From Drafting to Revisions: Establishing Point of View and Character in Cassie A Critical Analysis Lori LeFevre Hadley Spring 2017 Hadley 1 There is no such thing as achieving the perfect manuscript piece on the first sitting. Anne Lamott, author of Bird by Bird, writes, “I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts” (93). A part of learning how to write, is learning that it takes multiple drafts, multiple hours and multiple critiques to get a manuscript to the point where it is publishable and elegant. A first copy never is, and may never be, perfect. In addition, there are always people who will wonder why the writer did certain things. The benefit of a draft is that it is just that, a rough portion of creativity ready for engagement. Starting a piece of work may be the hardest part of the process of writing. If there is nothing there to work with, then there is no piece for anyone to critique; there are no written ideas to manipulate. When starting to write, it is best to get everything out, no matter how crude it might initially be. Anna Keesey’s essay, “Making a Scene,” explores why it is challenging to start a work: “Part of what makes writing fiction so difficult is that the writer must decide what’s going to happen, to whom, and why, but is simultaneously loaded up with another set of decisions: Who’ll be telling the story, in what order, with what level of detail and at what speed of revelation” (136). There is so much to think about when starting to write a story, that often it becomes overwhelming to the writer to know what decisions are best. That is why drafts are important to writing, because they allow the writer to take big risks, and make mistakes, that are then corrected in succeeding revisions. Lamott compares the first version of a text to a child, “The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later” (94). The first draft is about getting the ideas out in whatever form, and then looking at those ideas again to find the Hadley 2 shapes and ideas for further developing. It is through the process of revising a manuscript that the writer molds into being and into something worth publishing. The beginning texts are for establishing the details so the writer can move forward with the story. The inspirational texts that I read by authors Laurie Halse Anderson, Patty Blount, Sarah Dressen, Courtney C. Stevens, and Courtney Summers were similar in style. Each text told the story from the first-person perspective, the main character taking the story into their own hands. However, in each story, the event of crisis had also already occurred, mostly commonly during the previous summer, at a party, and the main characters returned to their school, friendless and deep within their emotional turmoil. These stories caused me to question even more intensely which direction Cassie, my main character, should tell her story because although Cassie’s story involved a similar emotional event, her main crisis occurs within the manuscript pages. Cassie’s story steps away from the genre; therefore, each decision about the manuscript needed rethinking, and comparison against the existing texts within that genre. The existing texts used the first-person perspective, but discovering the correct point of view for my creative piece needed drafting time with additional experimentation. While writing different scenes, I slipped between different perspectives. I wanted to see what mimicking the genre style would do to Cassie’s story, as well as establishing the correct point of view required for the novel moving forward. In one draft, Cassie established herself as the teller of her story in one section, using the first person “I”; and in the next section of the story a narrator closely followed Cassie and her thoughts. It became the Frankenstein monster—pieced together and grotesque—but because it was an early draft this slip was not a terrible faux pas; it called for revision with a clear idea of where I—or more importantly, the story—was wanting to head in future corrections. Writer, Benjamin Percy, explains that he sees this perspective problem a lot Hadley 3 with beginning writers, and finds himself taking on the role of a referee with his students’ manuscripts: Every now and then, I will make a series of complicated hand gestures, screech my whistle, and say, ‘Point-of-view violation!’ This is because the writer, after establishing a first-person or close-third point of view, has violated the constrictions of that perspective. In the first few sentences of a story, you establish a contract with your reader. (136-37) Establishing and maintaining a point of view is essential in keeping the reader engaged in a piece of literature, since readers will quickly recognize that the story has shifted and become disjointed with a text. An author’s wish is that the reader will first: read their novel, and second: make connections and find meaning in the author’s piece. By selecting a specific point of view that helps readers stay connected with the story and with a character, it allows the writer to incorporate other important aspects in their writing to move the story along. No polished manuscript will keep jumping from first-person point of view to a close third-person, as one of my rough drafts did. However, in order to gain confidence in the chosen point of view of Cassie’s story, it was important for me to explore the possibilities of other points of view. Drafting in many forms allows the writer to determine what works best for their characters, as well as ideas that want and need presence within the text. For Cassie’s story, I concluded it best to work with a close third-person point of view. As stated previously, this is a break from the inspirational texts that I have previously read, and became finalized through the drafting process. Although the first-person perspective would place readers inside Cassie, like other inspirational main characters, it would also limit readers to see only what Cassie saw, and experience merely what she felt. It has worked before with these other texts, but because I am branching out from the exact formulas of their stories, a different form Hadley 4 works better for me. For Cassie’s story, readers would be so close to her, that they would have to experience exactly what Cassie experiences in a traumatic rape scene. The novels that I read only implied their rape scenes and showed flashbacks to the reader. The reader did not have to experience the trauma at the same time the character did. This removed the reader from that event; therefore, the first-person perspective in those novels was not intrusive or offensive, because the most intimate and terrifying event that the story remained in the past. The scene is difficult to read, to write, and to experience. I wanted to take up that challenge that other writers chose not to tell, and have Cassie experience that moment with readers. Readers will experience Cassie’s rape both from an inside and outside perspective due to the close, yet removed point of view. Including this painful event into the story involved separating readers from the full force of the scene, but still involving them emotionally in it. Readers are close to Cassie, but still separate enough to not get overwhelmed by the scene. In his essay “Story & Dream”, Jim Krusoe explores this point of view: “I wondered how I could be doing two things—watching and driving—at once. And then I thought: in fiction we call this ‘close third person,’ ” (175). The close third-person perspective brings readers to a dreamlike state where they are both watching Cassie, and experiencing what Cassie is. Readers get to experience what happens, while also stepping back and watching it as if they are along for the ride. With this outside narrative, I felt more description, detail and experience could be included to help pull the readers deeper into the story, but at the same time, keep them at a distance during Cassie’s traumatic event. Instead of Cassie telling readers a step-by-step progression of her experience, readers view it from above and are a step removed from it, yet still closely linked with Cassie and her thoughts. For example, “Cassie wasn’t sure if he could tell she wanted him to stop, his mouth Hadley 5 pressing down on hers wouldn’t let her talk, and it was as if he thought her “please” was asking him to continue. Cassie felt her heart rate start to match her fear. She wasn’t strong enough to push Rob off her.” In this small passage, readers are with Cassie in her thoughts, but still separate enough from Cassie to not feel like they are in the same danger the character is in. They understand the fear Cassie is experiencing while being in the room with Cassie, instead of