The Art Class (BL)

8. Forced Connections

Alex:

After the lesson ended, I slipped on my headphones, eager to block out the world and focus on the tedious task. The rhythmic thrum of my favourite playlist provided a much-needed distraction as I cradled an easel in each arm, making my way to the easel storage room. I was resolute in my determination to complete the chore without any unnecessary chatter or delay.

As I walked back and forth, the task weighed heavily on me. The repetitive motion of lifting, carrying, and setting down the easels felt like a monotonous cycle with no end. I sighed when I glanced at Evie, who seemed to struggle with just one easel. Her movements were slow and deliberate as if she were trying to solve a complex puzzle rather than performing a simple task.

"Great," I muttered under my breath. "This is going to take forever."

Dumping the easels inside carelessly, I trudged back to the classroom for another load. My arms were starting to ache, and I could feel the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. After several trips back and forth, I couldn't help but notice that Evie had only managed to transport one easel on her own.

Frustration bubbled up within me. "What was the point of her presence if she couldn't even handle such a simple task?" I thought. Each trip I made emphasized her inefficiency, and the disparity between our efforts became increasingly aggravating.

"Hey, are you mute?" Evie's voice cut through my thoughts, and I reluctantly removed my headphones and turned to face her. "Excuse me?" I responded, caught off guard by her question. "Well, you haven't said a word. It's starting to get awkward," she replied, her gaze dropping to the ground.

I hesitated momentarily, not accustomed to engaging in idle conversation with strangers. "Oh, uh, hi. Sorry about that. What did you want to talk about?" I offered, attempting to be polite.

"Um, nothing in particular. Maybe just... what's your name?" she asked tentatively. "I'm Alex. Nice to meet you. And you're Evie, right?" I replied, trying my best to mask my discomfort with small talk.

"Yes, I am," she confirmed with a smile. "So, why are you studying visual arts?" she inquired, her curiosity evident. Feeling a bit uneasy under her gaze, I simply said, "I like painting..."

Evie looked at me expectantly, prompting me to elaborate. I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to continue. "I've always been drawn to how colours and shapes can express emotions and tell stories without needing words. Painting feels like a way to communicate something deeper, something personal."

She nodded, seeming genuinely interested. "That's really cool. I guess I can see that. Art can be a powerful way to connect with people and convey feelings."

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling a bit more at ease. "It's like an escape, too. When painting, I can forget everything else and focus on the canvas."

Evie's smile widened. "I totally get that. For me, it's drawing. I love how a simple sketch can capture so much detail and emotion. It's like the paper becomes a window to another world."

As idle chit-chat ensued, I swiftly realized that Evie was a certified chatterbox, her words flowing like a rushing stream. Struggling to keep pace with her rapid-fire conversation, I simply smiled and nodded. It took a little while didn't for her to pick up on my preference for listening rather than speaking.

Evie's tsunami of questions gradually subsided, seamlessly transitioning into a detailed recounting of her life story. I had no choice but to let my headphones dangle around my neck, resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be using them anytime soon. Her enthusiasm was relentless, her words painting vivid pictures of her experiences, aspirations, and random anecdotes.