I’m pretty bad at it. You have a little boy who’s learning to draw from my hand,” I said, and the boy’s eyes went wide at the thought. “Is this too much to ask?” he asked, and he pointed at me. I shrugged. He turned his smile up to my face, the way you’d get a kid’s toenail clapped on your face at church.
“What about you?”, I asked.
He shrugged again.
“I don’t know?” he asked, as though remembering why I’d asked, because I’d never said anything about how I drew. I wasn’t really allowed to, but I asked anyway, since he’d apparently been doing it for a long time, and I was hoping he had some advice.
“Okay, well, go ask my mom,” I said, with a grin, and then I pointed at myself.
“What?!” he said.
“Go ask your mom.”
He laughed. There was a moment of silence. He went red. “Oh! Don’t you dare tell anyone, you little bitch!” he shouted, and then he ran off down the hallway.
“Yeah, I was just talking to your mom,” I heard my friend tell me. “She’s getting a little irritated with you because of her little boy. She thinks I’m talking to her and doing this.”
“You had her husband’s ear the whole time,” my boyfriend said.
I smiled sheepishly. “Well, he’s got me right in the ribs with my mouth like that.”
“How fucking much time do you spend drawing?”
“All day,” he chuckled.
“Why don’t you do the same thing when I’m not looking?” I asked.
“Because I like the attention! It makes you feel different.”
“But you’re different,” I replied. I stared at the board, and the boy’s mom stepped in between us. “Okay, I don’t care what you say or think about it. I’m taking you to your room,” she said. “I’m not happy about this, but I do what I have to do.”
He turned around, smiling at me, like I was the worst person on earth, and I had the most disgusting feeling in my gut. My boyfriend laughed in the background, making me giggle. The
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