being Cassie pinned underneath the character, Rob. In his novel, Making Shapely Fiction, Jerome Stern writes about the third-person perspective: “The advantages are the creation of immediacy, intimacy, and psychological depth, while retaining the freedom to continue to be a narrator outside of the central character” (190). The first-person narrative may, in this scene for example, bring the reader too close to the character. Therefore, separating, as Stern states, the character with the third-person perspective, allows for the same intimacy and depth that the first-person narrative does, without pushing the reader too far in their experience with the text. The close perspective allows for both an engaging read and an emotional experience. The inspirational texts aspire to help victims pick up the pieces after a traumatic rape, but I want to make that experience feel real to readers so that they can understand Cassie before, during and after. I want them there for the best and worst that life throws at her. Another critical scene is where Cassie finds out that she is pregnant. In the first draft, I implemented the first-person perspective. It was as if Cassie needed her own moment to explain the scene first, before a narrator took over. In the first draft of the scene, she goes to buy a pregnancy test, “I find the section, and there’s about eight different brands, and labels. I’m trying to study them when a lady walks into the aisle, so I automatically grab the one I was looking at. . . I’m in all out-escape mode now, so I don’t even hear the clerk’s greeting, or anything after that. Hadley 6 I’m set on getting back to the school and making sure it’s not what I think it is. I’m dead if it is.” Here Cassie is explaining her own panic, and it feels repetitive with every step about what is happening. Cassie basically says, “I did this, and then I did that.” The first-person perspective links the readers with Cassie, but that same immediacy achieves purpose through the close third-person, allowing readers to breathe at the same time as worrying about Cassie’s panicked reaction to her missed period. In the revision, time speeds up for the reader, yet Cassie’s quick panic is still visible in a concise description of events: “Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, Cassie grabbed the first test she saw, and with test in hand, it’s all out escape-mode registering in her brain. Clerk, card, bag, keys, car, school. It’s a blur and Cassie is back in the same stall as before— luckily the bathroom is empty.” This quick action pronounces a sense of urgency more than the previous “I” statements from the first-person point of view. It is this flexibility that allows the reader to still feel what Cassie is experiencing, without the complexity of going through all the motions that Cassie needs to go through in order to get the pregnancy test results back. Getting the story out, and letting it “romp” about as Anne Lamott describes it, allowed for a better revision that feels more polished. The reader will not know the work that went into each draft, but experienced writers can recognize that the piece was not written in one sitting. Drafting helped determine how Cassie’s story would be told. The point of view of Cassie was chosen based on the idea that the close third-person perspective could bring the readers close to the character of Cassie without placing them in her exact position. In The Art of Fiction, John Gardner writes that the third-person “point of view (style, in a sense) goes for deep consciousness, in the hope that the thoughts and feelings of the character will become the immediate (unmediated) thoughts and feelings of the reader” (156). It is through this immediate Hadley 7 connection of feelings that I hope to bring readers to an understanding of Cassie. I want the reader to experience the fear, helplessness, physical challenges and hardships of an unwanted sexual encounter, an unexpected pregnancy, and the emotional battle that ultimately leads to successfully overcoming all that she experiences. Some of the questions that Cassie may ask herself during her difficulties—Should I define myself by what happened? How strong am I? What is now left for me in life? —are questions that anyone could ask themselves about their own trials. As Cassie overcomes and finds ways to handle her situation, it is the hope that those who read her story will then be able to reach their own conclusions about their own lives, their possibilities and values. Providing a strong main character that is believable is important in order to link readers with the novel. While the close third-person perspective links readers to Cassie, it is now important to make Cassie’s actions and thoughts not only believable, but to make the reader capable of empathy. I found this became stronger and more concrete with each draft. Gardner explains the readers’ reactions to a character: We care how things turn out because the character cares—our interest comes from empathy—and though we may know more than the character knows, anticipating dangers the character cannot see, we understand and to some degree sympathize with the character’s desire, approving what the character approves (what the character values), even if we sense that the character’s ideal is impractical or insufficient. (65) Readers will care about the events of the characters, because the character cares about those events. Cassie cares about her lost innocence. She cares about trying to make the best decision for herself, but also is in the process of grieving. These cares have become more defined with each subsequent draft in the process towards completing the story. Hadley 8 It is through Cassie’s thoughts, feelings and actions that readers can begin to understand Cassie as a character, and to understand what is important to her. Art and painting are Cassie’s main goals and what she is pursuing in life. She understands the world through lines, colors, and shapes. Because art is important to Cassie, the reader can get to know more about Cassie through this passion. Cassie takes time to explain to her boyfriend the emotions one can feel with color, “Yellow can be seen as a happy color, because it is associated with light, the sun and warmth. Green is often referred to as the color of envy, jealousy, and conversely life or things living, while red is thought of when we think of love, passion, fire and anger.” Because Cassie takes the time to explain color associations to Rob, the reader can assume that any color explored throughout the novel may also have an emotional connection to the story. Color as a theme can then be added in the drafting process; through the revision of each work, clarity on color can be perfected so the readers can understand Cassie’s love of color and art. Just as art plays a part before Cassie’s life breaks down, I felt it was necessary to redeem art and its purpose in Cassie’s mind by letting it bring her clarity in starting to pull and lift her from the pain of her experiences. This is another variation from the inspirational texts, except for one. In Laurie Halse Anderson’s novel, Speak, the introduction of art to her main character, Melinda, during a required freshman class, is the medium for healing. It is through her teacher’s persistence and year project that Melinda is able to find her voice. The other inspirational novels that I read placed a romantic male figure into the story, who then redeemed men in the main character’s perspective. The main character could distinguish that not every man would hurt them in the way their rapist did. While my original thoughts placed a possible male figure in the story to help Cassie, the further development fine-tuned the action of the story, and turned it in another direction. Since Cassie has such a passion for art, family and an independent nature, it Hadley 9 did not make sense for her to rely on another romantic male figure to pull her out of her emotional turmoil. Instead art is her strength, since that is who she is—an artist. As the writer, I followed this idea and placed Cassie at an art gallery where she would connect with a piece of art, and find the path she desired to take: Cassie looked back at the painting. She could now see the woman in the dark shape. She could feel the despair, the heartache. Oliver’s mother had been strong, had survived being alone as a mother. Cassie wondered if she could give up the life of her unborn child? Would her mother have ever gotten rid of her? The answer was a “no.” Her mother would have loved her no matter how she’d come to her. This baby deserved the same thing from Cassie. This baby deserved all her love. The piece of art Cassie is drawn to, causes her to pause, question