repetitive

two

idk how to nickname so please ignore,, that hha uwu

-

I didn't need it, but I liked the thought of sharing the beauty of art.

Then again, all these short humans did was pick their noses and make stick people with their painted fingers. Under all that, there was a passion there. One girl had only painted a large mound of gray. I had asked her what it was.

"It's a mountain," she had told me.

Looks like a pile of melted rocks, I wanted to say, but rather asked, "Why did you paint a mountain?"

"I can hide there. From the mean kids."

They may have not been good at portraying it, but they all had a story behind their art.

It was only the one day, filling in for an old friend. But I liked it. I liked hearing their stories, and using my own imagination to turn their scribbles and blotches into real illustrations. When I got back to my studio, I called the main city education board office and asked for any openings. I had already gotten my degree, might as well put it to use.

They were awkward of me during the interview. The principal said I couldn't wear my shades during classes, but after coming out and saying I didn't really want to scare the kids shitless with my demon eyes, he allowed them to stay on.

And just like that, they were showing me my new classroom. They were printing an ID for me. I was in it for the long haul, and inside, I was more excited than ever.

It isn't a few weeks later until the official first day of school. For a while, they turn into a bunch of snot-nosed kids in my mind. I sit behind my desk, watching the little monkeys go wild. Girls talk about their hair in high-pitched voices, boys yank on each others hair. I knew second graders were going to be a handful. What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time, Wills?

Finally, I take my shoe off and throw it at the wall with a loud BANG. Either screams or gasps come out of each and every mouth. But I smile. "Sit your butts downs and we'll do something fun, eh?"

They obey. The shoe is apparently quite deadly to them. While they situate themselves in their seats, I slip the untied Converse back on, then dig through the supplies I had brought until I pull out six bottles of shaving cream.

One by one, I spray out a huge amount on each table. "Spread it out. Draw whatever the he--fudge you want."

Giggling ensues as small hands spread out the white cream. They poke it on each other's noses, and some get creative, not using the table anymore but rather giving their classmates old man beards and long eyebrows.

While they play, I go around and ask all their names to get to know them. Bobby likes dinosaurs. Charlie likes going hunting with his dad. Susan is obsessed with Adventure time, so I high-five her, then have to wipe my hand off before moving onto the next child. Eventually I kneel down by a small girl who is sitting in the back corner, ignoring the other three people at her table.

"Hi," I say, watching her finger only make circles in the shaving cream. "What are you drawing?"

"I drew a mustache. But William called it stupid, so I got rid of it before you came over."

Of course I have to give a good scolding to this William. After, I reassure the small girl, "I think it was a good idea. Because shaving cream gets rid of mustaches, right? So I think that's very creative."

A little smile cracks on her face, but she keeps her head titled down so that her pale blonde bangs cover her face. "Thank you, Mr. Wills."

"You can just call me Wills."