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Join Date: Nov 2007
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Chapter 1 - The Painting
This is intended for a young adult audience.
Chapter 1 - The Painting
The raucous laughter that surrounded him did not fit. He searched all around for the source and was puzzled as light slowly illuminated the cave and the dirt walls were mysteriously replaced with white walls and chalkboards. Realization hit him, “Oh no, not again,” he muttered as he heaved his face up off of his desk and noticed a small drool pile which had accumulated while he slept. He brushed his sleeve across his desk, wiping up the drool before anyone could notice.
Mrs. Harris stood a foot from him, hands on hips, lips pursed. The last time he fell asleep he was warned of ensuing punishment if it were to happen again. Without a word she shoved a note into his hand and sharply pointed to the door, her arm forming a stiff arrow marking his all too familiar path.
The classroom laughter had died down with the exception of a few sniggers reverberating throughout the room. He grabbed his book bag and as he stood he caught Tim’s worried expression. He quickly averted his eyes making sure not to look at anyone else as he hastened out of the classroom.
Dragging his feet down the long hallway, he hung his head and focused his eyes on the shiny concrete floor. Dark tunnels flashed through his mind and he stopped for a moment in an effort to remember his dream. The therapist told him that he should always write down his dreams immediately after waking, but he hadn’t had time.
His cheeks grew hot as he thought about his weekly visits and he tried to shove them from his mind and get back to his dream. It had been a weird one, all right. A boy growing out of a puddle of water like a flower growing from the earth in fast forward – an explosion – a baby – and a green woman. He shook his head in bewilderment. No one could explain the cause of these dreams and he had had them for as long as he could remember.
The locker-lined hallway took a sharp turn to the left dumping him out into a different one with light yellow walls, windows and a large wood door. As he stepped through the door he was greeted by the receptionist desk, which was strategically placed ensuring that visitors had to check in before proceeding. The receptionist herself was deep in thought, squinting at her monitor, until she heard the bells tied to the handle of the oak door jingle. Reluctantly, she glanced up to see Christopher standing in the door jam and raised an eyebrow disapprovingly, “Again?”
Christopher winced. She always made him feel like such a loser.
“What happened this time?”
Ignoring her question, he walked forward and shoved the note from his teacher into her hand. Shrugging her shoulders, she pointed for Christopher to sit in one of the metal chairs behind him. He didn’t need to be told what to do or what would happen. Mechanically, he sat and waited as he had done so many times before.
Sighing deeply he glanced around the waiting room taking in the same old worn posters which he had committed to memory: ‘Every path has its puddles’ and ‘Wisdom is not having to learn from your mistakes’. They made him want to gag. The walls were the same color yellow as the hall outside and in spots the paint was chipped and bubbled, waiting for an anxious child to peel it away.
Just as Christopher was noticing a tiny spider in the top right corner the receptionist popped her head up once again.
“She’ll see you now.”
Envious of the spider’s meaningful life he stood and glanced at it, busy spinning its web. At least it had purpose and for the most part everyone left it alone.
He walked past the receptionist desk and turned right. The dimly lit corridor threatened to close in on him as he tarried to the last door on the left, which stood ajar. It creaked as he nudged it open to find Ms. Pinicky, square glasses clinging to the tip of her nose, hands folded under her chin, staring at him in anticipation. She motioned for him to enter and waved her hand to the chair directly in front of her desk.
She liked to stare at him for at least 5 minutes before saying anything. Was this an attempt to read his thoughts? Or was she merely trying to intimidate him? Either way he used these times to let his mind wander and today he found himself interested in the paintings on the office walls. He thought it strange that during all of his visits he had not noticed these before. The largest one hung directly behind Ms. Pinicky’s head and since he had no desire to make eye contact with her he focused on a much smaller painting to her left. It was of a dense forest of intensely lifelike trees. So lifelike, in fact, that at first he thought it was a photograph, not a painting. Then he concluded that the colors were far to rich, far too brilliant; deep shades of emerald green with a brush of haziness sweeping across the frame giving the impression of a misty fog.
