We sat there in the parking lot. I didn’t think teachers could be absent for the whole period like that. It was never like that in my previous school. Which was an all girl private school. In Tennessee.
We had been sitting here in the parking lot since the tardy bell had rang for the next period. The school had an odd schedule. First class, Then second, Then third, Then lunch, and the last fourth period.
I looked over to Taylor who just happens to be scribbling very fast on his notebook. His knuckles were plush white. He’s gripping his notebook to it’s death. He’s scribbling away. How interesting. He looks as if he’s to kill someone.
Not saying anything, just watching. Not even making a single noise. His scribbling just looks like lines drawn aggressively. Is this to be art? If this a new art, let me know. I am clueless. Suddenly, Taylor abruptly stops. Then, he turns his pencil over to it’s eraser end. And, once again. He starts aggressively attacking the notebook page. Surprisingly, the page hasn’t ripped.
He stops his erasing and looks to me, smiling. He hides his notebook, and erases even faster. He mustn’t want me to see his “Art” If it is art. Who would work so hard just to doodle something a kid could draw?
I look over to him, and he stops. Again. Only, I think this time he’s done. Not being able to see the page, I attempt to get a look. Only, to be facing Taylor. Who had finally turned around. Still, hiding his page.
“Could I see?” I asked smiling.
He had said nothing, he just smiled. Then, turning the notebook over to me. He held it in his hands like it was a fragile child.
It was gorgeous. How amazing. Looking at the art, I realize. He had drawn the girl who is currently sitting in John’s corvette. Only, without John arm over her. Without her smile, she was drawn frowning.
“That’s amazing.” I complimented.
“Why, thank you Miss Davis.” He smirked.
I had really wanted to touch page and feel it’s streaks. Only, Taylor had swatted my hand away. Ouch.
“What was that for?!” I gasped.
“Art is not to be touched, only admired.” He chuckled.
“One question, She’s smiling. Why is it that in your portrait she’s frowning?”
“To be an artist, is not only to see the beauty in thins. But, also to see the truth. She’s not happy.” He said as he looked over to the girl in John’s arms.
“You remind me of someone.” I smiled.
“Is that someone as handsome as I am?” He guffawed.
“Less.” I giggled.