its meaning, and then find solutions to her own difficulties and trials. Just as Cassie finds clarity through art, readers may find that they want to explore art as a means finding answers to their own questions. I feel like it is important for Cassie to find her own strength through this medium, instead of relying on another person, because there are many challenges people must deal with on their own. Readers can relate to Cassie through her reactions and inner strength and use them in their own lives. In her essay, “Engineering Impossible Architectures,” Karen Russell explains, “Characters must have convincingly human reactions to their world for it to feel real” (208). It is important that Cassie’s emotions mimic what readers feel their own emotions would be in her situation, and can believe in her inner strength. If the art, or fictional world, isn’t convincing, then readers will feel the fabrication of the world, and not be able to immerse themselves in the story, and the characters’ lives. One of the main reasons people read is to experience an alternative reality inside a story. Readers want to be drawn into the story, and lose themselves. Hadley 10 By allowing characters to react and behave in true humanistic ways, readers can connect with them and believe in this new world that the writer has created. Dynamic characters are those who have reactions and behaviors to the events that are happening around them. It is important to readers to see growth in a character, and to see that character make decisions. These moments may not present themselves in a first draft, but will need clarification in successive edits. Readers want to see the growth so they can identify with it and know they can also achieve their own changes. A static character will not make any decisions, move forward, or change in any way. Janet Burroway author of Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft writes, “Build action by making your characters discover and decide. Make sure that what happens is action and not mere event or movement, that is, that it contains the possibility for human change” (145). Change is essential for a character’s arc. Characters need authentic feelings, attitudes and characteristics like real people encounter for readers to take them seriously. Life is constantly moving and transforming which allows people to adapt to their circumstances. Readers expect characters to also adapt and transform themselves within the context of the novel. When something changes conflict and tension arise. Cassie faces a few major hurdles in her story. She faces the challenge of getting into the college she wants to attend, experiencing love, unwanted intimacy, and an unexpected pregnancy. Each of these conflicts were not fully explored or thought out in the original drafting process, but came because the story required them for Cassie to feel real. It is Cassie’s decisions and actions relative to these conflicts that will lift her up, and allow readers to root for her to continue toward her dreams even if she feels like she has no strength to do so. Her response to her situation will make or break her ability to create a dynamic storyline, or to remain a lifeless story that no one wants to finish. Hadley 11 Developing a strong narrative voice and believable characters are necessary to create a work of fiction that connects readers to the words on the page. At any given moment, a reader has the option to step out of the story and never come back to those hard-worked pages. As readers discover truths and similarities between themselves and characters within the novels they read, they engage themselves with the text in order to enjoy the lives of the characters, to seek out meaning in their own lives, and to understand how the characters overcome challenges placed in front of them. Even in the fantastical worlds portrayed in fiction, realistic events bring meaning to a reader. Jerome Stern describes believability and its purpose within the novel: “The lives [the author] depict are powerful because they seem true, immediate, and real. The events may be bizarre, but they are believable . . . The plots might be twisted, but they seem to grow naturally out of the possibilities and dangers of the real world” (202). The reasons readers continue to seek out new novels is because they see the characters are behaving in ways that are true to life. Readers see similar or comparative challenges in their own lives, and then find meaning in identifying with these fictional characters and their challenges as they relate to what they are facing. Reading is about seeking out and finding meaning in one’s life. However, it is the writer’s job to get the story written so readers can enjoy it. Hard-work revising a piece can bring true to life meaning to readers, but first the ideas must come to life through the extensive writing process. Anne Lamott explains, “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. . . A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft—you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft—you fix it up” (95). Fixing up and reworking the written text allows for the growth of the plot, style and most importantly the development of the characters. It is by identifying with Hadley 12 the characters that readers find meaning; and finding meaning in life and in literature brings added purpose, not only to the reader, but to the author as well. Hadley 13 Works Cited Anderson, Laurie Halse. Speak. New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 1999. Print. Burroway, Janet. Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft. 5th ed. New York: Longman, 2000. Print. Gardner, John. The Art of Fiction: Notes on Craft for Young Writers. New York: Vintage, 1991. Print. Keesey, Anna. "Making a Scene." The Writer's Notebook: Craft Essays from Tin House. Portland: Tin House, 2009. 135-53. Print. Krusoe, Jim. "Story & Dream." The Writer's Notebook II: Craft Essays from Tin House. Portland: Tin House, 2012. 173-86. Print. Lamott, Anne. “Shitty First Drafts.” Language Awareness: Readings for College Writers. Ed. By Paul Eschholz, Alfred Rosa, and Virginia Clark. 9th ed. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s 2005: 93-96. Print. Percy, Benjamin. "Get a Job: The Importance of Work in Prose and Poetry." The Writer's Notebook II: Craft Essays from Tin House. Portland: Tin House, 2012. 131-40. Print. Russell, Karen. "Engineering Impossible Architectures.” The Writer's Notebook II: Craft Essays from Tin House. Portland: Tin House, 2012. 197-216. Print. Stern, Jerome. Making Shapely Fiction. New York: Norton, 1991. Print. Cassie By Lori LeFevre Hadley Hadley 1 Cassie scrambled through the door, a bit breathless, just as the last bell rang. Across the room, Joan rolled her eyes, and flagged Cassie to her waiting seat. Mr. Morrison didn’t even glance up from the pages of the New York Times he was reading. His legs rested on his desk, jeans replacing the tie and slacks he’d suffered through the first two weeks of school, and his hand fumbled around searching for his “Best Teacher” mug full of steaming coffee. He’d remain that way until after morning announcements, and then casually start his English lecture. “You look like you’ve had quite the morning. Color?” Joan asked eyeing Cassie’s disheveled brown hair tied back in a ponytail, her tilted black-rimmed glasses, and the array of books she dropped to the desk. Each day Joan Thornton made it a point to have her blonde hair neatly done, whether straight or in loose curls about her face like today, and her gold-flecked eyes carefully framed with winged-out eyeliner. Each day became another day of Joan perfection. “Sizzling tangerine,” Cassie said, accidentally knocking her pile of books off the desk as she tried to prop up her black art carrying case. “Ah, I see our crayon box is expanding. Hands?” she said, arching an eyebrow at Cassie. Cassie stopped fumbling with her things so Joan could inspect her hands. “Just as I expected,” Joan said, scratching delicately at the dried-paint forever glued under, around and on Cassie’s fingernails. “You worked way too hard this weekend on your portfolio. Should have come to the movies with me and Shawn.” “And miss out on making this?” Cassie asked, carefully pulling a watercolor out of the carrying case. Cassie still had a lot of work to do with a dozen paintings required for her application to Maryland Institute College of Art. She’d nabbed one of the ‘limited’ portfolio review slots available to seniors applying to the program, which allowed her to receive priceless Hadley 2 feedback on paintings she was thinking about submitting in the application along with the usual campus tour. Cassie wanted to bring all