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Rubbing his eyes vigorously, in an attempt to dispel the lingering
desire to sleep, Aiden clumsily rolled out of bed. He landed
uncomfortably, sprawled amid the chaos that was his room. There were clothes
strewn about, a dresser with its drawers pulled out and their contents
scattered across the floor, a countless number of drawing pads resting on the
cherry-wood desk in the corner, rough sketches spanning a variety of subjects
plastered all over the walls, and an assortment of pens and pencils covering
every remaining square inch of free space in the room. As he got to his feet,
he seriously debated getting back into bed and drifting back into blissful
unconsciousness.
With no wish to leave the solitude of his room and his own company, it
was difficult for Aiden to decide to go to school. Enduring the
taunting and disapproving looks of his peers and teachers really held no appeal
for him. But, he had no choice in the matter; if he continued to perform badly
in school, then he would be expelled and his father would put him out on the
street. Not exactly an act of fatherly kindness, but when had his father ever
really acted like a father?
Aiden hadn't thought it possible, but their relationship had worsened
in the past year. Even before, the nature of their relationship had
never been one of love, but rather one of tolerance. His father had always
gotten so angry at him for the smallest things. When Aiden was just a small
boy, his father used to constantly correct him about the way he dressed, or
spoke, or even walked. And his idea of how to effectively correct was to beat
Aiden. It just didn't seem fair to ask a 4-year old boy for constant
perfection, threatening him with a closed fist across his small jaw if he was
unable to meet the requirement.
But, Aiden had been able to get through those years with a minimal
amount of damage. His mother helped him do that. She had loved him and
taken care of him. And as much as she was able, she kept his father from
hurting him. Aiden adored his mother. She was his protector, the person that
had saved him time after time from the beatings his father had made common.
But, just the year before, she had died of breast cancer. Without her, Aiden
was alone with his father, who still beat him since no one was there to stop
him. But, Aiden had learned to avoid him, to stay away from home for the entire
day, or at least until it was safe to return.
Just the week before, his father had become enraged upon seeing a few
of Aiden's newest drawings. He already didn't approve of Aiden's
penchant for art, but he especially didn't like it when Aiden chose to draw
rather dark subjects. The main idea for this set of pictures was a landscape of
a wooded enclosure somewhere possibly deep within a forest. However, Aiden
depicted the scene somewhat morbidly, with a full moon high in the sky, a
circle of bent, dead trees, and the remnants of a small campfire littered with
ash and what appeared to be bones. Aiden had worked long and hard on that
particular set of pictures, and he was very proud of it. He truly appreciated
the beauty of such a scene, though his father was nowhere near able enough to
understand. And when he saw what Aiden had drawn, he had taken the pictures and
torn them up right in front of Aiden's eyes. His father told him that he didn't
know what Aiden thought he was doing, but that those pictures were not art.
Then, he hit Aiden hard across the face and warned him to never draw something
like that again.
Though, what bothered Aiden even more than the beatings were his
newfound feelings of loneliness. Once his mother had passed away, his
father had decided that they were going to move. So, they went to live in a new
house in a new city with a new school, and Aiden's life remained the same.
However, he tried to keep his chin up in spite of everything. But new worries
were beginning to manifest. Aiden was 17, not yet old enough to escape his
situation, but still, nearly an adult. Everyone around him seemed to be talking
about their futures and what they planned to do. Well, what did he plan to do?
In truth, he had no clue.
He hadn't expected any help or guidance from his father, but he had at
least hoped to find some at school. However, he had hoped to no avail.
After 7 months of attending his new school, Aiden hadn't made any friends, and
he had failed to gain the interest, or even attention, of any of his teachers.
All right, well maybe that was a lie. He had gotten attention, though it wasn't
the kind to brag about. He was considered different, and unknowingly to Aiden,
his teachers and peers had decided that "different" was bad. Unlike the ideal
of school that parents thought existed, the reality was that regardless of his
intelligence or educational aptitude, his lack of social interaction and his
unconventional...everything caused him to be scorned and ridiculed by
everyone he encountered.
And despite his efforts, the mistreatment he received at home and at
school had affected his motivation, ultimately leading to his failing all his
courses. It was like the icing on the cake. It seemed stupid, but Aiden
couldn't help to ask himself, "Now what?" With the continued appearance of more
and more problems, and with a notable lack of solutions, Aiden began to
anticipate a bleak, unpromising future.
As he got dressed, grabbed his backpack, and rushed down the stairs
heading for the door, a little voice in his head apparently felt that it was a
perfect time to offer him the grim reminder that life sucked. Stopping
with his hand on the doorknob, Aiden considered the validity of the statement.
It only took him a moment to reach agreement: "Yep, it does." And today would
be just as bad as every day before. Yet that did nothing more than make the
thought of getting right back into bed seem all the more attractive.
********************
Aiden arrived at school, walking through the door of his second
period class, an hour late due to his lack of enthusiasm and utter indifference
about making a good impression. It wasn't like his teachers could
think any less of him. He walked slowly and carefully through the rows of desks
until he reached his own, which was positioned furthest from the front of the
room where the teacher, Ms. Olivier, was standing at the blackboard, chalk in
hand, glaring at Aiden in disgust. He smiled back at her and slid into his
seat.
