Art Class

Written on the back of the same paper as the homeless story.

Art Class

When I look back on it, it seems like such a distant memory.  Even when I think about it, it’s more difficult than it really should be.  Like the word love.  So tereotyped but usually by people who can’t find it themselves.  A stroy about real love is what we all need, like mine.

I remmeber when I was in Grade 8 art class.  I knew nobody since I was new to the school.  The students in my class were waiting around the door of the classroom when I saw him.  From that moment on, I constantly thought about him and never cared for anyone else.  It doesn’t matter what he looked like, but that I was just so mesmerized by his personality and charm, even from such a far distance.

Just then, our teacher came and opened the door for us.  Easels were set up around the room for everyone.  She told us to each take one.  I chose one at the perfect angle to him, with the sun casting a brilliant glow on his face as he smiled.  I remember her telling us to paint freely, since this was our first class.  I couldn’t think of anything but when I looked up, I knew.