twelve paintings for the review which meant she only had eighteen weeks to achieve perfection. “Well, I’m not sure random banana shapes and triangles with Tootsie Rolls is going to win you any prizes.” “What?!” Cassie said reaching to get the painting back. “I’m just kidding. It’s really a splendid portrayal of the Susquehanna River. Think Miss McCohen will say it’s good enough for MICA?” “If anything, she’ll say it’s perfect for a Yale application. But you know I can’t add three extra hours to a commute back home.” Cassie wanted to stay close enough to home to keep an eye on her dad. It’d only been just over a year since Cassie’s mom, Annette, had died. She had been a designer, and Cassie’s main inspiration. The doctors thought she was strong and healthy enough to make it through breast cancer treatments, but they hadn’t anticipated how bad the cancer was until they did more tests and found that the cancer had spread. After six months of chemo and radiation, Annette decided she was done with treatments, and instead would spend the summer traveling with Cassie and her younger brother Calvin. She took them to Europe, where Cassie fell in love with art more than she ever had before, and where Calvin insisted they view game after game of “futbol.” Cassie’s dad stayed behind in Harrisburg, working to make sure the bills stayed current and to feel comfortable that he could provide for the family after Annette passed. Cassie knew her dad regretted that decision. He kept an album of their vacation photos under her mom’s old pillow, something Cassie found when she lifted the pillow up one afternoon, wondering if her mom’s rose petal scent still lingered there. Hadley 3 “Who needs Yale anyway?” Joan asked. “Your mom would be proud of you no matter which school you chose to go to.” “So… Movie night with Shawn? What’s your color?” “I’m brilliant sunlight, and if you can make up crayon names then so can I!” “Brilliant sunlight it is. So, the movie was that good, or perhaps it was the company?” “I might not survive having Shawn at Penn State and not seeing him every weekend. Let’s just say, the movie was background to Shawn letting me know how much he missed me.” “Oh gosh, that’s still too much detail for me Joan.” “Someday you’ll understand. Maybe with him?” Joan said, pointing to the morning news broadcast that hardly anyone ever watched. SBO President Rob Johnson filled the overhead TV screen, as he updated the school on the football team’s schedule for the week. Cassie had admired him for years. He was charismatic, involved, welcoming and kind; although some of the girls, especially the cheerleaders, preferred the athletic type. Rob was tall, lean and strong, but not interested in taking to any field. “You know, you don’t have to mention elementary school to talk with him,” Joan said. “Just because he walked you to the nurse’s office once after you scraped your knee doesn’t mean he’s the best thing on the planet either. I mean, you said his math scores weren’t very impressive.” “Joan, it’s not that he walked me to the office in elementary, but that he held my hand when the nurse put the antiseptic on. He told me I was brave and gave me my first kiss.” “On the cheek.” “Okay, yes. The kiss was on the cheek and I was only seven, but I’ve witnessed him helping others since then. His math definitely needs improvement though.” Hadley 4 “Do you stare at him during class like you do here?” Joan said, raising her eyebrows. Cassie was a TA for Mr. Fleming’s math class, which happened to include Rob Johnson. “I don’t have time to stare at him. I’m grading papers, and running errands. Besides, Rob always looks so stressed out in that class, I’d never take advantage of that situation.” “Wow, yeah. He’s clearly not on your radar at all.” “I just can’t help myself. It’s a disease.” “No, your disease is reticence. That’s ten points to me for using our vocabulary of the week in a sentence. You need to bolster up some courage and speak to him. If he recognized you, the damsel in distress from all those years ago, you’d be on his radar as a potential girlfriend. Then we could double on the weekends and while I’m making out, you’d also be.” “Ha, Joan. You are crazy.” “Crazy, right and loving it.” ***** Later that day, Rob Johnson stood talking with Mr. Fleming when Cassie stepped in to the math classroom. Rob’s posture showed no sign of distress, but Cassie glimpsed his pressed lips as he went and sat in his seat. Mr. Fleming looked up, saw Cassie and motioned her over as the other students filed in to take their seats for their last class before lunch. “Cassie, there are worksheets for you to correct today. The key is in the file drawer where I always keep it. Also, I know as a senior you have a lot on your plate with applications to colleges, keeping up your grades, and applying for scholarships, but I was hoping you could find some time to tutor a student who is struggling.” Cassie looked over at Rob; he was smiling now and speaking with Lawry next to him, but his eyes flicked over to Cassie on a couple of occasions. Lawry was one of Rob’s good friends, and they were both struggling in math which Hadley 5 meant he couldn’t seek help from him, Cassie thought. “Let’s talk after class,” Mr. Fleming finished as the last students found their seats and the late bell rang. Cassie grabbed the math worksheet key from Mr. Fleming’s desk drawer and the stack of papers needing correction, placing them on her desk at the side of the classroom. As always, Mr. Fleming’s worksheets had printed in bold across the top, “No work; no credit.” Cassie hated to mark a student’s work as incorrect when they didn’t show the steps they took to get the right answer. In her opinion, if an answer was correct, it should be correct. Which was fine. Cassie understood and could do math, but what she really liked was freedom. Art gave her that freedom. There were no right or wrong ways to create art. Oh, there were techniques of course. Miss McCohen was strict in pointing that out; but art was all about interpretation and experimentation. Cassie loved that in at least one aspect of her life she wasn’t controlled, wasn’t “supposed” to do things a certain way. Cassie flipped over the corrected homework assignment and read Rob’s name on the next one. She looked up at the class, and noticed Rob was looking at her. It was only for a second, but it was almost like a plea. He looked back at the board containing the quadratic formula Mr. Fleming was teaching them, and furiously scratched it into his notebook. Cassie looked at Rob’s worksheet assignment. He really needed to use pencil next time, she thought as she tried to decipher his work through the crossed-out numbers. It seemed he understood how to solve the exponential formulas, but he was using the wrong formula on the problems. Only the first question was correct, and that was the problem Mr. Fleming used to instruct the class prior to them working on the assignment. Cassie wondered if Rob could keep his SBO status if he was failing math—probably not. Hadley 6 Five minutes before the bell rang Cassie scooped up the corrected worksheets, straightened them by tapping them a few times on the desk, and placed them in Mr. Fleming’s “Graded” basket. Mr. Fleming didn’t always check Cassie’s work, but he was in charge of placing the grades into the computer, and knowing where his students were succeeding or failing. Cassie pulled out her planner with her last few minutes of available class time. She knew she needed to show breadth when it came to her portfolio for Maryland’s Institute of Art, but she also wanted to show her best work. She planned to include a landscape, which she’d done with the watercolor she’d finished last night, a portrait, a still-life, something abstract, and an action piece—most likely showing Calvin during one of his lacrosse games. She thought her dad might like the latter piece to hang in their house later on, after she’d gotten into school. Calvin’s sports success was one of the highlights of their home. “That’s my boy,” a common phrase after each of Calvin’s goals in the game. After the bell rang and the class disappeared for lunch, Mr. Fleming started, “Thanks for taking care of the grading Cassie.” “No problem, Mr. Fleming. So, who did you need me to help? I think I can manage, as long as the student is willing to work hard.” “It’s Robert Johnson. He’s struggling, but I’m sure you already know that since you’ve corrected some of his work. As the Student Body President he also has a lot going on, and needs to keep his grades up. If he isn’t doing well enough, he will have to step back from his duties to this school in favor of having the grades required for college.” Cassie nodded as Mr. Fleming