I see it. It’s Kevin, sharpening his pencil. I watch him work it around and around, as the pencil gets shorter and shorter while a noticeable pile of shavings grows beneath him on the floor.
Donahue is trolling the class, observing everyone’s first efforts, but saying nothing. It’s not as creepy as it sounds; he’s a nice guy. On the first day, he is the objective observer. In later classes, he’ll chat with each one, make suggestions and comments. He’ll have weekly critiques in which drawings of me from different viewpoints will be pinned up for review. I’m used to it now, but at first I found it strange to see thirty sketches of me on one wall.
He hovers over Kevin’s shoulder for a minute and whispers something in his ear. The kid turns red, again, poor thing, and starts to perspire visibly. I see little melon slices of sweat grow under his arms. He stands up and lurches out of the studio, pencil stub in hand.
I glance over and see Donahue grinning like a kid.
I let myself drift back to Heinlein’s ideas about a dystopian world where there are no wars and consider ordering a Waldorf salad for lunch today. I can tell it’s getting close to my break and I’m looking forward to standing up. As easy as it might seem to pose sitting still for fifteen minutes, it’s difficult and strains your muscles. I make it a habit to schedule regular massages and a yoga class weekly to stay flexible.
Kevin slinks back in, sits on his stool and starts drawing on his newsprint pad. He barely looks at me, but I can hear his pencil scratch against the paper. Donahue calls time a few minutes later and I stand, slip on my robe and stretch. I walk around the perimeter of the platform a few times to ease the kinks out of my knees and hips before I step down to floor level. It’s turned out to be a beautiful sunny day, the temperature’s just right in the studio, even for naked ladies.
A girl who must have been sitting behind almost cuts me off trying to reach Kevin, as I head for my cubical. I slow down and pretend to look at a student drawing to find out what the big emergency is.
“Kevin, what did Mr. Donahue say to you?” she demands.
He sighs and shakes his head looking at the floor. “He said only drawing students or models were allowed in his classroom. If I didn’t draw, I’d have to strip naked and pose up there.”
“He was probably joking. Do you think he meant it?” I can see she’s suppressing a smile.
“I certainly wasn’t going to challenge him.”
There’s one every year. I continue to my cubical for a sip of tea and to read a few more pages during my break. The first day is always my favorite.
Suzanne C Martinez 