The Art Teacher II

03)

The only thing I ever really enjoyed was spending time with Luke.

The next few weeks couldn’t have passed more quickly. I was entirely consumed with my daily routine until 7:30 at night when I’d make my way to the studio to draw.

As the days grew shorter, my hours seemed more and more irregular. Walking down the winding path to the brightly lit studio couldn’t have been more welcoming. Seeing Luke, talking to Luke, watching Luke, being with Luke; it was all I had to look forward to.

Needless to say, my art was improving dramatically.

I sat on a chair covered in manila canvas, legs crossed and sketchbook in my lap. I had been trying my best to imitate the unwavering stare I had been looking at in the mirror for the past four hours.

The door to the studio loudly argued its use as Luke sauntered casually in. He smiled when he saw me, “Hi.” he said as he carefully stacked the books he had been carrying on his desk and took a seat at his computer.

“You’re here late.” I commented.

He started up his computer by flicking the surge protector switch with his foot, “I could say the same to you.” He looked around his desk for a few seconds before deciding on a water bottle which he subsequently unscrewed and downed half of it in an effortless swig.

He recapped the bottle and rolled in his swivel chair towards me, “What are you doing?” he asked as he stood up and positioned himself behind me to look over my shoulder.

“Look up.” He said.

I brought my gaze to the mirror to see his face directly next to mine, “That’s what I thought.” He said to the mirror.

“What?” I asked, “What did I do wrong?”

“Give me that pencil.” He grabbed a 2H from my hand, “Look up once more.” He asked and I did as I was told.

“Crap!” he said again, “Can you tilt your face just a smidge to the right, that’s what I saw before.”

I obeyed.

He shook his head, “Here let me just…” he steadied a hand on my upper back and with the other placed the pads of his fingertips gingerly against the side of my left cheek to adjust the angle.

I felt my heart beat intensify, but tried my best to casually dismiss his touch as what it was; strictly professional.

“Okay, good. That’s what I saw first. You’re eyelids aren’t quite wide enough.” He said as he marked my page lightly where corrections should be made.

I looked at my reflection again, and then to my drawing, “I don’t see it.” I said honestly.

“Okay,” he removed his hand from my back and positioned himself on his knees next to my chair, “Look at me.” He said firmly as he balanced his weight by holding onto the chair.

I looked directly into his eyes. They were a grayish blue.

He tilted his head backwards, exposing five o’clock shadow across his chin and jaw line, “Do you see how small the space is between the top and bottom of my lids?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Now you do it.” He instructed while gesturing back to the mirror.

I lifted my chin in the air and tried to see what he saw, “Gotcha. A lot bigger.” I noticed.

“Thattagirl.” He patted my shoulder encouragingly and simultaneously used it to push himself upright.

I settled back into position as he returned to his swivel chair and rolled over to the glowing screen, “What time are you leaving?” he asked as he clicked the mouse a few times.

I shrugged, “I don’t think I am. I might actually sleep right here in this chair.” I’d done it twice before.

“No way!” he dramatically turned his head, “I won’t let you sleep down here. Go sleep on corridor with a couch or something.”

I shook my head and continued to draw.

“Why can’t you go home?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

“My dad rammed into my car this morning, so my mom drove me to school. She’s sleeping.” I explained briefly.

He was silent for a moment, “I’ll give you a ride home, come on.” He stood abruptly, “Get your stuff together.”

I was taken aback by his generous offer, “Don’t be silly, Luke. I’ll be fine.”

“I insist. I’m not letting you sleep down here. It’s cold, and scary, and furthermore uncomfortable.” His voice was oddly authoritative.

“Shut up.” I said as I returned to my portrait, “And go work.”

“I’m serious. Get up; we’re leaving.” He zippered up his jacket and started to gather his books again.

I remained seated.

“Don’t make me drag you.” He warned as he pointed a finger menacingly in my direction.

I held my hands up as though I were being arrested, “Okay, you win.” I said slowly, as if a sudden movement would provoke dramatic behavior, “Just give me a second to get my things.”