continued, “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, Cassie. I have other students I can ask, but as you know, I generally save time at the end of class so students can begin completing their homework. Perhaps you could use that time to help Rob.” Hadley 7 “Sounds good to me. Do I need to let him know?” Mr. Fleming’s face turned red. “I may have already mentioned to him that you would be willing to help.” “Oh, not a problem, I guess he’ll get in touch with me then, or we’ll talk next class.” “Thanks again, Cassie.” “Bye, Mr. Fleming,” Cassie said as she turned to leave. Of course Mr. Fleming knew she would help out. She had never said no to him. In fact, Cassie couldn’t remember the last time she really said no to anything. Besides, it couldn’t hurt her to spend some time with Rob. There was no way that Joan was going to believe her luck. “Cassie,” came a deep voice from the lockers when Cassie left Mr. Fleming’s classroom. Cassie turned, and saw Rob leaning against a locker with his leg propped. Cassie’s eyes were level with his mouth when he strode up to her. “Hey Cassie, Mr. Fleming said you would help me out with math.” “Yeah, I just finished talking to him about it. We can start anytime.” “Do you mind skipping lunch and working on it now?” Rob asked. “I know we are only a few weeks into the school year, but with how confused I am I need help right away.” “I just need to tell Joan and put some things in my locker.” “Cool, I’ll meet you in the library. By the way, you still smell like warm honey muffins straight from the oven.” Rob smiled, as he walked backwards toward the library. “I smell like what?” “You know, from elementary. You smell the same.” Cassie waved as Rob turned. He’d remembered all these years what she smelled like? Cassie’s flushed cheeks hurt by the time she got to her locker next to Joan’s. Hadley 8 ***** Almost to her locker, Cassie passed the table where tickets to the Halloween Dance were being sold. It’d been three weeks since she’d started tutoring Rob, and everything felt piled on her. She wasn’t sure if she’d even come close to passing her English exam that morning, and next week was her physics exam. Not to mention the pressures of graduation. Cassie thought about the two paintings that were ready for her interview, and dreaded seeing the blank canvas she’d been trying to work on for over a week. At least she’d started to sketch the outline of Calvin in his lacrosse gear, that was a start. But ten more paintings in roughly three months? It felt impossible. “Wanna come to the mall with me to pick out an outfit for Penn State’s orientation?” Joan asked, closing her locker. “You already have a million outfits, and I can’t. Rob is coming over for tutoring tonight.” “Ohhh, you have a date,” Joan said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Okay, tomorrow then, you and me are hitting the boutiques.” “Why don’t we just hit your closet?” “Shawn has seen all those outfits before. I want to remind him why he’s my boyfriend. Come on, it’s been forever since I’ve seen him. I’ve got to show all his college buddies why he hasn’t dumped his senior girlfriend. Cassie, promise me you’ll help?” “Joan, I have paintings that I need to be working on.” “I know, I know and I promise to leave you alone all Sunday to work on them. Don’t say no to me. You never say no to anyone else.” Hadley 9 “Fine. Tomorrow we’ll find you a knock-out outfit for orientation. Then Sunday I’ll get to work. Just make sure you aren’t wearing it when you come pick me up, or my dad will think we’re only going to visit Penn State so you can hook up with your boyfriend.” “Penn State for me, MICA for you and a friendship that will last through the ages. Just think, we’ll come home on the weekends and catch up, see the families of course . . .” “And you’ll flash your engagement ring at me within the first semester.” “Can’t say I don’t want it,” Joan laughed. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Text me about your ‘tutoring’ session tonight. I want all the details.” “You’re so bossy,” Cassie yelled. “That’s just one thing you love about me,” Joan called back. Cassie heard the knock on the door from her upstairs bedroom, and dropped her paintbrush. She hadn’t meant to start working on it, but since it had been on her mind earlier, the impressionist style of Calvin on the field called to her when she got home. She heard Calvin answer the door as she headed down the stairs. “Oh, hey Calvin. Is Cassie home?” Rob asked. “Probably,” Calvin said opening the door the rest of the way and walking back to the couch. ESPN played on the TV as Calvin plopped back on the couch, chilling just a bit before lacrosse practice. Calvin wasn’t much of a talker when he was getting ready for lacrosse. “He’s getting in the right mood,” was the way dad described it. If glum annoyance was the mood needed for lacrosse, Cassie was glad she wasn’t playing. Rob shut the door and walked in as Cassie turned the corner. Hadley 10 “Hey, come on in,” Cassie said, leading Rob into the kitchenette. “Did you want a snack? We have cheese and crackers, or I might be able to find a stash of nacho cheese chips somewhere in here.” Cassie peered into the pantry as she spoke. “Leaving,” Calvin yelled, as he switched off the TV, grabbed his huge black bag of equipment and slammed the door. “He always like that?” Rob asked. “I mean, I’ve seen him before, but not in that mood.” “That’s his lacrosse mood. Believe me, I prefer that one because then he isn’t sticking his disgusting feet in my face, or pinning me to the floor and tickling the remote out of my hands.” “Tickling you, huh?” Rob asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “So. Snack?” Cassie said, pulling out a bag of chips and purposefully changing the subject. Rob’s playful side had come out a couple times, but they hadn’t known each other that long. She loved getting to know him, and actually speaking with him on a daily basis, but he had a laser focus and determination that scared her sometimes. “Nope, I’m good. In fact,” Rob said pulling papers out of his backpack, “I’m great!” “You got your test back,” Cassie said, lifting the stapled copy up so she could see the grade. B+. Cassie put her hand over his and squeezed. Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and his mouth was on hers. Cassie’s eyes flashed open for a minute. Cassie had to steady herself for a minute when Rob pulled back. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” “That was nice,” Cassie said. “Cassie, you’ve probably figured this out by now, but I take charge in my life. If there’s something I’m not good at—like math—I do whatever I can to fix it. I’m determined to succeed and be happy while I do it.” Hadley 11 “You work extremely hard. I’ve seen it.” “Well, I have wanted something else for a while now. Will you be my girlfriend? I want us to be official.” “You want me to be your girlfriend?” Cassie couldn’t believe it. It was what she’d wanted to hear for so long. “Uh huh,” Rob said, pulling Cassie close. “Please tell me that I’m getting what I want? What I need to be happy.” “I make you happy?” Cassie looked up into his eyes. “Yes. Now are you going to make me pin you down and tickle you for an answer?” “I think you already know the answer,” Cassie said, smiling and tilting her head for another kiss. Everything was falling into place for her. ***** Cassie practically dashed home after class, wanting to get a head start on Thanksgiving Break. There was a lot going on this weekend, but the itch to paint deserved attention. Cassie’s phone vibrated on the desk, so she turned away from her easel to see who it was. Joan was out with Shawn tonight while he was in town, and Saturday Cassie had promised to go help move Shawn’s mom. With Shawn now out of the house, she’d decided to downsize to a townhouse and have more protection with a gated community. “I need you,” Joan had begged when Cassie had mentioned she wanted to get some painting done over the holiday. “You’ve met Shawn’s mom, she can’t stop talking, and once I accidentally dropped one of her glasses on the carpet. It didn’t even break, but now she’s going to be watching my every move as we help her pack. I’ll be less stressed if you are there.” Cassie had finally relented, and she imagined this was a reminder about the big move, as well as a reminder from Mrs. Thornton that Cassie and her family were Hadley 12 invited over for Thanksgiving dinner. Joan had promised her family wasn’t put out with three extra guests, as her extended family were all cramming themselves into the house, as well as Shawn and his mother. Luckily, the text was a sweet surprise instead. “SBO meeting ended early.” Rob had been in an all-day conference for students