Masterpiece

Chapter 4

The streets I pass are magnificent. The hustle and bustle taking over the city grows every few seconds. Honking taxis and shouting people fill my ears and I realize this is nothing like Connecticut.

I drag my luggage halfway around the city, just to sight see. I find myself collapsing next to a building to rest my aching legs.
Where am I going to sleep for the night?
Leaning my head against the glass of the window, I notice a help wanted sign. My eyes study the paper and I instantly grow happy because its advertising the need for an art teacher for little kids during the summer.

I snatch the applications lying on a ledge next to the flyer and scribble out all my credentials. Finished, I put in a metal slot hoping to get the job. If I'm going to be here, I need to make some money.

Searching my bag, I find something I don't remember packing. It's plastic exterior brushes against my hand. I pull I out and find it's a bigger envelope with something bulky held within its cream exterior. Jotted on the front in marker was, Open, when needed.

I decide not to open whatever it is, because I'm doing okay so far.
Pulling open my laptop, I type in Google. Quickly, my fingers produce the words, Institute of Fine Arts, New York.

A tall building pops up with concrete steps and slim windows. The inside us incredible. Stone stair casing and intricate flooring adorn the interior. Frames of art decorate the walls. I reach for my phone and go to my wireless GPS and type in the school's name. It instantly finds results and directs me.

Heaving my luggage and my bag up slowly I go in the direction of the monotonous person on the speaker.
It takes me across streets, pass train stations, and across bridges. For what seemed like ages, I'm here. I stand shocked for a minute because I can't believe I'm actually here.
I reach for the door, but then pull back.
I should wait. I don't even have a roof over my head yet.

It pains me to step away from the building, but I do. I sigh, then I catch something in my peripheral vision. The address of the help wanted sign is hung on another building across the street. It looks vacant through the window, but I go anyways, dodging the cars and people on my way.

When I get to the door, I hesitantly pull it open. The soft, stale air hits me when I step onto the tile flooring. It was just a room. The walls were empty and there was no furniture in sight. The only thing there was a slim door, parallel to the entrance. A tall man, with gray hair and a bald head walks through and is surprised to see me here.

"Well, what brings you here?"
"I,uh, I'm here about the job," I stammer.
"Ah, I see. Well, do you have any experience in artistry?"
"Yes, sir."
"How would you rate your skill?" He folds his hands over his stomach.
"Um, eight?"

He smiles, pleasantly. "That's good enough for me. You got the job."
My eyes grow wide, as I take in how incredibly easy it was.
"Seriously?"
"My dear, you are going to be teaching eight to ten year olds, not Leonardo Da Vinci. It doesn't take a lot of experience," he again flashes me a smile.

"Oh, well, thank you.....so much, Mr,"
I carry out the r at the end of my sentence, waiting for him to tell me his name.
"Randsman," he says extending his hand.
"Randsman," I repeat taking it as he gives it a firm shake.

"So, this area is all yours. You are held accountable for the manner of this space and can do what you wish."
"Wait. So this is mine. Like, I own this," I say motioning to the perimeter of the room.

I was pretty sure that that was not how it worked. But, this is the big apple, after all.
"Precisely. All the bills have been paid off for the next five years."
Wow, talk about paying a fortune.

"Your first class will be tomorrow. Please be prepared," he continues.

Being prepared. That means paint and easels and paintbrushes and, I guess some form of a lesson. I can do that.

"You start at nine in the morning to twelve in the afternoon. Good luck," he says before handing me a key and stepping out of the door.
Oh boy.

-

I glance at the shelves of paint and realize I'm going to have to step out of my comfort zone and pretty much buy all primary colors. My shopping cart is soon filled with red, yellow, purple, blue, and green.
Good enough.

I have at least a couple hundred dollars left in my savings, so I also buy several art tools. I never knew how expensive these things were.

I'm soon back at the art room and I sling everything on the floor in pure exhaustion.
It takes me roughly two hours to set everything up. The once empty room, now filled with tubes of paint and wooden easels. I decide to teach the younger kids to finger paint and the older ones to use finger painting to create a whole picture.

It's a new day tomorrow. One step closer to my diploma.

I make a pallet out of my jacket and a couple of thin blankets on the floor and go to sleep in the city that doesn't.