PULSE [H.S]

060

"Art is the only way to run away without leaving home." — Twyla Tharp

Community centers are such strange places.

I don't think I've been in a community center since middle school, when the cool thing to do was go watch the boys play basketball at the courts. The city community center is definitely different from the one I went to at that age.

It's more of a learning center than anything, a place offering different programs for kids to participate in after school. I emailed them a few weeks ago, after Harry said I should start an art program for foster kids. They called me back recently, and thus 'Foster Creativity' was born.

I learned that there are over one hundred foster kids in the area, with a quarter of them living in foster shelters and the rest in foster homes. It hurt my heart to think about all of those kids.

The community center was thrilled that I wanted to lead an art program, and they're letting me use one of the rooms here every Tuesday at 4 p.m. for an hour.

Today is the first day, and I'm so anxious that I think I might tear my hair out. Harry helped me carry in some art supplies that I bought, and now we are just waiting for kids to come.

"What if no one shows up?" I say, pacing around the room.

Harry says, "They will, baby."

"No one's here!" I exclaim, motioning to the empty room.

Harry laughs, "It's 3:58."

The center sent out flyers and emails to all of the foster parents in the area, as well as local schools. The kids range from 5 to 17, and I'm curious to see what demographic buys into the idea.

I originally thought it would be cool to teach high school students how to do tattoo art, but it's not exactly a program that parents would be thrilled to have their kids participate in, and the first step to being a tattoo artist is learning how to draw, anyway.

"Why am I doing this?" I say, "I'm not even that good with kids, teens, or people in general."

Harry laughs at me. "It's going to be great, Kiz."

A few minutes after 4, a young teen boy walks in, wearing a white t-shirt that's too big for him and black jeans. He looks around the room, seeming to be a little nervous.

"Drawing class?" he asks, looking at me from the entrance of the room.

I say, "Yes! Please, come on in. We have a bunch of supplies over here, you can take whatever you want."

"Free?" he asks.

I nod at him, telling him to help himself to any of the art supplies. I bought crayons, pencils, charcoal, and paint. Being rich suddenly has a lot of perks.

He picks out a sketchbook and a few pencils, climbing into a seat at one of the tables. I say, "I'm Kiz, and this is Harry. What's your name?"

"You both have weird names," he comments, making me laugh. He says, "Jackson."

I ask him some questions about himself, but he doesn't really seem to want to talk. He focuses his attention on drawing, and he doesn't seem to want any help with that either. I give him his space. I'm happy someone's here.

Two more kids come in, a foster brother and sister who are 14 and 15. They're more talkative, and they get excited over the paint supplies. They tell us that they love painting, but their foster parents never get them any supplies. They even ask me about my job, taking an interest in how I became a tattoo artist.

A group of three friends wanders in a little later, taking some paper and making paper airplanes, which was really cute to watch.

After a bit of talking, I go over to Harry.

"Six kids," I say, smiling, "This is amazing."

Harry says, "Yeah, I didn't think anyone would show." I roll my eyes at him, elbowing him in the side gently.

When the hour is almost up, the siblings ask if we are going to be here every week, and I tell them every Tuesday. They thank us and head out, the three other kids leaving too.

Jackson is still drawing.

Harry wanders over to him, peeking over his shoulder at what he's sketching on the paper. He says, "Wow, is that a dinosaur?"

"It's a brachiosaurus," Jackson answers.

Harry points at something on the paper, asking, "What's this one?"

"A T-Rex," he replies.

Harry sits down next to him, and my heart swoons at the sight of him interacting with the kid. It's not that often that I see the soft side of Harry come out, especially in public.

Harry asks, "You like dinosaurs?"

"They're alright," Jackson shrugs.

I clean up some of the other supplies as they chat, listening to their conversation and trying to hide my smile.

Harry says, "My favorite was always the velociraptor."

"They're cool too."

Harry asks, "How long have you been drawing?"

"Since I was 5," Jackson answers. "I'm 12 now."

I was lucky enough to not have entered the foster system until I was 15, spending only three years in it. I can't imagine what it feels like for these young kids who spend their entire childhood in foster care.

I hate the world that we live in and how often kids find themselves in shitty situations that are out of their control. They don't have any power to do anything about it at their age either, leaving them at the mercy of whatever fucked-up system is in place.

Harry says, "You're really good, kid."

"My friends say it's lame." Jackson frowns.

"They think art is lame?" Harry asks, his eyebrows shooting up. Jackson nods, looking up from his book to look at him. Harry says, "Then they are fucking lame. Being able to create art is a gift."

I shake my head at Harry, his face instantly realizing that he just cursed in front of the little boy. Jackson laughs, though, smiling. He says, "They are fucking lame."

"Maybe don't repeat that to anyone," Harry says, scratching the back of his head and looking at me with a face that screams, 'Shit, I fucked up.'

Jackson packs up a few minutes later and leaves, asking if he can take the book with him. I give him some extra supplies too, and he nods at me, thanking both of us.

Harry helps me lug the supplies back to his car, and then we drive home. I feel really good about how it went, even if it was totally out of my comfort zone to host an event like that.

Harry says, "That was fun."

I never would have imagined that Harry would be helping me with art classes for young kids. When you look at Harry, or meet him for the first time, it's the last thing you'd expect from him.

The way he was interacting with Jackson made my heart melt. He's good with kids, and I absolutely adore that about him. He's not as tough as he seems.

I say, "Do you think they liked it?"

"Yes," he says. "I think just having access to art supplies is a big deal for them. It's tough when you have a talent but can't explore it because of your situation."

I say, "Jackson was cute."

Harry says, "You're cute."