He pulled his keys from his pocket and twirled them around his finger, “I can’t believe you.” He sighed exasperatedly.

I smiled to myself as I pushed my hair from my face and shoved my remaining books into my shoulder bag, “I would’ve been fine. I’ve done it before.” I said as I stood to meet his gaze.

“You’re so perverse.” He shook his head and then when I was ready, started for the door.

“I am not. I just don’t like to be inconvenient.”

He held the door for me as I ducked underneath his arm into the inky winter night, “So I went snowboarding today.” He said with a boyish smile as we made our way up the path.

“Did you? How many face plants?”

“Only four.” He beamed proudly, “Ryan shredded better than I did.” He referred to his eldest son.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his slang vocabulary, “You know, you just said ‘shredded’.”

“Didn’t I sound hip?” he asked as he simultaneously made ‘W’s with his fingers and attempted his best impersonation of any African American rapper.

I looked away, “You’re more white than I am.” My words were shortened by fits of laughter as he continued the rapper hands.

“Please stop.” I tried to remain collected, but the uncoordinated, middle-aged, caucasion-ness, of it all made my sides hurt as I shook with giggles.

He reverted back to his normal gait, “I could do that again for you if you like.”

“No thanks, dude.” I crossed my arms and scrunched my shoulders against the wintry wind.

“Hey!” he held my elbow in his hand as he spoke, “You called me ‘dude’!”

“Don’t take it personally.” I smiled at him, “It has absolutely no reflection whatsoever on how young and hip you are.”

We were silent for a minute as he took in a few breaths to stop his laughter, “Right over here.” He pointed to a silver mini van as its tails lights flashed.

“You drive a mini van?” I asked, “Super cool and hip.”

“I know.” He opened the driver’s side door, “And you know what the worst part is?”

I smiled and got into the passenger’s side, “I’m curious.”

“I like it.” He looked directly into my eyes as his shoulders shook slightly from self-induced chuckles.

I arranged my bag at my feet as he placed his books on my lap and turned on the engine, “Where to, Ms. Simon?” he asked in a heavy French accent as he released the emergency break and shifted into reverse.

I rattled off my address, “I’ll let you know where to turn.”

He reached his arm over the back of my seat to twist his body in order to look where he was backing up, “So what’s the real reason you’re here so late?” he asked as he shifted to maneuver out of the lot.

I was taken aback by the question, “I wasn’t lying to you. My car’s smashed.”

He cut hard to the right and grimaced as he manually straightened out the steering wheel, “I don’t really believe you.” He said lightly.

“What possible reason would I have to make something like that up?” I asked.

“Well,” he paused at a red light, “Right here?” he motioned quickly at the intersection.

“Yeah.”

The light changed and he drove obediently in the right direction, “Well,” he continued, “You could be lying because I think-nay-I know you’re like me in that you will grin and bear anything anyone can possibly throw at you as not to appear unhappy and be a self-proclaimed ‘bother’ to those around you.”

I was silent as my heart rate quickened with how accurate he had been.

“Am I right?”

I looked out the window but didn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought.” He settled back in his seat and fixed his arms slightly as he exhaled, “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to lecture you; I don’t know why I feel the need to preach to you.” He apologized.

“Don’t worry about it.” I said softly, “You were right a hundred percent.” I felt the tears beginning to well as my throat tightened, “Left up here.” I barely managed to say.

He nodded, “Thanks.”

I bit my lip to contain any further symptoms, “I wish I knew why.”

“ ‘With you knew why’ what?” he asked as he maneuvered hand over hand.

“Why I feel like it’s my job to keep everybody happy.” I looked straight ahead, but could nonetheless feel his eyes turn to me.

“You’re not responsible for everybody.” He confirmed.

“I know that, and that’s my problem.” I tired to explain, “But I can’t help but feel that way.”

He was silent for a moment, “I understand.”

I sighed deeply and leaned my head against the taught seatbelt.

“So having said that,” Luke paused, “Please be honest with me; don’t feel like you have to cover up what’s going on inside to please me.” He continued, “It just pisses me off.”

