A Religon Called Music

I woke up the morning of my first day back to school feeling especially groggy. That night I had been troubled by a lack of sleep, feeling all but rested. Getting up, I stretched my arms and back, and walked to my closet.

I scanned the different colored fabrics hanging together, standing with a blank expression and a lack of ideas of what to wear. Collared shirt? No. Flowery tank top? No. Dress? Definitely not. I shut the door and walked to my dresser in search of more options. All that was there were tee-shirts. It didn’t really matter to me what I looked like on the first day of school, so I shrugged on a green Glamour Kills shirt – one of my new favorites. I also grabbed a pair of dark skinny jeans, strung a belt through the loops then turned to the mirror.

My hair was a little out of control so I considered straightening it, but I didn’t really have time. I still had to make sure I had all of my notebooks packed. It was such a pain to put in all this effort really, just to have teachers yell at you for something you didn’t do, or something you should have done because you can’t read their mind when they ask ridiculous questions. That and the lecturing is a punishment for anyone. But whatever – this year I was going to be stress free, no matter what problems were thrown at me. So I grabbed my backpack, and my keys off the desk along with my brand new license and started on the highway to hell.

~~~

I must have been out of my mind; stress free? Yeah right. After sitting in homeroom for just thirty minutes I already couldn’t take it. I hadn’t seen Sam that morning, and since we weren’t in the same homeroom to get our schedules, I had no idea when I was going to see her next. I walked into art as the bell rang and grabbed a seat at a stool.

As I turned my attention to the front of the classroom, I couldn’t believe it – there was Mr. Attractive from the mall! He walked around the different tables and picked a seat. There were only two seats – and of course he had to pick the one right next to me. Yep… that’s right, just my luck. Our eyes met for a split second and I felt my face grow hotter. It was going to be hard not to embarrass myself.

The teacher then came in from the storage closet and clapped his hands together, “Alrighty then!” he rubbed all the dried clay onto his pants. “How was everyone’s summer? Anyone do some sketching?” the question was met with a few grumbles. He walked over to the center of the room, scanning his eyes across each of his students’ faces. “This week we will just be drawing self-portraits to warm up your artistic senses. I have placed a mirror in front of you each. My hope is that before you start creating pieces of different and unfamiliar structures, you will draw something more well-known to you. I imagine all of you look at your reflections several times a day to focus in on your flaws. Instead, what I want you to do is to center your attention on what makes you beautiful.”

There were rolled eyes from many of the students, but Mr. Colbie ignored them. “Each person is different of course,” he continued, “and I want these to bring out the best. I don’t care if your nose is big, your cheeks still have baby fat, or if you facial hair makes you look like a gorilla.” This got a few snickers out of the class. “Draw you as you, and no one else.” I looked at the table at which I was seated. There was a pencil, eraser, colored pastels, and charcoal. I was used to paint, but from the various clay and metal sculptures placed around the room I got the feeling we wouldn’t be using them much.

“The point of art is to capture the beauty of an object, of a being. The human eye at first glance does not notice many of these things. We seem to take for granted all the colors that we see. Photography for instance, captures one moment in time, allowing the mind to recollect nature without the fading effect of memory. I want you to capture yourselves at this very moment. Young, and lively souls who have so much before them, and so much more to learn.” Seeing the half bored expressions, he cleared his throat. “You may begin.”

I knew what to do so I started out by drawing the shape of my head. It was when I was observing my features in the mirror that I felt a gaze on me. When I turned my head and realized who it was, I blushed. To my right a face was intently staring. I smiled out of nervousness.

Taking the smile as a green light, the mysterious boy spoke, “Hi, I’m Alec.” And smiled back at me. I could finally put a name to the face. “I’m new here and I don’t quite know my way around yet. I was wondering if you could tell me where the room for AP English is.” He took a small map of the school from his pocket.

I pointed to the left wing of the building, “It’s right there. From the main lobby you take a right if you were standing at the doors and head down that set of stairs. Then keep going straight down the ramp, left by the senior lockers, and it’s the second room on the right.”

“Thanks, that helps a lot. I know the school’s not that big but I missed the tour.” He put the map in his pocket and picked up a pencil. “So how long have you been here?” Alec asked, lightly depicting lines on the paper.

“Just since ninth grade.” I answered, turning back to the start of my portrait. I sketched in the roundish-almond shape of my eyes. “What other classes do you have?”

“Let’s see… there is History, Genetics, Psychology, Sociology, then gym.”

“Seems like you’ll be pretty busy with homework.”

“Yeah well, you know the guidance counselors…” he shrugged.

“Do I ever.” I said knowingly.

“Not so much talking please!” the earthy-crunchy teacher ordered from the front of the room.

“Sorry.” He mouthed silently.

I smiled back at him and whispered, “It’s alright.”

The room was silent until the end of the period, and many students jumped when the shrill sound of the bell interrupted the soundless air.