What I really loved about painting was that I was able to create a world that was only in my mind. Anything I could come up with, I tried my hardest to represent it on the canvas or paper. The only limit I had was in my imagination. It was the greatest feeling in the entire world.
“But you must also enjoy art class as well, Kate says you are really good,” Mrs. B commented. She must have noticed I was off in my own little world. Again.
“Yeah, I do. Right now we are doing portraits in art so that’s fun. I haven’t really done much with portraits.”
“You really like art don’t you?”
“I do. I love being able to make anything I want. It’s like being in a different world in which I can let my mind wander. There’s nothing else like it.”
“You think you will do it professionally? Go to art school and all that?”
I sighed. I didn’t want to think about it really. It was my dream, yes, but others haven’t been that supportive of me. My parents thought art school was a waste of time and money and that I should pick a better career like business or engineering. They said there is no money in art and that it wasn’t real work, and many of their friends agreed. It didn’t help that I had a sister that was starting medical school, another sister that was a senior going to major in physics, and that both of my parents were CPAs, Certified Public Accountants. None of my family understood anything about art, they only cared about what they called ‘the real world’, and nothing about the world of imagination.
“We will see, I guess,” I finally answered. I looked over to find Kate staring at me. “What?”
“You know you can do whatever you want,” she whispered quietly so her mother wouldn’t hear. “You don’t have to listen to your parents.”
Good ol’ Kate had been at my side every time my parents threatened to take away my paint or ballet shoes when I did badly in a class. If I got anything less than a ‘B’, I was doomed. If I ever had problems with homework, she was there helping me. I was thankful for such a great friend. “I have a while, I just don’t want to worry about it.”
“Okay.” After that serious question, she smacked my arm. “I saw you looking at Malcolm in English. You really like him don’t you?”
Not this again, I swore she made it her job to bug me every chance she could. I smacked her back. “I told you to knock it off. He would never go out with someone like me.”
Kate gave me that face, like I was despicable for thinking he wouldn’t like me. “Why not? You are awesome and creative, he would be lucky to have you.”
I sighed. “Because, there’s a bunch of girls lined up all the time trying to get him to take them out, and they always get rejected. I don’t want to be one of those girls.”
“But if you did get him, think of how crazy you would make them all. It would be awesome!”
“Just forget it, it will never happen.”
“Never say never.” She smirked, as if she knew something I didn’t.
I rolled my eyes. That would be the day, me with one of the most popular boys at school. That would just turn me into the most hated girl in school. Though Kate still would be my friend, which she really was my only real friend at school anyway, so it wouldn’t be much different. Maybe I should try, it wouldn’t hurt anything other than my ego.
No, I would never have the guts.
After a while, we made it to my house off Highway 22. Mrs. B dropped me off and I pulled my bike off the back of her car. I waved goodbye to them, after they made sure I had my keys this time, and unlocked the front door.
No one was home as my parents were still at work and my sister was at racquetball practice. For some reason Oregon was big into racquetball. It was fun but nothing I would compete in. The ball moved so fast sometimes and I would just get stuck on the wall, not moving my feet, as my sister’s coach said when I did try outs. He was pretty scary.
I set my things on the dining room table and grabbed the phone to call my mom. Usually I biked to her office after dance practice so I needed to let her know I didn’t feel well and that I got a ride home. I also knew I should call right now before I forgot, which has maybe happened once or twice. After ringing a few times, she picked up.
“Amanda Moselle speaking,” my mother answered her phone. She must have not looked at the caller ID again.
“Hi Mom, it’s me. I wasn’t feeling well so Mrs. B took me home.”
“What’s wrong, Meredith?” I hated it when my family used that name. It was my legal first name, but I never came to like it. It felt too stuffy for me, so I always went by my middle name and made sure teachers knew that before they did role call in class.
“Just have a bad migraine. Decided not to go to dance,” I explained. It wasn’t like she really cared about me skipping class as she didn’t see the point of ballet other than for exercise. It was so much more than that though.
“All right, thanks for calling. See you later tonight.”
I heard her phone click off and I hung up the phone. I sighed and grabbed my backpack. I needed to relax and the only way to do that was to paint.
