Since the last class, I’ve made a point not to think about Josh, Madeleine, or my past.
When Wednesday rolls around and I make the decision to go back to class, Josh appears to be genuinely happy to see me. I hand him my enrolment form and payment details to confirm my commitment to his class, then take my seat next to Brooke. Just after seven, when everyone is seated, he walks to the front of the class and leans against the long table, crossing his legs at his ankles.
“For those of you who don’t know, as part of this course, I offer an optional full-day class at my place down on the Mornington Peninsula, and it’s this coming Saturday.” He glances around the room at the six of us in attendance this evening. “I know it’s a long weekend, so you might have other plans, but will any of you be making the trip?”
“I’m in,” Zoey says, raising her hand.
Everyone else confirms their attendance, leaving me to stare at my fingernails.
“Do you have plans this Saturday?” Josh asks, directing his eyes on me.
“I’ll have to check my calendar,” I say, refusing to commit.
His smile dips, but he recovers quickly. “Okay. Did everyone remember to bring in an object?”
“Oh, man,” Eric throws his hands in the air. “I forgot.”
“It’s no problem.” Josh reassures him. He retrieves a box from the open shelves and holds it out for Eric. “Choose anything from here.”
Eric studies the contents, then pulls out a piece of rope, knotted in two places. “Thanks.”
Josh places the box on the front table before addressing us. “First exercise for this evening is drawing from memory.” He picks up a calico bag. “You each have one of these, and I’d like you to place your item inside.” I place my object, a piece of driftwood, into the bag and pull the drawstring tight. “Right. Now, using any of the supplies available, draw, paint, sketch or sculpt your object.”
“What’s the point of this, Josh?” Brooke asks.
“Honestly? There is no point other than switching your mind off. You might find it relaxing.”
I reach for the pencils and start sketching my object from memory. Last Sunday morning, I’d returned to the river on my own and picked up a piece of driftwood, struck by its tortured form. There was a kind of beauty in its jagged lines and gaping holes.
With confidence I haven’t felt in far too long, I put pencil to paper. Closing my eyes, I remember one of the times in my life when darkness was no match for the shining light of Mereki and me together in our place by the river. My mind takes me back to when I was maybe fourteen or fifteen and in a horribly dark mood. As usual, my mother was taking out all her frustration and humiliation on me.
“You wait and see, Emerson, you silly girl,” she said, then took a long drag on her cigarette. Her gaunt cheeks hollowed into deep canyons as she inhaled the smoke.
Fixated on the ash teetering on the end of her cigarette, I wondered when it was going to drop to the threadbare carpet. I also imagined the path of the smoke as it entered her lungs and stole an unknown fraction of her life expectancy. Did I care? When the ash dropped, it refocused my attention on her words, and I was unable to miss the end of today’s lecture.
“You’re wasting your time with your silly drawings and ridiculous dreams of getting out of this shithole,” she said, sneering.
Grabbing my bag, I bolted out the door and headed into town. I knew of only one place I wanted to be and one person I wanted to be with.
Mereki was sitting on a swing chair on his family’s front verandah, scribbling in his notebook.
“What are you writing?” I asked, standing at the bottom of the steps.
His eyes snapped to mine, and a broad smile lit up his handsome face. “Emerson.” He said my name reverently, making my heart flutter around in my chest. This boy cared about me, and I believed he always would. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to study.”
Shaking my head, I started walking backwards. “Come to the river with me?”
My best friend in the whole world jumped up and trotted down the steps to me. “Like you have to ask.”
When we arrived at our special place, we sat side by side on the riverbank. A few birds squawked angrily in the overhanging trees, but it was otherwise completely serene.
Mereki nudged me. “Have I ever told you the story about Aberforth, the boy who turned into a fish to save his town?”
Shaking my head, I let it fall on his shoulder. “Tell me everything there is to know.” Closing my eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace and gratitude for this boy who seemed to know exactly what I needed.
“He was cursed by the river god, Riopelle.”
“How do you come up with this stuff?” I ask, unable to resist interrupting his story.
“I don’t come up with it,” he replied. “I simply listen to the river and it tells me stories. I write them down in my notebook to remember all the details.”
“That is totally crazy, but I kinda love it.” I linked my arm through his. “Tell me the rest of the story please.”
Before long, I feel the movement of the river. Its power pulses through me, guiding my hand until it completely consumes me. The driftwood bobs and dips in my current, grazing my submerged rocks. I watch its progress as both a spectator and participant, never wanting it to stop. The water feels cold and unforgiving. It apologises to no one for its relentless force. The driftwood is just out of my reach, but I’m not scared. I don’t need it. I’m not treading water. I am the water.
“Wow, Emerson.” Brooke’s voice sounds right beside me. I jump. “That is phenomenal,” she continues. “Where did you learn to draw like that?”
My body tingles with awareness that Josh is near, and when I look at him, he is standing so close, completely fixated on my drawing. Realising I haven’t followed Josh’s instructions, I make the snap decision to rip off the page, scrunch it into a ball and drop it to the floor.
“What did you do that for?” Brooke cries. “It was so beautiful.”
I shrug, but my hands shake. Josh leans down and retrieves my discarded drawing.
“Okay. Next exercise,” he says in a loud voice to the entire class. “Take your object out of your bag and hold it in your non-dominant hand.” I sit there frozen, unwilling to participate. “This is going to sound a bit strange, but I want you to pretend you’re an ant exploring your object. In any way you see fit, show your journey over your object on paper. Perhaps it will be one long line or maybe a series of small markings. It really doesn’t matter, but you’ll have your eyes closed and one hand on your object while you work.”
When everyone closes their eyes and starts their journeys, Josh waves me over as he heads for the door. I stand up quietly and follow him outside.
“Talk to me,” he says, gesturing to the ball of paper in his hand.
I chew on my bottom lip, staring straight ahead. “I didn’t mean to draw that,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“There was a lot of pain in that drawing, but what also came through was strength and resolve,” he says, softly. His voice is full of encouragement and warmth. “You’re able to express a wide range of emotions through your drawings, Emerson. I see talent in your work that I’ve rarely seen before. One minute you’re drawing detailed feathers for your wings showing light and hope, and the next, the light goes out and a darkness creeps in.”
“I think you’re overthinking this,” I say, deflecting.
“Do you ever feel like you’re drowning?” he asks.
I shake my head, unsure if I’m lying or not. “I was thinking about a sad story a friend told me a long time ago. That’s all.”
He places his hand on the small of my back and holds the door open for me. “You’re a beautiful artist, Emerson.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, smiling as I turn back. “That means a lot.”
“That’s all we have time for this evening,” Josh says. “Thanks for coming.” His gaze zeroes in on me. “And, for those of you coming on Saturday, I’ll see you at the Cat and Mouse Café next to the Tourist Information Centre.” I drop my eyes to the flyer he left on each of our tables with the address. “It’s not far from my place, and we’ll convoy from there around nine-thirty.”
I take my time packing up my things and am the last to leave.
“Come on Saturday,” Josh says, opening the door for me. “I think it’ll do you good.”
I nod. “It’s a definite maybe.”