Demons (Jonathan Toews)

Chapter Two

“Can I speak with you after this class is over, Madison?” Professor Jacobs asked as he walked around taking in what everyone was sketching on their papers. As soon as his words his my ears, in the low tone that not even the person next to me could hear, I let out a sigh of defeat and tilted my head to the side, rubbing my dirty fingers on my temples.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice, do I?” I kept my eyes on my paper, not wanting to show my professor the huge circles that had formed under my eyes in the past weeks. I have stopped sleeping, eating as much, and caring. My art became sloppy and dark, my papers became short and distant, and I was late to almost every class I had, no matter how much time I had before it.

I was a mess, to say the least, and the constant re run of my failed attempts from a few days ago only made the pain of my heart beating in my chest intensify. I was over feeling pain, I was over being sad. I didn’t want to be that sad girl anymore. I wanted to smile.

For the rest of the class I continued to wipe charcoal on my face, shirt, and jeans. I went through a few sheets of paper, making thick dark lines that left piles of charcoal dust on the ledge of the easel that held my sketchbook. Every line made me feel better, every dark line that broke through the starch white paper made me feel better, but when it turned out to be an aggravated jumble of lines, or a dark room, faintly lit by a small light, it made me frown.

Finally, the clock stuck seven, and everyone was already packed up and ready to head out to the campus eateries to grab a late dinner. I on the other hand sat at my easel, slowly packing up my things waiting for my Professor to come over and bug me about whatever he found wrong with my pieces. Which I couldn’t think what, everyone else in the class envied them, and he only gave me small constructive comments every so often for the past six classes I have had with him.

“Madison”, he started pulling up the stool from the easel next to me. “I understand I am your Professor, this is college, and I shouldn’t baby you, but you’re starting to worry me.” I paused and turned my body completely towards him. “You’re always late, you’re quiet during critiques, you’re explanations are short and mumbled, it is the total opposite of what you had been like merely a semester ago.”

Rolling over the words he had spewed into the air, I roughly bit down on my bottom lip and gnawed on it until I drew blood. “You’re one of my best students. You have the brains, skills, and perseverance to make it in the real world, the real art world, but I’ve seen artists do this to themselves. The dark abstract drawings, the sudden hushed tone and lack of enthusiasm. I can’t go n teaching with the thought of such a bright student head towards that route.”

“I don’t really get-“

“I have watched some of the world’s greatest artist fall, Madison. Artist with skill, potential, brains, beauty, and the drive to be the next Leonardo. But they lost themselves. They lost touch with reality, they lost sights on their future, and then I lost them.”

Silent, I sat down on my stool and stared at the bare easel in front of me. “I refuse to let another one of my students leave this earth, Madison. I have watched far too much talent go to waste because of problems that can be easily fixed.”

“Sometimes problems settle their roots too deep within someone’s heart, Professor J. No matter how hard you pull, how much you believe the problem is fixed, it will still be there and eventually it’ll grow back.”

Nodding, he ran a hand through his short brown hair and gave me a sad look. “One day, those roots will be pulled, my dear. And when they are, I hope I’m around to see the outcome.”

“Me too”, I replied and quickly gathered my things and exited the studio room, trying to contain the overwhelming urge to burst into tears in the middle of the hallway. Professor Jacobs had always been there for me, making me enter contests and galleries, helping me with art on the side, paintings, drawings, and collages. He always had amazing advice, and beautiful opinions. He also knew me and read me like a book, like I was his own child, and that was one of the reasons I took his words to heart. He was the only man in my life to treat me like I was a real person. He made me feel like I had a father figure in my life, after twenty-one years of it being absent.