Phoenix

Strange

The man scrutinized the collection of drawings in front of him. Drawings which Gilly had poured her heart and soul into for her first project. But it was obvious this wasn't what he was looking for. The project had asked for illustrations for a collection of poetry, left up to the interpretation of the artist. Her drawings depicted loss and hurt, while he had wanted lighter pictures. It had been a week since she'd arrived, and she'd been eager to please.

"You have talent, you really do," he said. She fiddled with her hands in her lap. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wanted to look up to take the criticism, but it felt like he would hurt her in the process. He didn't seem to understand the meaning she'd taken. "But this isn't really what we were looking for. Answer me this: why do all your drawings seem to reflect a theme of loss?"

Gilly was at a loss for words. "I...well...I don't know. I just drew what came to mind when I read Mr. Tracy's poetry."

The man thought for a second, staring at the young artist in front of him. She was hiding something, he knew that, but her art was good. He didn't want to let her go. "I'm going to give you one more shot. Show me that you don't just draw like this. Show me you can find lighter imagery in these poems. This is a children's book. I'm giving you two weeks, so we can finalize before Mr. Tracy's arrival."

Gilly raised her eyes and saw that he was smiling encouragingly. "Yes, sir." She rose, hurrying away to her station where sheets of paper sat at her disposal along with pens and pencils of all colors. It was an artist's paradise, but at that moment, it felt like it was trying to crush her into a mold that she just couldn't fit. With a sigh, she sat, down pulling the paper to her and trying to find inspiration.

Hours later, the small wastebasket was overflowing with crumbled pieces of paper. None of them were good enough for the young artist's standards—nothing light enough, strokes not good enough. She was at her wit's end.

This, of course, hadn't done much for her self-esteem either. Tiny pieces of her were in those drawings and had been tossed aside for not being good enough. To Gilly, it seemed safe to assume that all her drawings were awful. She had never had high self-esteem for that took time to cultivate it—time that she hadn't had.

As soon as the workday was done, Gilly was out of there like a shot, tired of bottling her feelings and ready to let them go. Even Chloe had been able to sense her mood, and left the room when she entered with an excuse.

The next day was Saturday, and Gilly was glad to be able to sleep in. For all accounts, she was not a morning person, and that, combined with her failures the previous days, led to a morning of cuddling with her bed and pillows.

But when the time came, like the diligent student she was, she attacked the large sum of homework that she'd acquired over the week. She booted up her old laptop that her aunt had given her years ago.

While she typed, she hummed too, keeping up well with the scores that filled her ears. If Chloe had been in the room, and Gilly's obvious disdain of all things a capella and biting attitude, she would have considered asking her to join the Bellas when auditions came around.

However, Gilly's good attitude that day didn't come from the homework or being able to vent her feelings the night before, but of the upcoming event of the day—dinner with her aunt and Annie. That night, Gilly planned to ask her aunt for the help she needed, hoping a new perspective might help.

When it came time for her to go, she was ready, her sketchbook and a few other items in her purse. She hailed a taxi to her aunt's place and arrived early. She got out and knocked on the red door.