smile.
“One-of-a-kind,” I agreed, and Jackie winked at me.
Camille and Isabelle threw themselves into the drawings with gusto. I sat down near an empty sheet of paper and stared at it. An awkward lump of charcoal sat discarded nearby, and I picked it up.
“Try it with your eyes closed,” Isabelle said, startling me. I looked up to see her watching me, her great glasses drooping on her nose. “Don’t think too much about it. Just put whatever picture first comes to your mind on the paper.”
“With my eyes closed?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “It’s amazing what the mind’s eye can express if we just let it.”
I hesitated, looking from Jackie to Camille and back to Jackie. Isabelle had already turned away, paintbrush in hand, pointing out a few different tubes of color to her mesmerized student. No one else paid attention to me. With one final pause, I closed my eyes and lifted my hand to the page. At first I envisioned a trail, with Letum ivy hanging from the soaring branches, and Papa behind me, walking hand in hand with Mama. I started to draw the lines of the trees, their great arms reaching out. Then I saw the emerald colors of spring and summer. The blur of the colors when I ran. It all built on itself, and my arm moved faster and faster until I opened my eyes. Expecting to see the outline of the green tunnel that lived in my memory and dreams, my hand fell to my lap in disappointment.
“Oh,” I whispered. “That’s not it at all.”
An odd conglomeration of lines and twists met me. None of my leaves came together. Not a single point or shape seemed purposeful. A massive blob of smudged black lines stared back at me. Isabelle moved behind me and looked at it with her head cocked to the side.
“Don’t be discouraged. Drawing with your eyes closed isn’t done to produce a masterpiece. It’s done to help you see.”
I stared at the mess in skeptical regard. Even if I turned the picture upside down, it remained a mess. A disaster, even in art’s name. A sudden melancholy took over me, and I didn’t know why.
“See what?” I asked.
The mess that is my soul?
“I don’t know,” Isabelle shrugged. Her cryptic voice annoyed me. “That’s for you to decide. Don’t give up on it yet.”
Jackie slinked over and stood behind my shoulder.
“That looks like a raven,” she said, motioning towards a group of lines meant to be, I imagined, the thick overhead canopy. “Ravens are the harbinger of death, you know. At least, in divination, when they stand alone like that.”
The words struck a nervous chord inside me. Harbinger of death. Jackie pushed against my shoulder with one hand. “You should let me do a reading with you one day,” she said. “I think it would be very interesting.”
More like terrifying.
“Sure,” I said, with more conviction than I felt, motioning towards Isabelle with a nod of my head. “As soon as you get those Diviners’ cards.”
“Put it somewhere you can see it,” Isabelle instructed, shoving her glasses higher on her nose. “Sometimes the answer will come to you when you least expect it.”
Resisting the urge to crumple it and use it for fuel in the fire, I stood up from the chair. “Yes, Isabelle. I’ll do that. Thank you.”
Pleased again, and oblivious to the underlying tone of frustration in my voice, she returned to Camille’s side. I took my appalling piece of art to my bedroom, and just to be contrary, tacked it on my wall, where I’d see it every day.
A Terrible Thing
“B ianca?”
Camille’s voice from behind my door interrupted my agitated pacing on the night of the second match. I yanked the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a crack. Camille let out a little yelp of surprise. Leda just rolled her eyes, undisturbed as usual.
“Hi,” I said, grimacing as I recovered the door. “Sorry to scare you. I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.”
“We came to wish you good luck,” Camille explained,
“One-of-a-kind,” I agreed, and Jackie winked at me.
Camille and Isabelle threw themselves into the drawings with gusto. I sat down near an empty sheet of paper and stared at it. An awkward lump of charcoal sat discarded nearby, and I picked it up.
“Try it with your eyes closed,” Isabelle said, startling me. I looked up to see her watching me, her great glasses drooping on her nose. “Don’t think too much about it. Just put whatever picture first comes to your mind on the paper.”
“With my eyes closed?”
“Yes,” Isabelle said. “It’s amazing what the mind’s eye can express if we just let it.”
I hesitated, looking from Jackie to Camille and back to Jackie. Isabelle had already turned away, paintbrush in hand, pointing out a few different tubes of color to her mesmerized student. No one else paid attention to me. With one final pause, I closed my eyes and lifted my hand to the page. At first I envisioned a trail, with Letum ivy hanging from the soaring branches, and Papa behind me, walking hand in hand with Mama. I started to draw the lines of the trees, their great arms reaching out. Then I saw the emerald colors of spring and summer. The blur of the colors when I ran. It all built on itself, and my arm moved faster and faster until I opened my eyes. Expecting to see the outline of the green tunnel that lived in my memory and dreams, my hand fell to my lap in disappointment.
“Oh,” I whispered. “That’s not it at all.”
An odd conglomeration of lines and twists met me. None of my leaves came together. Not a single point or shape seemed purposeful. A massive blob of smudged black lines stared back at me. Isabelle moved behind me and looked at it with her head cocked to the side.
“Don’t be discouraged. Drawing with your eyes closed isn’t done to produce a masterpiece. It’s done to help you see.”
I stared at the mess in skeptical regard. Even if I turned the picture upside down, it remained a mess. A disaster, even in art’s name. A sudden melancholy took over me, and I didn’t know why.
“See what?” I asked.
The mess that is my soul?
“I don’t know,” Isabelle shrugged. Her cryptic voice annoyed me. “That’s for you to decide. Don’t give up on it yet.”
Jackie slinked over and stood behind my shoulder.
“That looks like a raven,” she said, motioning towards a group of lines meant to be, I imagined, the thick overhead canopy. “Ravens are the harbinger of death, you know. At least, in divination, when they stand alone like that.”
The words struck a nervous chord inside me. Harbinger of death. Jackie pushed against my shoulder with one hand. “You should let me do a reading with you one day,” she said. “I think it would be very interesting.”
More like terrifying.
“Sure,” I said, with more conviction than I felt, motioning towards Isabelle with a nod of my head. “As soon as you get those Diviners’ cards.”
“Put it somewhere you can see it,” Isabelle instructed, shoving her glasses higher on her nose. “Sometimes the answer will come to you when you least expect it.”
Resisting the urge to crumple it and use it for fuel in the fire, I stood up from the chair. “Yes, Isabelle. I’ll do that. Thank you.”
Pleased again, and oblivious to the underlying tone of frustration in my voice, she returned to Camille’s side. I took my appalling piece of art to my bedroom, and just to be contrary, tacked it on my wall, where I’d see it every day.
A Terrible Thing
“B ianca?”
Camille’s voice from behind my door interrupted my agitated pacing on the night of the second match. I yanked the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a crack. Camille let out a little yelp of surprise. Leda just rolled her eyes, undisturbed as usual.
“Hi,” I said, grimacing as I recovered the door. “Sorry to scare you. I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.”
“We came to wish you good luck,” Camille explained,
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