"Now, class, that is a perfect example of how to ensure that you go
nowhere in life," she said with acid in her voice. "Aiden here doesn't
feel the need to attend art class anymore now that he's failed all his other
courses. It seems he also feels that it's all right to interrupt us in the
middle of a lesson just because it's to his convenience." Aiden's anger flared
at this. He did not spend the last hour arguing with himself like a crazy
person about whether or not he should go to school just to have this stupid
teacher give him a hard time.
"I came didn't I," Aiden replied. "Isn't that what
matters?"
"Not if you miss nearly all of the lesson," she responded.
"What do you expect to learn in only 10 minutes?"
"About the same amount of stuff I expect to learn when I sit through
the normal hour and 20 minutes of class with you teaching." The class
gasped at that. Aiden had never said something so boldly disrespectful, despite
the mocking he endured every day from his teachers.
"How dare you..." she began.
"Besides, I hate coming to this class. It's partly because of
the dirty looks I usually get from everyone," he said, staring around at the
other students. Their eyes shot daggers at him. "Yeah, that's the one. But,
it's also mostly because you've nothing to teach me."
"So, you think a lazy slacker like you can possibly create
something artistically better than I can?"
"Yeah, something like that," he answered. "But, if you'd
like, we can let the class be the judge. They're already so well-suited to the
task." And with that, he lifted his desk open and proceeded to rummage around
its inside. He lifted two sheets of paper out of it, laying them across the
desktop. "Now, you tell me who the better artist is."
He raised the first piece of paper up so that the every person in the
room had a clear view. It was a drawing of Ms. Olivier, except she
looked different, less angry, and more beautiful. In reality, she was not an
old woman, though life had burdened her with an appearance that said otherwise.
But, in the picture she looked as she would've when she was Aiden's age. Her
complexion was pure and flawless, and in the portrait, instead of wrinkles and
frown lines, she wore a silent smile. The class, along with Ms. Olivier, sat in
awe, mouths hanging wide open as they admired Aiden's work.
"Don't get too excited, Ms. Olivier. We've now entered the
realm of fantasy. This is what you would look like if you had a heart instead
of whatever evil substitute resides in your chest. This is what you'd look like
if you were nice inside. But you're not. And since you aren't, I decided to
draw this one."
He picked up the second sheet of paper and revealed the picture to his
audience. It was also a portrait of Ms. Olivier, though in a different
form. In this picture she looked ugly and mean. She would've appeared
completely normal in the drawing if it wasn't for her face. She looked so
cruel. Her expression was one of contempt and the picture looked so real that
it seemed at any minute it would make the usual disparaging mark meant to put
Aiden down. The picture was the complete opposite of its pair.
"And this is what you will look like if you continue to be a mean
person, ridiculing others just because they're different, not caring at all
about what they have gone through or what you could do to help them."
As the class sat dumbfounded, teacher included, Aiden pulled out
another slip of paper from his back pocket. He slowly unfolded it and
showed the class. "And just in case you were wondering, this is what you look
like now," he said. It was a crude drawing of a female subject with a pretty
accurate resemblance to Ms. Olivier, except for the minor detail of horns
protruding from her head. Aiden had depicted her as a demon. "Oh, and before I
forget, I should add the finishing touch," he continued, pulling out a pen and
drawing a small nametag on the chest of the portrait. It read: "Hi, I am an
evil bitch." Though most people in the class were still sitting dumbfounded,
some had begun to snicker. Ms. Olivier was not one of them. "Well, don't be
shy; let me know what you think of 'em." Retrieving his bag from under the
table, Aiden stood up and walked to the door. Opening it and taking a step
forward, he said to himself, "I think this is going to be my last art class,"
and he walked out the door.
********************
"Well if that didn't earn me an expulsion, I don't
know what will," Aiden said without humor. He walked down the main hallway with
his head bent downward in thought, wondering what in the hell he was going to
tell his father when he got home. Ms. Olivier would surely tell the principal
about the incident, and he would in turn have his secretary call Aiden's
father. Maybe I should've left the nametag off, Aiden thought. But, remembering
the feeling of utter satisfaction (with a slight touch of hilarity), he shunned
that thought as ridiculous.
As Aiden continued down the hall inattentive of
his surroundings, he suddenly collided with another body, causing him and his
accidental victim to fall to the ground. "Hey, watch where you're going. You
nearly crushed me," said a female voice.
Nearly crushed her? That sounds like a bit of an overstatement, Aiden
thought. He wasn't all that big compared to some of the other guys
around school. In fact, at 5'9" and only 165 pounds, Aiden was actually pretty
small in comparison. But, he managed to respond with an awkward-sounding, "Uh,
sorry about that."
"I guess it's not that big of a deal," she said as she picked up her
textbooks. "It's just I'm new here and I'm late to my first class." A
new student? Aiden gave her a quick scrutiny as she collected her remaining
books. She was petite, around 5'4" with a weight he'd wager was barely over 3
digits. So, she had really meant it when she said that he nearly crushed her.
As he looked her over, he noted her dark brown hair that came to just
above her waist, and from what he could see of her face, it seemed her skin was
flawless. He also noticed her hands, oddly enough, which were delicate
looking with thin, long fingers that looked as if they belonged to an artist of
some sort. As she finished gathering up her belongings, she began to stand,
raising her head and meeting Aiden's gaze. Her eyes, which were a surprising
shade of dark gray, seemed completely aware of everything around her and it
seemed to Aiden that they were piercing through him, exploring all of his inner
thoughts, knowing his mind and himself with just a simple look.
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