Ripped [TO BE PUBLISHED 2016]

13

"I like your outfit." Her voice is so quiet I almost miss it. I stare ahead at the projector, drawing abstract shapes to represent states. She clears her throat, gazing at me softly.

Me? She's talking to me? "Uh, thank you." I give her a quick grin. Almost a smile but not quite.

"You do that art stuff, right?" I wince a bit, but don't say anything. I don't tell her that I used to, that I quit that summer when everything came crashing down...

"Uh, yeah. I do."

"That's cool. I saw your stuff on the internet. You're like, famous. Who knew, right? And you're so quiet and sweet. I wouldn't have guessed it."

"Yeah? Well thanks."

Nobody has mentioned my art in months. I almost forgot about it.

Almost.

My fingers still crave the slant of paintbrushes, the feel of strokes against canvas fabric. My entire body misses it. But I am done with painting, done with drawing. I don't want anything to do with it.

"Maybe you could draw me something sometime," she says, smiling.

You should draw me something sometime, a small voice in my head whispers. I shiver, push it away. Push him away.

"No," I say quickly. Harshly. I clear my throat, calm my nerves. "I mean, I don't really have time right now. But I will if I get to it."

Her smile falters, but she regains her stamina. "Of course. I'm Chelsea by the way. I'll see you around."

She turns back around, chats with the girl with tan skin next to her. I watch slides flicker on the screen, displaying art of early Chinese Dynasties. Hues of reds and golds and blues flash across. Pretty.

"Why is art essential to our culture?"

The question flashes in large text at the end of the slide show.

Why is anything essential to our culture? A few girls titter in the back. Like they'd know. "Why is art essential to our culture? Why do we create art?" Ms. Ross asks.

"We create art to make pretty things," a girl with red hair in the back says.

"To leave something behind."

"To express ourselves."

The answers are coming out rapid fire. I bet Ms. Ross is disappointed she didn't get this kind of feedback when we were talking about the industrial revolution.

"To capture a moment."

"To create our own moments."

Why do you create art, Aspen?

"To escape."

To create an identity.

"To forget."

To explain.

"Why is art essential?" Ms. Ross asks again, one final time.

Because art is sewn into my tendons, kneaded into my bones. Because art created me. Because it is the only thing I know how to do.

I don't know how I ever managed to stop.