considering careers in technology. She wasn’t sure exactly what Rob was wanting to be, but he’d mentioned something involving business or business technology. After the conference, he’d then had to go to an SBO meeting, so unfortunately, she hadn’t seen him all day. “Sure, I’m painting, you can come up when you get here; the front door should be unlocked.” She’d been working on this acrylic painting for a while. One good thing about acrylics was that they dried quickly, and she could easily paint over anything that didn’t look quite right. This one had been an off-and-on project since the beginning of the semester, along with all her other projects. She had wanted to capture the feeling of anticipation that came from being a senior this year and soon to graduate. She thought the abstract work might do well in her collection since it dealt more with color and emotion than actual objects. It had been a good idea she’d thought, but it wasn’t coming together as easily as she’d hoped. Miss McCohen had suggested she bring it home to work on since Cassie had mentioned she was feeling stuck. Miss McCohen was always right when it came to art. She was an inspiration to Cassie. She’d sold many of her own paintings, and still had people paying for commissions of artwork by her. Instead of working full-time as an artist though—which she could have done easily—Miss McCohen chose to encourage young students like Cassie to embrace their love of art and not let the world hold them back. Hadley 13 “Art is losing its place in the world you may think. It is losing its funding in the school programs, but art will never become obsolete.” Miss McCohen tended to rant this speech off every month or so to the class while they worked, especially if someone mentioned that they were quitting, or never would make it in the real world as an artist. “If you are worried about the financial side, there are always places to look within businesses where your art talent will be invaluable. For instance, there are opportunities in graphic design, marketing, advertising, and any other numbers of careers. The best thing to do is to continue following your passion, and seeking out fellow artists to interview and learn about how they are making their lives work.” Cassie had made plans to go visit the Caesar Art Gallery for their exhibit in January just before her visit to MICA. Dad had even surprised her with two tickets to the show for her 18th birthday, although he also mentioned that he felt Joan or one of Cassie’s other artist friends would be a better companion for her to take. He was more into sports, and that’s why Calvin seemed to get away with a lot. Calvin had talent and the potential for athletic scholarships. Calvin was playing this evening. Lacrosse seemed to be an all-year sport for Calvin. Even in the winter he participated in the indoor lacrosse league. I guess it was like what Miss McCohen said, “passion should be followed,” even if that passion was different from what she was interested in. Cassie, like Calvin, had become determined to pursue what she wanted most in life. She could be an artist, a free spirit, because that is what mom would have wanted. Dad wasn’t going to pressure her the way he sometimes felt he had pressured mom out of her sewing. Her mother would have been a great fashion designer, but she instead was an interior decorator who used her talents to make table cloths, pillows, couch covers, curtains, and anything she needed in order to get the property she was working with looking just right. She didn’t love it, but she was happy, because her family was happy and well-supported. Technically she probably hadn’t needed to Hadley 14 work. There was more than enough, and maybe that is partially where the guilt came from for dad. He kept her from following her passion when she didn’t need stifling, and missed out on letting her blossom into herself. “What are you working on?” Rob asked from her doorway. Cassie had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the door, or his footsteps on the stairs. “It’s one of my pieces for art class. Miss McCohen said I may get more inspiration for my piece if I try working on it in multiple places. So far I’ve only tried her classroom, and now home, but it’s still not right.” Rob walked in as Cassie turned back to her paining. His hands rested on her shoulders. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing other than a whole bunch of bright colors.” “Color can create emotion. It’s not what you are looking at that is supposed to grab you. It’s how you are feeling that makes art what it is.” “So what you are suggesting is that this painting is supposed to make me feel a certain way?” “Well, not everyone will feel the same thing, but generally colors are associated with certain emotions. For example,” Cassie began as Rob’s hands started massaging her shoulders, “Yellow can be seen as a happy color, because it is associated with light, the sun and warmth. Green is often referred to as the color of envy, jealousy, and conversely life or things living, while red is thought of when we think of love, passion, fire and anger.” “I think red is my new favorite color,” Rob whispered into Cassie’s ear. His fingertips lightly brushed under her collar-bone. Cassie suddenly felt how naked she was. She was in a spaghetti strap top with a built-in bra, and some of Calvin’s basketball shorts. She hadn’t even Hadley 15 remembered that she’d changed after school when Rob texted her. Rob’s right hand continued to stray farther down. “What does the red represent in this painting?” “Umm. . .” Cassie tried to think, but his hands on her were distracting. She swiveled her chair around. “Oh! You look nice, how was your conference and meeting?” Rob was wearing a white button up shirt, tie and dark slacks. He pretended to straighten his tie. “Have to dress to impress to have businesses interested in offering me an internship.” Rob sat back on Cassie’s bed, and motioned her over. When she was close enough, he leaned over and pulled her chair the rest of the way to him, so that her knees touched the bed between his legs. Rob had become more forward in their relationship, and although Cassie liked his hands on her, liked his kisses, she wasn’t sure she was ready for more. “I missed your tutoring session though.” He lightly kissed her on the mouth, then pulled her in for a more passionate kiss. “I missed you too, although I’m tutoring you in math, not French.” “Ah, mais j’adore.” “I also do not speak French.” “Your tongue could argue with that,” he said once again drawing her in and kissing her. Rob’s arms encircled her and lifted her up off her chair, pulling her onto his lap. Cassie could hear the silence of the house, the stillness. “Would you like something to eat?” Cassie murmured around his kisses, in an effort to divert his attention. “I’m in charge of dinner for when Calvin and my Dad come home.” “I thought Calvin’s lacrosse game doesn’t end until seven,” Rob said, moving his kisses to Cassie’s neck. “How did you know?” Hadley 16 “Lawry’s brother is on Calvin’s team. He asked if I was going to the game after my SBO meeting, but I told him I had an important lady to see.” Cassie sat back in Rob’s arms as far as he let her, but he held her firmly. “I like your hair better down,” Rob said, reaching up and pulling out her elastic band, letting her ponytail come loose and her hair fall around her shoulders. “Very sexy.” He moved suddenly, lifting Cassie up, and laying her on her bed, him on top of her. “Rob, I . . .” Cassie began, but his mouth came down hard on hers. Determined or not Cassie knew they needed to talk about this. “You’re pinning me,” Cassie said. Rob smiled, caressing her cheek. “I wanted to give you something special for your birthday Cassie, but I wasn’t sure what I could do to show you how much I care about you.” This was the Rob she knew, the Rob that was kind. Cassie smiled back at him, “Besides, I couldn’t be happier that you are my boyfriend.” Rob came down for more kisses. Cassie had felt comforted by his words, but physically he was getting more aggressive than she was ready for. “Rob,” she tried between kisses, her hands trying to push his chest up. Even though Rob looked slim, Cassie realized how heavy he was. Her hands barely made any difference. At least with Calvin she felt she had a chance to win, but with Rob she didn’t seem to have any upper-hand. “Cassie, please, I love you.” His hand slid down her stomach, coming up beneath her shirt. “I know we both want this.” Cassie had thought again and again about what it would be like to have Rob love her the way her parents had loved each other. She needed to be able to think, and she couldn’t with Rob Hadley 17 on top of her. Cassie