Tale of an Untalented Artist

Chapter 4 | Painter of the White Wall

"The role of an artist is to ask questions, not to answer them." - Anton Chekhov

I waited eagerly for my mother to pick me up. Today Elisheva was tutoring Tzvi. Maybe she would have an art class she could recommend for me? Imagine me, Dina Blum, going to art class! The next time my pod would be assigned the field to play in, I could impress all the Dimmilies - my new friends - with my new, hardly-earned artistic skill. I could hardly wait. Sprout had also given me one other assignment - to pick a Kongdim name for myself that would reflect my special interest in art.

"Dina, Dina Blum to the carpool line."

I heard my voice booming on the school loudspeaker as I saw my mother's blue van turn into the school parking lot. 

I picked up my school backpack and ran towards our car.

"You look excited," Mommy commented. But she wasn't even looking at me. She had paused to check the texts on her phone.

"Mm-hm," I said. I fumbled for the seatbelt and clicked myself in.

"Now we have to pick up your sister...so? Is Malky Schloss in your pod?"

I frowned. Then I sighed. "Yup."

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear! I told Mrs. Gastwirth that having her in your pod would be good for you. I'm so glad it worked out with your new teacher and all. Now I have something to talk about with Nava. How was?"

"Mommy, Malky hates me. You know that."

"Nonsense. Malky is shy."

Malky was shy? I loved my mother, but her obsession with Nava Schloss made her believe crazy things. And say crazy things. There was no use arguing. 

"Mm-hm," was all I said. 

"Two more things," Mommy said. "Dinner will be later tonight. Elisheva can only come at five, and then Grandpa Austin is coming at six. So we'll eat at seven."

Grandpa Austin was coming? I know what you're thinking: If my last name is "Blum", shouldn't I be calling my grandfather "Zeidy"? But both my parents had not been born into religious families, and so my grandparents did not go by the traditional "Bubby" and "Zeidy". Rather, Mommy's father went by "Grandpa Austin", because he came from Texas. Her mother had died before I was born - I was named after her. ("Dina" instead of "Daphne".) Daddy's parents went by "Grandma and Grandpa Skokie."

Grandpa Austin, though he used to live in Texas, didn't live in Texas anymore. He lived in San Diego, a two hour car drive away from Los Angeles. A bunch of his old buddies moved there and he liked it. But sometimes he got bored. And then he would drive in his old baby blue Volkswagen to come visit his "Ultra-Orthodox grandkids". 

It was always...uh...exciting, when he arrived. 

"Oh there she is," Mommy said. She pulled over to the curb. Aviva had her hands on her hips - not a good sign. 

"Mommy, you're always late!" Aviva plopped herself in the front seat and slid down until I couldn't see her anymore.

"I always come as fast as I can," Mommy said.

"I have to stand with all the nerds. Next time can I have five dollars so I can go to Heimish and get myself an iced raspberry tea and cheese danish?"

"No you cannot," Mommy said. "You can wait five minutes while I come from Oros to pick you up."

They continued bickering like that the whole way home. I was super relieved when Mommy pulled over by my house. At that point, Aviva was in tears and saying how she was ready to get married and move out and I wanted to give her a good shake.

We bustled into the home to find Elisheva already seated at the table. Tzvi, on the other hand, was dancing a jig while sticking out his tongue.

"Tzvi!" My mother was horrified. "Sit down at once!"

Tzvi actually stopped. He looked terribly disappointed. 

"Mrs. Blum," Elisheva interjected. "This is actually part of the tutoring exercise."

"What?"

My mother stared at her. She stared at Tzvi.

"Don't make Elisheva stop," he begged. "She makes grammar fun."

"Fun!" My mother blinked several times. "Oh, well..." She trailed off weakly and then turned towards the kitchen to start preparing supper.

Once I felt my mother was out of earshot, I approached Elisheva. Tzvi resumed his strange dance.

"Hi Dina," Elisheva said in her friendly way. "What's up?"

"Hi." I got even shyer than usual. I could barely hear my own voice. She was so adult - I wanted to look at Queen Drew's qualifications for an adult - imagine if I painted the White Wall with Elisheva!

"So, basically, I had a question for you..." I couldn't look at Elisheva in the face. "Um, do you know of any art classes I could go to?"

"Art class?" Elisheva's face lit up. "Are you planning on entering the Jewish Youth Art Contest?"

"No..." I had never heard of such a thing. "I just want to learn how to draw better."

"Well, the most popular art class in town is Mrs. Black. That's where I went when I was your age. Maybe you could try her out? Her prices are reasonable."

"Thanks a lot," I forgot my shyness and almost bubbled with glee.

I ran off to find my mother. I knew we weren't overflowing with money, but surely art class didn't cost so much. And there would be no mess in the house - only at the art teacher's studio! My mother couldn't say no.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," I raced into the kitchen and skidded by where my red-faced mother stirred a hot pot of bubbling meatballs on the stovetop.

"What is it, Dina?"

"Mommy, could I please go to Mrs. Black's art class - it's not expensive - and it'll be good for me!"

My mother frowned. "But you've got not artistic talent, Dina. Why on earth would you want to go to an art class?"

My mother was going to be put in the part of my biography of people who said I couldn't. Well I'd show 'em in later chapters I could.

"Mommy, it's a good way for me to express myself," I said. 

"Dina, money is tight this month. How much did you say it cost?"

"I don't know..."

My mother  was already scrolling through her phone. I held my breath, waiting for what she would say...