Substitute Teacher by David Connor

Author:David Connor [Mulder, David Connor and E.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2019-08-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Drama and Other Extracurricular Activities

Eating happened. Over the next several nights, walking happened, talking, too, but that was all. Edison recalled Stone’s art one evening, the beautiful yellows, pinks, and grays of sunset inspiring conversation.

“All these colors remind me of you,” he said.

“Of me?”

“I, uh, that night I was at your place, after the dance, I ended up in your studio. In my defense, I was looking for the bathroom, before I hit the road.”

Typically March, the weather had gone from warm and muggy to downright chilly in a day, the last one, before Edison joined his family at Disney.

“It’s okay.” Monty’s actions said otherwise. Stone got him under control, though. “I guess I’m a little nervous about people seeing my stuff. My art is more for me. I don’t show it.”

“Oh. Sorry I snooped.”

“Nah. If I was going to show it, I’d…I’d let you look.”

Edison smiled. “There was a picture of me.”

“Was there?” Stone knew damned well there was.

“All naked and stuff.”

“From our first encounter.” Stone looked anywhere but to his left, where Edison was. “I’m glad one of us doesn’t find this moment awkward.”

Edison chuckled. “You shouldn’t. It was damned good.”

“Well, the subject was beautiful, so…”

“There was a lot of red and orange. That means you found me hot or I made you angry, right?”

“Maybe a little bit of both,” Stone admitted.

“Tell me about ‘Self Portrait.’”

“That’s more my norm…Expressionism…Impressionism…I guess. When I just go at it, naked and free, it’s all about the color and the strokes. At least that’s where my mind is at. When an actual recognizable image comes out, I’m still surprised sometimes.”

“That’s kind of amazing. You don’t even know what you’re making?”

“No. The self-portrait was just a bunch of swishes and splotches. A mood. I’ve been working on it for fifteen years.”

“No way! There’s a lot of canvas left white.”

“Well, hopefully, I have a lot of living left to do.”

“You started in the corners,” Edison said.

The dogs were just trotting along, so calm and happy.

“Yeah. I guess it was sort of like the framework for who I am,” Stone replied. “And then I work toward the middle…my heart.”

“Which is unfinished.”

“So far. We should never be finished, right?” Stone glanced over. “Always adding and growing.”

“And your use of color coincides with your emotions at the time?”

“Right.”

“What color am I now, Teacher Man?” Edison nudged him gently. “When you get home and add a swish for this walk, what paint will you choose? What color was I yesterday?”

“It does depend on the day,” Stone told him honestly. “Bright, sunny yellow, which is sort of my happy color. Then, as you noted before, fire comes in at times. Red, for anger, orange is heat. There’s an ugly color in there, a non-color, almost, a mix of a bunch of paints to kind of illustrate a mix of emotions. I call it blah.”

“Blah.”

“I’ve also used green…green for hope.”

“Hope?”

“Yeah.” Stone motioned out at all the green around them that time in March, trees just leafing out, grass, flower stems, and foliage of varying heights and shapes that would eventually have blooms.

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