It didn't feel like Fall in Atlanta; the first day of Fall was September the 23rd, but it was still pretty warm after 2 weeks. I would wake up in the mornings to go to school and the air felt moist, but hot. Everything felt out of place. Maybe it was because I hadn't been here since I was 11, or because of global warming. I don't know. All I knew was that I felt uncomfortable with how the days were set up.
My first day in Spanish class required me to go to the Media Center, which was tedious, because I only had a few days in school; I didn't know how to get my classes. I was a junior, but I felt like I was repeating freshman year: I walked with my head down, listening to music, not talking to anyone and being too shy to start a conversation with anyone.
I walked into the Media Center and made my way to the back where my class was sitting. I got to the tables and looked around for a seat. There were three girls sitting on the table to left to me, and there was an empty seat. I was shy, so talking with people obviously wasn't my forte; imagine how I felt sitting at a table with only girls. I sat down and put my book bag down next to me. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing with my legs, so I ended up hitting the handle under the chair that would elevate and lower the height of the chair. "Fuck," I said under my breath, making sure the teacher didn't hear me—I didn't want anyone to notice that I startled myself by pushing the handle with my leg. I was so embarrassed, but luckily no one noticed—at least, not that I was aware of.
I reached for my book bag and took out my three sketchbooks. Two
were full of drawings, but I still took them out because my idea was to start a conversation by—I guess you can say showing off my drawings; and it actually worked. The girl directly in front of me, Izabella, noticed one of my drawings and said, "Are these your sketchbooks?" I was too shy to actually reply "Yes," so I just nodded. She took the oldest one, the one that was two years old. That sketchbook in particular starts off with anime-style drawings and then starts to get a bit more realistic. Out of the three sketchbooks, it was the oldest one that I was proudest of. I honestly don't know why. Maybe it's because just about all the drawings in the sketchbook were done with raw emotions.
I bought that sketchbook freshman year and I drew when I was bored or actually felt like drawing. But freshman year started to get worse and worse for me. I fell in love with this girl, but had to leave her because we moved, as we did every year. Then, I got into a dysfunctional relationship with my childhood friend. I think that's what fucked me up the most, because I was so eager to be with her, but it ended up being a total disaster; it got so bad I started to self-harm again. As sad as this may sound, I think I make the best artwork when I'm depressed. When I was depressed, I would draw till I felt better, and, naturally, I would draw how I felt, or things that would make me feel better.
"Can I go through it?" Izabella asked. "Yeah," I replied, speaking under my breath. She started from the beginning and made her way through the book, pointing at the drawings she liked, saying, "This one's cool," or, "This one's fucking great!" She started to say it louder to the point where her friend sitting to her right, heard and started to go through my sketchbook with her.
I sat down and dug my face into my sketchbooks so fast that I didn't even notice what the girls looked like. Izabella had curly hair, smiled and laughed a lot and actually had a pretty smile. She was a bit loud, but not obnoxiously loud. the girl next to her had straight, black, medium-length hair, pristine eyebrows, looked like she could easily rip you apart if you got her mad enough, perky eyes, voluptuous lips, beautiful smile and dimples whenever she would smile.
"You're really good at drawing," She commented.
"I'm decent; I'm not as good as I wish I was."
