There are a few trailers permanently parked in the premium spots near the small man-made pond close to the front entrance.
It might even be quaint if it wasn't all so familiar, if we—like the others—only roughed it for the weekend, or even the summer. But we've been doing this for as long as I can remember. Trading one RV park for the next. Endless days of echoing shower stalls where you can never get any privacy, and dingy bathrooms covered in mildew and spiders.
I'm relieved the walk to school isn't too far this time; the busses never stop by these places for pickups no matter how far they are from the school.
Our site is secluded in the back of the park,where trees border one side while empty flat pads surround the others. Our motor home looks abandon as I approach.
The windows are all closed and covered with the heavy drapes Mom put up several years ago.
Easily finding the small key ring in my pocket, I tap quickly on the door before unlocking it, announcing myself.
Surprisingly, mom’s not asleep on the couch when I get in, and I don't see her anywhere in the tiny space. Maybe she laid down in the one bed we have, one I've tried to get her to sleep in for the past few months.
