I was a young fool. 17, pregnant and married to a mobster. Life couldn't move faster, between the car, the clothes, the booze; I should know.
He could never be the loyal, soft man I knew in high school. Anthony 'Ton' Russo is a brilly brick of man. Ant - I would call him - had a funny appreciation for art at 15. He would walk in the school hall, with heavy foot steps and brisk pace but after school he would stroll into the art room. I was always working on something, it was a second home for me, but he would stroll in and peek over my shoulder. The first time he did this I was petrified, so scary I bought a knife to school the next day. The real scary thing about him was he didn't, wouldn't speak.
The next day, he passes me in the halls and doesn't even blink in acknowledgment of me. I was even more unsettled but I could let this guy win. If I stop going to the art room where else where he scare me from going?
So I get through the day and got to the restroom. I slip the small kitchen knife in my pocket, disappointed by it's size.
I enter the classroom and he's not there. I can breath, for a while. I take out my paint and get the step ladder for my painting. As Im bending down to set it up at the foot of the supply cabinet I feel his presents behind me. I stand up immediately and reach for my pocket.
" WHA-what do you want with me?!?" I say in frantic tone.
"Here your painting" he says with a preoccupied tone.
I continue to stand there, unamused, blank faced.
"...I like to want you paint" he says... sheepishly.
It was so cute. I never see him show any emotion but especially not shy.
"Well back up! Or sit down or somethin, your to close" I snatch the painting from hands and walk over to my set up.
Ant followed me 5 steps behind. When I stopped, he stopped and when I sat, he stood. The first few times were weird but after a while I realized he was easy to talk to because I had to do most of the talking.
He would open up mostly over art. He would give heartfelt description of what he likes and dislikes or each piece. He would ask me to paint pretty things, until he found out I could draw.
His favorite cars, superheros, athletes and movie characters became my study. It was cute how exciting he got over a silly picture. He was always subtle about it but he always showed his appreciation. One time he asked for a poster board drawing of his favorite Jaguar. I went all out and painted it on a beach with an intense sunset. He loved it so much he thanked me a million times, the next day I found a Coach wallet waiting for me inside my locker. We were closer but I thought it was weird he was ascort me to my locker. I was frantic, "I need to find out who this belongs to!"
He half chuckles, "It's yours, not put it away before someone takes it from you"
Later we worked out a deal for my art. He would pay me hourly, at first I refused for after he pulled out the third roll of cash to pay me I figured he wasn't hurting for money.
A few weeks after our arrangement, I practically skipped school with a new drawing. I was proud of this one, the lines were clean and confident plus I would have made enough to get a tablet. I thought he would like the different wallpapers and cartoon drawings I could make for him and his friends. All day I looked for him in the halls, and outside of his class and he was nowhere. I got to the art room and no one. He didn't show up that day, the next day or the days after that.