reached her own arm down, grabbing his wrist, trying to stop its progression up her shirt. “Rob, please . . .” “I thought long and hard what I would give you for your birthday. Everything I looked at, held, seemed so ordinary, so paltry to the thoughts and emotions I had for you. I wasn’t sure until today, when you were talking about colors; that spoke to me—told me what you deserved. You deserved my love, my passion.” Cassie wasn’t sure if he could tell she wanted him to stop, his mouth pressing down on hers wouldn’t let her talk, and it was as if he thought her “please” was asking him to continue. Cassie felt her heart rate start to match her fear. She wasn’t strong enough to push Rob off her. “Don’t,” she managed, pounding with her fist on his chest. Rob lifted himself up to look at her, and Cassie’s fear dissipated for a minute until she saw his face. His pupils dilated, black holes wild and ready to consume her. His breaths came quick and hot on her skin. She tried to move her legs, but he was in between them, pressed against her. Calvin’s basketball shorts slid easily up, and goosebumps rose on her thighs as they were exposed to the air, contrary to her hair that was beginning to stick to her neck. Rob pulled her hair back, exposing her neck and alleviating the heat for a moment, until he landed on her with a heaviness that knocked the breath out of her and pinned her arms down. He sucked her neck, her shoulder leaving a sticky residue of saliva. She tried to breathe, but couldn’t catch any air. She couldn’t even tell him that anything was wrong as the light started to dim. Cassie panted, trying to get her head to clear, but the only thing that was clear was the tick of the second-hand on Rob’s watch near her ear, and his wet mouth as it traced along her skin. He finally came up, and yanked his tie from around his neck, loosening the top buttons of his shirt. Cassie took in as much air as she could, her eyes gaining some focus back. She Hadley 18 watched, her arms heavy as if gravity had increased only for her and held her pinned to her cotton sheets. Cassie’s fists clenched the lavender sheets, wrinkling them. Her mother bought them when she was seven, because she insisted lavender was her favorite color, even though just a few months before yellow was her choice. Cassie willed her hands to unclench and to try to push Rob off her. He just gathered her wrists up, quickly in one hand. Before Cassie could think, could struggle or move to free herself, he was back on top of her. She tried turning her head away from his kisses, but he just turned her head back to his, his palm under her chin. She couldn’t breathe anything but the air from Rob’s mouth; his spit and hers mixed as his tongue caressed the inside of her mouth. The room was non-existent, except for the bed underneath her, and Rob heavily draped over her. He smelled with a mixture of cologne and sweat, and Cassie could see the damp hair at the nap of his neck where the beads of sweat were forming. “Please,” Cassie whispered closing her eyes. Nothing else would form, just that one word. It wasn’t an invitation. Her strength was gone, zapped out of her. Rob leaned down and with his hand, yanked the shorts covering her until, he could bring his foot up to pull them down farther. He raised her shirt, and fondled her breasts in his big hand. Cassie turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When he started thrusting, Rob finally released his hold around her hands. She immediately brought her sore wrists to her chest, humiliated. He pushed her hands to the side, again grasping her breasts. Cassie’s fists clenched tightly to the sheets, anchoring her in place. Please she thought, over and over. Stop. Stop. Stop. Rob’s head bent down with his eyes rolled back up into his skull, his hair covered his face, his hands rested on either side of Cassie, his hips moved again and again toward her. This isn’t happening; this can’t be happening. Cassie Hadley 19 tried grasping the bed sheets harder. Why didn’t her mom prepare her for this? Why wasn’t her mom there? The first time is special, she told Cassie. A moment never forgotten. Tears spread lightly down Cassie’s cheeks. Every movement Rob made hurt; it hurt so much and she just wanted it to stop. Please, make it stop. Finally, a last groan from Rob caused him to stop, and lay on top of her. “Happy Birthday Cassie” He got up on his elbows. He leaned down once more and kissed her lightly on her unmoving lips. “How about I go start some food in the kitchen.” He straightened his pants, pulling the zipper up, and walked out of the room, down the stairs. Cassie lay there, unmoving until she heard pots and pans in the kitchen. Her legs came up, and she curled over on her side. Everything was wrong in the world. ***** Cassie watched as a group of students walked into the school, pounding snow off their shoes. First week of December and luckily the snow wasn’t too heavy yet. “We’re going to lunch today right?” Joan asked, shutting her locker. “Right, I just need to use the bathroom.” “Oh, me too.” Joan said, leading the way into the bathroom. After the stalls clicked shut she continued. “You ready to go with me to see Shawn and Penn State’s campus this weekend? Cassie palmed her forehead. She hadn’t been able to think of anything recently. Her shoulders drooped as her fake smile vanished. Would she ever be able to stop pretending? Pretending that she was happy, that nothing had happened, and that she was keeping up in school Hadley 20 and with her portfolio. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.” Cassie called trying to put as much enthusiasm in her response as possible. She heard a wrapper open from the next stall. “Do you need a tampon?” Joan asked. They’d been on the same clock for almost a year now. Joan’s mom claimed it was because of how much time they spent together that they synced. Cassie began to count; then again using her fingers; and once more opening the calendar app on her phone. “Cassie?” “No, I’ve got one.” She lied. Cassie dug into her purse, pulling out random items, and making as much noise as possible. Late, rattles around in her head. “I just remembered that Mr. Fleming needs to talk to me about tutoring another student. I must have spaced it.” “So you mean we aren’t going to lunch?” Joan asked, washing her hands now. “Sorry?” “It’s fine,” Joan said, although Cassie could see by her pursed lips this was not something that was fine. Joan probably wanted to talk about this weekend more at lunch, and now Cassie had obligations. Cassie watched Joan disappear down the hall, and then ran to her car. Thirty minutes, she thought. She must figure this out in thirty minutes. She pulled into the drug store parking lot breathing hard, the windshield wipers still sporadically clearing the snowflakes that kept falling. Cassie tried to calm her breath as one hand slides down from the wheel to rest on her abdomen. It can’t be. It was only once. One time that shouldn’t have happened. Why did it happen? Why did Rob think it was okay? The why’s never seem to go away, always floating back to the surface. Cassie looked down as her phone vibrated. “Want me to get you food?” Joan texted. “Just grab me an apple,” Cassie texted back, knowing she probably won’t feel like eating anything. She never felt like eating anything anymore. The text helped Cassie get out of the car Hadley 21 and walk into the store. She made her way to the feminine hygiene section—thinking that her logical dad sense must be functioning because her creative side is dead. It’s been dead for too long, and Cassie isn’t sure it’ll come back. Cassie wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, so she grabbed the first test she saw, and with test in hand, all-out escape-mode registered in her brain. Clerk, card, bag, keys, car, school. Before Cassie can blink she had reached the same stall as before—luckily the bathroom was empty as her shoes squeaked against the tile. She ripped open the package, careful not to tear the instructions. This needed to be done right. There was only one test. Cassie wondered why she didn’t buy more than one test. Place test in urine stream, and wait two minutes after replacing cap for results to appear. Simple enough, right? Being scared must help, because even though Cassie just went to the bathroom, she managed to go again. After setting the timer on her phone, she set the stick on the back of the toilet seat, and paced around the stall, refusing to look at it. She can’t be, right? There is no way. Breathe, don’t think, breathe. The mantra repeated again and again in her head. Her timer beeped and she quickly lifted the stick to read the display. Two lines. What does two lines mean? She