artschool girlfriend

PLAYLIST: Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

ART SCHOOL GIRLFRIEND

 

 

I got a girlfriend she goes to art school

I got an art school girlfriend, yeah

 

 

 

 

 

Monday after the big grocery scene, not a really, really big scene actually, I made it a point to wake up a little bit earlier than I had to, to prep for my first thesis consult with the guys. To prep, meaning to look extra pretty for the day. I don’t want to look liked a messed up Annie rag doll. Besides, sulking too long for some guy I used to date was never my style. A friend once told me a mantra. “Things happen for a reason. Things happen for a reason,” he urged me to repeat over and over again. And now everytime anything good thing or bad thing happens, I have a mental picture of Guy holding a yoga pose I deem impossible to pull myself into while chanting oms.

After my bath I sat in front of my old vanity mirror, a hand me down from my aunt who left for the States. I took out my hair blower and flat iron from one of the drawers, using them meant one serious looking good action was about to happen. I only blow dry and iron my hair when there is a need for it otherwise my hair is on a bun or a pony.

Good thing I woke early, I told myself. Blow drying and ironing my hair takes forever. Aside from its length, I’ve very thick hair, and I mean very.

When we were younger summer meant spending weeks with our Grandma in the province. Every afternoon she would wash my hair with herbal shampoo, “gugo” she calls it. It was supposed to make your hair darker, thicker, shinier and healthier. And now my hair is just like that, Grandma would be very proud.

 

When I was walking right outside the Fine Arts Building, I looked at myself on the mirrored windows. No wonder people tell me I don’t look like my age. Maybe because I don’t dress my age? Whatever. Who cares anyway? These kids won’t mind if I do kind of look like them. I used to be one of them if it helps.

I walked in to the faculty room and left my stuff in my locker and checked my pigeon hole if I received yet again, another warning for my clothing of course. After everything was clear, I went to my Freehand Drawing class.

It’s almost lunch break and I had the kids pass their finished or unfinished plates. I was browsing through some of it and they were pretty good. A lot from the bunch were in their freshman year and some were retaking the course. “Hey Mitch,” I called one of my student who was retaking it, “You’re good, tell me why you are retaking the class?  I can’t understand why Tiño failed you,” referring to the other Freehand professor.

Mitch was busy removing chipped black nail polish on his thumb, glancing up he uttered some polite uhms and shrugged.

“But you’re really good! You ought to be taking your thesis by now,” I said.

He smiled.  “Thank you, Ma’am for believing, really. But I didn’t fail this course twice ‘cause of my skill. I failed ‘cause I rarely go to class. Waking up early is too hard for me,” he explained while scratching his head.

I knew what he meant. That used to be my problem too, finishing plates until 4 or 5 in the morning didn’t help either. “I understand, but there’s nothing else to do but try harder. I would love it if you finish this course this semester, ok?” I said.

He looked up at me and smiled. He took his canvass with an unfinished painting on the floor pointed at it to gesture he had to go and finish it up.

I gave him a thumb’s up, “Ok go,” I said. “And goodluck with that,” I called after.

After I finished my lunch of ham and cheese sandwich and a can of four seasons fruit juice, I stood up from the park bench and brushed my pants. I went my way to my first advisory class. I couldn’t hide my nervousness as I walked along the corridor to the consultation room. This gig is different from all others, I thought to myself.

Although I’m just a substitute for the real adviser who was due for labor in a couple of days, I felt the huge responsibility I had in my hands.

I got to the room and thought about the time I once stood outside the advising area. I was with other block mates tensely waiting for my turn. While waiting I always checked and rechecked if I had all my materials with me, memorizing every possible detail in my book down to the cost of a freaking piece of paper. And when our adviser asked for me, I went in and felt prepared.

            Then a flood of relief rushed over me, whoever is on the other side of the wall was definitely nervous too. I fixed my desk and called in my first victim.

            There were about ten students in Prof. Vargas’ list, with one left unnamed. I’m over the halfway mark when a student’s head peeked in my room.         

            “Carmen?” the student asked surprised.

            I looked up to whoever called me by my first name, “Brian?!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You’re on Vargas’ class?!” I asked bewildered when I saw him with a lot of studies and papers on hand.

            “Well what do you know,” he said and picked up the chair in front of my table and sat. “I guess I will make it this year, after all, huh?” he finished and winked.

            “Did you just wink at me? I thought you’re still in Germany??” I asked, still bewildered.

            “Yeah, I was, but I just wanted to finish this and get this degree, you know? Besides, it’s boring there, I’m just not the business-y type dad wanted me to be,“ he said. “How about you Little Miss Perfect? What the hell are you doing advising a class? It’s like what five years since you graduated. Dean must have liked you so much,” he continued referring to Dean Ed, the college’s dean up to now.

            “For your information, yes, Dean likes me so much, thank you. But seriously, he is still my adviser after I advise you guys. Anyway, shall we start?” I offered.

            “Nah. It has been a long time. What do you say, let’s get out of here? I’ll treat you dinner like the ol’ times?” he asked.

            “Oh,” he caught me off guard. Ol’ times = the ancient times. Bry and I used to go out during college. Somehow going out with him now seemed immoral. Student + Teacher = BIG TROUBLE. After all the college is paying for half of my graduate school tuition. “I’m sorry I can’t Bry” I declined “I still have my MA class after this.”

            “Oh so you really went for it huh? You’re on grad school,” he said while pointing towards the grad school building.

            “Yes, I did. If you don’t mind, shall we start? I still have two more kids to go before I leave for my class,” I said.

            “No, go ahead. I think I’d skip consultation today, there was this cute senior girl I saw by the parking lot earlier,” he said.

            “You perv!” I yelled as I hit him with my planner “get a hold of yourself you old geezer! They’re young and you’re like, old, real old!”

            I still wasn’t done with him when he stood up and opened the door. He called in for the next student. He was already out when he called in “Old-er,” he pointed, “Auf wiedersein, Cammie!”

            Unbelievable! I can’t believe that guy.