We're All Lost

Five: The Artist and the Muse

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen" a cheerful male adult voice breaks out in the front of the classroom, a young black (hot) man walks in the classroom and the chatter dies out "My name is Curtis Brown aka the coolest teacher in the entire school, for those who don't know me" he playfully bows, the rest of the class laughs. "BUT, you're not allowed to call me by my first name. We're not friends. To you, I am Mr. Brown. Oh, and, welcome to English Lit".

I make an attempt to look for Andrew and I find him watching me from the far right of the classroom, I quickly avert my eyes back to Mr. Brown. The classrooms here are designed like lecture halls but smaller, classroom-size smaller. "This year we'll be doing The Picture of Dorian Gray." he says, waving the book. "I take it you guys got these and had time to read them over the summer vacation. So, let's get started" everyone starts taking out their reader.

"Let's see if you really did read this summer. I'll start off easy on you. Why has the book caused such outrage in the Victorian Era?"

"Oh! I know this one" she whisper-yells in my ear, sticking her hand up in a haste, a little bit too excited to answer "Yes, Ms. Campbell" Mr. Brown says, granting her the permission to answer.

She stands up and props her skirt, her coils bouncing about on either side of her face. "The book was considered immoral due to the fact that it contained homoerotic and homosexual content. So, I guess the Victorian society feared that it would influence people to be as immoral" she sits down in a 'I know I killed it' manner "That's good, Ms. Campbell. As always" Mel flips her hair with pride and gives me a high-five. "Oh, we have a new face" he says, in a manner too pointed for my liking –this can't be good.

"So, tell me Mr. New Guy: What does Dorian Gray mean to Basil Hallward – artistically and how he feels towards the young man" he says, slowly walking towards us and coming to a stop at the first row. "Uhhm..." my hands become clammy, it feels as though my intestines had tangled themselves into a tight knot. I don't know why, but I find myself looking over at the far right of the classroom –I'm met by the all too familiar aquamarine hues and I somehow feel, grounded. Calm. "Basil Hallward idolizes Dorian. He sees him as his muse" I start, not breaking eye contact with Andrew, he gives me a smile as though to reassure me.

"More than that he sees him as a new manner of art, a new style of painting. To Basil, Dorian has revolutionized the way in which he views and appreciates art"

The bell rings, Mel and I make our way to the quad – apparently that's where everyone goes to chill during lunchtime on hot days like this one. There are outdoor concrete benches and tables with fixed umbrellas on the center of the tables, some on the stairs leading down to the open field where students eat lunch in tight knots and huddled bunches and some playing frisbee. The sun scorches down on us from a creaseless sky, turning the school lawns and hedges a vivid green. Late-summer humidity clings to my bare arms, I have my blazer on the crook of my right elbow.

"Yo', Jonathan!" I hear Jay's voice somewhere in the indistinct chatter. "Here!" he shouts again, I spot him in the far right of the quad, standing on one of the tables – with, I'm guess, his crew, hysterically waving his hands in the air like a madman. I feel some eyes on us, as we make our way to their chilling spot. I notice that Andrew is there too, he catches me looking and doesn't look away, neither do I. It is in this moment, with nothing but a gleam of hope in my eye and a bit of horniness in my crotch, that I am shoved to the ground. Hard. The impact is enough to make the worn-down Cotton Road backpack I've had since ninth grade, to split down in the middle. The zip has weakened over the years. Granted, the bag was a real pile of crap, but that doesn't make it any less jarring. Everything I own explodes all over the ground.