flipped the package over to reread the instructions. Two lines mean— Cassie put her hand to her head, the other with the test next to her abdomen. ***** Cassie’s gaze flicked from one painting to the next. She wasn’t going to come to the art gallery, but with school starting back up from winter break on Monday she needed something that might make her a little happy before facing Rob. She didn’t want to remember her birthday, the days following her birthday, the little body inside her stomach, or the phone calls she wasn’t Hadley 22 answering. Joan had given up calling her. She just sent her a text telling her to call when she was ready to talk, and that she would be with Shawn this weekend since Cassie had never given her concrete details about the gallery exhibit. Dad didn’t even notice that Cassie left alone, just shouted from the couch for her to be safe, as Calvin and he watched some sport on the television. Cassie wasn’t sure what she was looking for in the art. Her portfolio review and MICA orientation were in two weeks, and Cassie had stopped painting for over a month. She wasn’t even sure why she drove to the Caesar Art Gallery with everything going through her mind. She wasn’t planning on finishing her portfolio. From the corner of her eye she spotted a darker canvas in one of the other halls. Veering to her left around other guests, she made her way to the art piece. While other areas of the gallery had more patrons milling about, people hadn’t quite made it to this section, giving Cassie the optimal spot directly in front of the canvas. It was an oil painting, a hard medium to work with, and one that sometimes took years to dry. The wet look of the piece could be a lacquer, or the piece could still be in the process of drying. Cassie wasn’t sure which was the case. The piece showed dark blues, blacks, greys and browns and many of the brush strokes were vertical. It felt like looking through a window on a rainy day. If you looked long and deeply, the vertical lines—the rain—were all that was visible. There was a continual downward movement, that also brought you back up to watch more fall. Looking closer, there seemed to be a dark shadow in the painting, too indistinguishable to know what it was. This canvas was raw emotion. Cassie recalled her own project, the one that was supposed to depict the emotion of her senior year, the anticipation to graduate, to move on to the unknown and bright future. She’d Hadley 23 ended up slashing the canvas. Shredding it with rage. She had buried it in her closet along with the pregnancy test she’d taken and her once-loved lavender sheets. “You finding what you are looking for?” Cassie turned her head to find a young man standing next to her. He was probably in his early twenties, maybe worked at the gallery. He wore a three-piece blue suit that brought out his eyes. Dark hair framed his face. “I’m not looking for anything specific,” Cassie responded. “I was just wondering,” the man said, “because you’ve been standing, staring at this painting for at least thirty minutes now.” Cassie glanced at a clock nearby noticing the time. She hadn’t realized she’d been so engaged in the painting. It brought out everything she was feeling, the loss she felt, the pain, the anguish, the loneliness in her suffering, and her broken dreams. “I guess it’s just speaking to me.” She looked down at the floor then, and noticed the man had sneakers on—strange foot wear to go with a suit. “What is it saying?” “I’m sorry, but that’s a bit personal. Art is supposed to speak to everyone in their own individual way. I can’t tell you exactly what this one is saying to me.” “Fair enough, but would you like to know what I see when I look at the painting?” Cassie wasn’t sure where this was going. Was this guy flirting with her? “I’m just here to enjoy the art.” “Well, I’m hoping that you are enjoying the art. Especially this piece.” “Why?” Cassie crossed her arms, turning to face the man. Hadley 24 “Because it’s my first piece that’s ever been in a gallery like this. I was hoping that it would speak to more people than just me.” Cassie’s mouth dropped. She looked back toward the painting, to the plaque on the right. “Rain by Oliver James,” she read aloud. She slightly remembered Miss McCohen mention something about a young man from Harrisburg who, after dropping out of high school, moved to New York, started painting in Central Park, was picked up by an agent and recently featured in the art section of the local paper. “Oliver James,” the man repeated, giving a slight nod to his head. “You don’t have to believe me, but yeah that one is mine. I’ve waited for what has seemed so long to have someone look at my paintings with the intensity you have. I just had to come over and talk with you. My agent advised against it. She said there were many more people who would be more likely to actually buy it than a young woman in casual shoes.” Cassie looked down at her feet. She hadn’t realized she’d worn a pair of shoes she’d once drawn on during class. Mom had always insisted since Cassie was a youngster that her shoes could be a canvas of creativity. Now all Cassie bought were white sneakers, and when one filled up she’d wear them out and buy a new pair to fashion. “Hey, I’m not judging,” Oliver was quick to add. “I’m just as guilty.” “I noticed your selection of shoes earlier.” “Maybe we should be more properly introduced?” he said clearing his throat. “I’m Oliver James. I recently moved back to Harrisburg from New York. I’m trying to get a college degree, and I’m always trying to get people to buy my art and appreciate it.” Hadley 25 “I’m Cassie Larson. I thought I wanted to be an artist, but I haven’t been so sure lately.” Cassie again looked at the painting, saw the rain, and the dark shape. Curiosity got the better of her. “You mentioned you might like to share what you see when you look at the piece?” “I’m a firm believer that art is personal. So, if I tell you what I see when I look at my own piece, you have to promise me first that your own interpretation won’t be lost. I’m not telling you that you are wrong, and that my interpretation should be the only and correct one. Okay?” “I understand that perfectly. I’ve always thought that even the intention of the artist doesn’t cement an idea to the canvas. I promise to remain open-minded about what you say.” “Well Cassie, that dark shape out there represents my mother collapsed on the pavement in a rainstorm. It’s a moment in time that I will always remember, except I’m pretty sure the rain is now a figment of my imagined memory. There were a lot of problems I remember while growing up, but one day my dad was sick of it all. Sick of providing; sick of the mess in the house; sick of us kids getting under foot; sick of being nagged at by a wife; sick of his friends having more than he did; sick of only having one woman who didn’t please him. Guaranteed I was only six when he left, but I heard plenty of the arguments, and I heard my mother’s prayers years afterward, and the blame she always put on herself. The day he left, she ran out the door after him. She begged him to come back inside, said she would make him a nice dinner and they could talk things through. ‘I’m done talking’ is what I remember him saying. He didn’t even hug me, or run his hand over my head. He just walked right past me, out the front door and out of my life. This painting to me represents my mom’s sorrow at the loss. She became a single mother from that time on. She probably didn’t think she could do it, but when she finally came back in from sitting on the pavement with a look of determination in her eyes. That’s the painting I haven’t been able to make yet, the one that comes after the storm.” Hadley 26 “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for your loss.” “It’s happened to more than just me. I’m one of the lucky ones who kept going, and whose mother kept going.” A voice called out to Oliver—his agent. “I wish I could talk more with you Cassie, find out more about your plans as an artist, but I have to go back to brown-nosing. Here is my card if you ever want to get in touch. I’d be happy to look at any of your pieces.” He smiled and walked to a couple standing with his agent. Cassie looked back at the painting. She could now pick out the woman in the dark shape. She could feel the despair, the heartache, the wondering. Oliver’s mother had been strong, had survived being alone as a mother. Cassie wondered if she could give up the life of her unborn child? Would her mother have ever gotten rid of her? The answer was a definite “no.” Her mother would have loved her no matter how she’d come to her. This baby deserved the same thing from Cassie. This baby deserved all her love.