Seeker

004

“Leonardo da Vinci once said: ‘The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake’. What a great artist he once was,” Mrs. Mayfield says. She dances around the room, cheerfully clapping her hands together, a bright grin on her face. “One of his post famous paintings --and my favourites-- was the Mona Lisa. He started this wonderful work of art in 1503, and continued on for four years…” 

I zoned out. Mrs. Mayfield usually is the only teacher who can keep me interested in what she’s talking about. She’s usually talking about something interesting to me, something I can relate to or something that I can do to improve my artwork and keep my hands busy. But today, that wasn’t the case. She was babbling on about famous artists and the artworks they had completed in their time. She held up photographs of these paintings and other artworks for the class to see, so enthused about them. But nobody really cared. The class was zoned out. 

I was happily drawing in my sketchbook. This boy in my class, this Mr. Holston figure, wasn’t in class today. Second day of school and he was already absent. Maybe he had already dropped the class for a spare period. Maybe he had taken another class. Maybe I was going to be alone after all. 

“…The quote I said near the beginning of class,” she says, pulling me away from my thoughts. “Is a quote I find myself using more and more lately. “‘The eye sees a thing more clearly in dreams than the imagination awake’,” she repeats, leaning against her desk at the front of the room. “I want you all to sketch out a scene from one of your dreams, and don’t you dare tell me you’ve never dreamt before because I know you all have! A grade nine tried that with me a few years back, and I laughed in his face!”

Mrs. Mayfield sits back in her chair behind her desk. “I want you to sketch it out today and handed in tomorrow.”

Dreams. My dreams? She wants to see the things inside my head? She’s insane. She does not want to see the things in here. They’re scary and dark. She’d think I’m depressed or even crazy, and send me away to get help. She doesn’t want to see my dreams, she wants to see my nightmares.

“Mr. Holston, I could have sworn I told you not to show up late for my class,” Mrs. Mayfield’s voice rungs in my ear. My stomach drops and my hope vanishes. He’s back. 

No words are exchanged between my teacher and the student. He just walks past the other students, straight to the back of the room, and takes a seat in the chair in front of me. 

I press my pencil to the sheet, ignoring every living person in this room.

***

“The school called,” Danny mumbles, flipping through envelops on the kitchen counter, tossing most of them aside. “They said you weren’t in class yesterday.”

“I totally was,” I exclaim, drumming my fingers on the counter. “I just left half way through…” 

“Kass… you know you can’t skip class,” Danny said in a motherly way.

“You said I could leave if I was sick or if there were too many eyes. You said if I get overwhelmed, I have permission to leave.”

“And where you? Where you even the slightest bit sick yesterday? Overwhelmed?” she asks, glaring at me through those heavily tinted sunglasses. 

I bite my lip, looking away from her. “Exactly. You need to attend class. You need to get an education so you can-”

“So I can what? Get a job?” I interrupt her, raising my voice. “Am I going to become a doctor? A lawyer? Am I going to help people in life? Go far?”