Dreams & Other Lost Things {Sequel to B&TBR}

Chapter 19: The Things We See.

I wasn't usually one to brag.

It just wasn't something I did unless there was a good reason for me to do it. I didn't like the attention it brought to me. But there was something about carrying my plain canvas to the front of the room that made me feel pride.

It reminded me of a person. Not a special person, just anyone on the street, sitting behind me in class, or someone I walked past every day to get to class in high school. These people – these strangers – were plain to the average human eye. We don't see the things that make someone who they are. We see that person on the street talking on the phone and seeming to be angry, but really they are one of the nicest people you could ever meet having a bad day.

We see that person sitting behind us in class doodling on their notebook, looking completely lost in their thoughts. For every one of those people that we don't understand, there is someone who does.

I understand my painting, but the people staring at it now have no idea why I would throw this project away like that. I sat my canvas on the stand placed in the middle of the front of the room so it could be displayed. I noticed all the confused looks and questionable glances toward a curious-looking Mr. Roswell.

That's when I grinned, because I knew they weren't expecting the unexpected.

"I'm Beatrice Montgomery, and this is my project," I announced, giving a bright smile. I glanced at Mark whom I asked to stand by the lights switches and wait for my go-ahead. "You're all probably wondering why a heart inspires me. This is my heart; it's the things inside of it that get me going every day and that tell me I can't stop. Allow me to show you."

Nodding at Mark, I pulled my black light out of my back pocket and switched it on. The room went pitch black as the vibrant purple ray of light shined on my canvas, revealing the real art work. I heard a few gasps as they took in the piece of art.

It wasn't often that it happened, but I felt good about myself. It felt like even though everything else in my art was screwed up, my art was the one thing I could keep from being a mess. It was the one thing I could control.

There were several questions that followed from my classmates and even Mr. Roswell, but the most shocking one was posed to me right before I walked out the door.

"Beatrice, may I speak to you for a moment?" Mr. Roswell asked. I pursed my lips and prepared myself for a scolding. Although I was proud of my piece and I didn't regret making it the way it was, I hated letting Mr. Roswell down. Maybe he actually hated it.

"Yeah?" I replied as I sat on a stool across from him.

"I thought your art was amazing. It was very clever, and although it wasn't just one thing you described, it was better. I wanted to know if you'd like to display your piece in the show that's coming up," he explained as I hung onto every word.

"Um," I stuttered. "Yes, I'd love to!"

Mr. Roswell seemed pleased. "Great! Now, there is a fee because all the pieces will be displayed here and it's kind of like a fundraiser for the school."

My smile faltered. "How much is it?"

"About three-hundred, which is cheap compared to some places. I'm sorry for letting you know so late, but I think you have a great chance of being noticed by some really important people if you decide to do this," Mr. Roswell told me.

I averted my eyes and felt the disappointment take over. I didn't have 300 dollars to fork over. I barely had 50. The rest was for my essential needs and for school. There was no possible way to get that kind of money to him any time soon, and although I didn't want to admit it just yet, I piped up.