Christopher found himself jealous of the artist’s ability to capture images with such attention to detail while at the same time making you feel exactly as though you were dreaming. There were hundreds of trees huddled together as if to keep warm and the needles on the evergreens stretched to the forest floor while the leaves of the oaks wrapped around their wearers like a shawl. Perched on a high branch of the closest oak was an eagle hungrily staring at a squirrel who was nibbling on a nut. Christopher didn’t think that the squirrel had much of a chance for escape.
He imagined himself actually there smelling the pine leaves, feeling the leaves crunch under his feet, standing at the base of a tall fir staring up, marveling at its immense stature. He swore he could even hear animals rustling in nearby bushes scurrying away in alarm at the new intruder, and as he studied all of his surroundings he looked past the closest of the trees and could barely make out a figure in the distance. Curiosity engulfed him and he took a few steps nearer to the strange figure when Ms. Pinicky cleared her throat.
“So…”
The spell of the painting released him as if he was waking from one of his dreams. He turned his gaze to find her still studying him.
“Do you like the painting?”
This was not the question Christopher expected but he was glad to talk about that rather than the real reason why he was there. He nodded his head.
“And what do you like about it, Christopher?” She leaned a little closer to him as she asked this.
He hesitated. Why did she care about that? He wasn’t here to talk about paintings! He was here to be lectured, once again, on the importance of staying awake in class and not disturbing other students. He thought it very odd indeed as he answered. “Uh, I really like the trees… they seem very real.”
A puzzled look formed across Ms. Pinicky’s face. “Trees did you say?”
He wasn’t quite sure how to answer or why she would be so puzzled. He looked back at the painting, the arms of the trees seemed to be waving at him, then to her, “Um… yes ma’am.”
She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them and quickly wrote in her note book. With a glance back at the painting she put down her pen and looked up at Christopher. “Sleeping in class again?”
Now, it was Christopher’s turn to look puzzled. The sudden change in subject annoyed him as he had hoped they could steer away from the real reason why he was there. He glanced at the painting, willing himself to disappear in the midst of the forest, before answering.
“Um… yes,” he avoided her eyes.
“Christopher, are you still going to therapy?”
“Yes, Ms. Pinicky.”
“Do you remember the first time you came to my office?”
Christopher thought back to the beginning of the year, his first year of High School. He had tested out of algebra and geometry and went straight into calculus. Being surrounded by 11th and 12th graders made Christopher feel out of place but he was used to feeling that way. He had always been known as a nerd. Everyone marveled at his and Tim’s friendship and Tim often was made fun of for being friends with Christopher. This never affected Tim’s reputation though. He was too good at sports and always seemed to know the right thing to say at the right time.
It had only been his first week at school when he had fallen asleep. The teacher didn’t understand and didn’t try to understand why Christopher fell asleep. He just assumed that like so many other teenagers Christopher was acting up and sent him to the principal’s office. This was his introduction to Ms. Pinicky.
She had asked him a lot of questions, and took a lot of notes. It was at this time that Christopher told her about his dreams which she deduced were the cause. When he left her office she called his mother. He winced at the memory of that day.
He got home to find his mother waiting for him; hands on her hips and a worn area on the rug where she had been pacing. Truth be told, she always seemed to be annoyed with him, sometimes just more than others. That day she was through the roof and was borderline furious.
“Falling asleep in class your first week of school?!?”
“Mom, I…”
“Do not speak! Are you staying up late? Sneaking out? Doing drugs?”
“Mom, no I…”
Her pacing started again and he knew better than to say anything. He watched her walk back and forth and then come to a stop.
“Your principal said you are having dreams and that we should have you speak to someone. This will cost us a fortune but I can’t very well refuse with your principal watching. I have contacted a therapist and you will start seeing her this week.”
Christopher’s mouth fell to the floor. Christopher was filled with two very strong emotions: rage and shame. ‘Cost a fortune?’ As if his family couldn’t afford it. But that is always how it was for him. They had everything they wanted but when it came to him they acted like paupers. And how was he supposed to deal with this at school? Everyone thought he was crazy already, this would be even worse! He opened his mouth to object –
“Do not dare to argue with me. Do not dare!!! This is not an option. But, if I find out that there is something else going on then you will be out of this house before I can say ‘get out’. Understand?” She spun on her heel, stormed out of the hallway and that was that – from that moment Christopher was doomed to weekly therapy visits.