I smiled a little bit, “I have this totally fucked up relationship with my dad.” I heard myself say before my brain could process, let alone stop the words from coming out.

“Does he hit you?” his voice was unusually serious.

“No.” I was hesitant with my answer; I would almost rather he flat-out smack me than use his psychological warfare.

“Does he touch you?” he lowered his voice even further.

“No! Nothing like that. See? It sounds so much worse than it actually is.”

“That’s not what I was trying to imply.” Luke insisted, “My dad and I seldom spoke to each other and if we did it was always so forced and about the stupidest things.”

“Like what?”

“He would ask me if I masturbate and have sex with girls.” He thought about what he had said for moment before continuing, “At the time, I think, it just struck me as so immature that that was the best he could come up with, you know?” he explained.

“Yeah, that does make sense.” I nodded, surprised but at the same time honored by his honesty, “How do you get along with him now?”

He was silent for a moment.

“You don’t really have to answer; it’s none of my business.” I dismissed the question as the atmosphere teetered on an awkward silence.

“No, it’s fine.” He said immediately, “I just don’t know the right way to answer.”

“You could answer with the truth.” I suggested, smiling a little bit.

“Whatever. Loser.” He joked, “Okay which way do I turn?” he exhibited a taboo rolling stop at an intersection.

“Just straight, my driveway’s on the left.”

“Okay.” He confirmed as he accelerated, “Listen, I never really talk about this stuff with anyone, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat it.”

“You can trust me.” My instinct said.

He turned to face me, and for a brief second, our eyes met, “Thanks.”

His eyes returned to the road and my heart continued to beat.

“Okay, with that disclaimer,” he started, “I mean…it’s better now; with me and my dad, but we always have these fallouts. I guess it’s kind of inevitable. We’ve been off and on since my mom died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said, “She’s better off pushing up daisies.”

I furrowed my brow, “I hardly believe that.”

“Well you should. My dad made her life a living hell. And then he tried to blame me for her death and unhappiness.” His voice cracked on the last few words.

“Luke…?” I tried to find his eyes, but the darkness made it impossible. It was only when oncoming traffic passed that I could see for a second his teary stained eyes.

“765 you said?” he read the number on the upcoming mailbox.

“Yeah.”

He turned into the driveway and parked near the garage. Not a single light was on the house. He stepped on the emergency break and folded his hands in his lap.

“Hey,” I said softly and reached out to hold his upper arm, “It’s okay.” I moved my thumb back and forth across the corduroy fabric of his jacket.

He lifted his head and our eyes met. His irises darted side to side as if he were reading into me, “Eden, I…”

My breathing intensified as he lifted his hand to touch my face for the second time that night, his fingers barely against my skin as he tilted my chin back.

I closed my eyes as his touch trailed down my exposed neck. He closed his lips on mine so tenderly that I felt my eyes begin to water. I caressed his face with my spare hand and smoothed the scruffy texture of stubble across his jaw line.

I parted my lips with his simultaneously as our tongues brushed. He moved his hand to hold the side of my face, pulling lightly on what strands of hair he could find.

I massaged his tongue with mine one last time before gently pulling away, but lingering near his face as his hot breath warmed the tip of my nose.

I opened my eyes slowly to see his were closed.

His lids fluttered as he looked directly at me and whispered, “Oh my gosh.”

I smiled.

“I’m so sorry.” He bolted upright in his seat as he ran his fingers through his hair, “You have every right to turn me in. I swear this was never my intention.”

“Shh, calm down.” I lowered my voice, “I’m not turning you in.”

“You should!” he was adamant, “I swear I didn’t plan this; honest!”

“Shut up Luke, I believe you.” I smiled, “I liked it.”

He was silent, “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel anything.” I shook my head, “Luke, this is serious.”

He didn’t answer me, “Eden, what scares me is that-…” he stopped.

“What?”

Silence, “Do you want to go somewhere?” he asked suddenly, “I won’t lay a finger on you, I promise. I just want to be with you.”

I nodded, “I’d really like that.”