Ms. Pinicky drummed her fingers on her desk and Christopher’s shook the memory away. “Yes ma’am”.
“Has your therapist been able to help you figure out any of your dreams?”
“No ma’am.” He was not going to make this easy for her if she insisted talking about his therapy.
“Well, I can’t very well punish you for something that you can’t help. I see your grades have not dropped.” She seemed to be thinking, “What about enrolling in our tutor program? Even though you are not to blame you must see that it is very distracting for the other students.”
“But, Ms. Pinicky my mother will freak out!!!” Christopher stood so abruptly from his seat that he almost knocked a vase off the edge of the principal’s desk.
“Christopher… please sit down.” She said sternly. Reluctantly he sat and she continued. “We won’t tell her. As long as your grades don’t drop no-one outside of this school needs to know.”
“Oh come on! What about the other students? They already mock me enough. If they see that I have been pulled out of class to be tutored it will be a nightmare!” He was sitting on the edge of his seat now.
Ms. Pinicky held up a hand for him to relax. She raised an eyebrow and considered him for a moment. “I see your point. Well… let me see. What if a rumor was started that your classes do not challenge you enough and you need something… more? Yes! That is exactly what will happen and your mother will know – “ Christopher opened his mouth to object but Ms. Pinicky held up her hand again, “Yes, Christopher, your mother will know and I will inform her myself. She will be told that you excel in all of your classes and that we will be tutoring you as part of an ongoing effort to assist our special students in succeeding.”
She grabbed a pen and put it to her head. Chuckling to herself she murmured, “Not really a lie after all. He really is a good student.”
Christopher groaned but knew there was no point arguing. He expected this meeting to be over and hoisted himself up, the old leather chair creaking as he did.
Ms. Pinicky glanced up from her notepad, “One last thing,” and once again he sat down, “You did say you saw trees in the painting? Trees?”
He really didn’t know how to answer. He checked the painting again, looking for some sort of a trick, studied it for a moment and then slowly answered,
“Umm… yes?”
“Oh, well… of course you would see trees. I mean… After all it is a painting of a forest, right?” She sounded unsure.
Did she expect an answer? He tried to read her face. “Yes, ma’am. I see a forest.” An unmistakable smile spread rapidly across Ms. Pinicky’s face, she shook her head disbelievingly. “So… do you see anything else? Besides trees that is?”
Christopher looked back at the painting, the principal’s bizarre behavior alarmed him, “I see an eagle, a squirrel, and something in the back of the picture that looks like a horse and rider.” Christopher jumped as Ms. Pinicky knocked her mug off of her desk.
She didn’t move to clean up the mess of broken glass and coffee now spewed on her office floor. She simply stared, eyes wide.
“Umm – Ma’am, do you feel alright? Want me to get something to clean that up?”
“Oh, huh?”
“The broken mug. Want me to help clean it up?”
“Oh, that… no, no – that’s fine. Alright, you may go.”
Uncertainly he rose from his chair, Ms. Pinicky now madly scribbling in her notepad. She didn’t look up as he walked to the door, didn’t even attempt to say good-bye. He thought it polite, on the other hand, to say good-bye to her and as he turned his eyes once again fell on the painting. And, there was the image that was so hard to make out before except now very clear to him. He could distinctly make out a girl on a galloping horse. So posed the question: was she in his dreams because he really had noticed this painting before or was this some strange coincidence?
He started to tell Ms. Pinicky what he saw but changed his mind as he thought about what she would say: “Christopher, of course you saw the picture hanging there before. You noticed it and have been having dreams about it. I do that all the time. Why, just the other day I drove past a pizza delivery truck and dreamt that night that my car was a pizza mobile. Now shoo along.” So without another word he turned to leave the office, without saying good-bye.
Last edited by JustinaB : 11-09-2007 at 11:41 AM.
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