Page 65 of The Singing Trees
“Yeah, if you can find the time.” She could tell he was let down, and it reinforced her decision to avoid the meeting. She had to hold strong—for both of their sakes. She couldn’t just assume that he wouldn’t make it back. And when he did, they’d still have the same issues as they’d had originally. Or worse. The last time, Emma had ended up in the hospital, and he’d ended up with a draft notice. Their misfortune quite possibly had no limit.
No, they’d gotten through the first six months. Why cut open old wounds? Even as she thought that, though, she knew her own wounds hadn’t healed at all.
“You know what I can do?” she said, needing to get off the phone before she had a mental breakdown. “If it’s okay, I’ll leave the keys at the watch shop. Walt can give them to you. You can walk from the bus station.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask to come see her at work.
“Yeah, that’s great, Anna.” He didn’t sound angry at all but more bummed out. She wouldn’t dare tell him that it was her fault, not his, that she couldn’t allow herself to see him.
“And you don’t have to bring the car back,” she said. “I’m so appreciative, but I’ll be buying one soon.” Even the notion of buying a car with her own money was empowering and reminded her to stay strong.
“Save your money,” he said. “I’ll drop it back off on my way out. We don’t have to see each other.”
As much as she wanted to say, “I do want to see you; it’s just busy around here,” she didn’t dare. He knew exactly what she was doing, and she wasn’t about to deny it.
Regarding the car, she said, “If you really want to leave the car, then thanks.” She set the receiver down for a moment to collect herself. Then, “It’s good to hear your voice, Thomas.” It truly was, but no good would come of the two of them seeing each other in Portland. It was her city now, not theirs.
The transaction went down swimmingly, meaning Thomas had come the next day, met Walt and retrieved the keys, then headed home to Davenport without once seeing Annalisa. She certainly felt bad, especially since he’d been so kind to her by leaving her the car, but it was true: she had to focus on her career.
As much confidence as Annalisa did have in her new paintings, which were night and day from what she’d been doing before meeting Sharon, she was beyond terrified to show her teacher her progress. Thomas’s return was such a distraction that she’d gotten nothing of consequence done since their phone call. He might as well have been standing behind her easel, waving his hands and making bird sounds.
She laid out each of her top choices on the same big table in Sharon’s studio where she’d first introduced Sharon to her work and wondered if Walt’s father had felt like this when he’d slap a piece of meat in front of a customer. There was certainly a loss of magic as shebegan to make money with her art, an extra layer of pressure getting in the way of her creativity.
As often was the case, the Grateful Dead played from the record player. The same woody incense filled the air. Sharon studied each piece, and Annalisa waited as if her entire life was in the balance. It truly was. For Annalisa’s entire life to blossom, all Sharon needed to do was say, “You’ve done it. I don’t know how, but in six months, you have risen to the artist you’re supposed to be.” It would be a confirmation more than anything else, as Annalisa knew she’d done it.
“This isn’t you,” Sharon said, kicking the leg of the metaphorical stool upon which Annalisa stood.
The balloon of confidence that had been inflating since mid-October popped like Sharon had stuck a pin in it. Annalisa grew angry, as if Sharon had slapped her out of the blue, the red mark on her cheek the same as a failing grade stamped on a test. “What do you mean, it’s not me? Of course it’s me. This is me connecting with my subjects. These are the women I understand. This is my voice.”
Sharon looked at Annalisa, up and down, up and down, making her feel uncomfortable in her fancy outfit she’d bought the other day at Pride’s.
“I don’t think it’s you.”
“How would you know?” Sharon was wrong, as simple as that. Or she was jealous.
Her teacher went to the record player and lifted the needle off the record. The Grateful Dead gave way to a silence Annalisa wasn’t ready for. When Sharon turned back, she said, “I don’t think you can figure out all the answers in half a year.”
“I’m not saying I have all the answers,” Annalisa agreed, “but I know that you and Jackie have told me to find myself as a painter. Well, this is me. This is what I love, and apparently Portland likes them, because I can’t keep them on the walls.”
Sharon approached her and stopped when they were face-to-face. “What do you want me to tell you? That you’re ready for the big time? That you should be on the next bus down to Manhattan? Or that I’d like you to be part of my show? I don’t think you’re ready, and you’re not alone. None of the students in these classesorin my classes at the college are ready. It takes years, sometimes a lifetime, to realize our inner artist.”
Annalisa’s head felt dizzy with anger, disappointment, and frustration. She’d been painting her whole life!
“Only you can know what you’re meant to paint,” Sharon said, “but I told you in the beginning of our classes that I would give you everything I have. In this case, it’s the very difficult position of honesty.”
She pointed back at the women on the paper making up Annalisa’s portfolio. “I don’t think that those women are you, and I sense a great feeling of emptiness that hurts me inside. I don’t think this is where Annalisa Mancuso stops getting better. These are great, don’t get me wrong, and I’m not surprised you’re selling them. I’m telling you, though, as a teacher and as someone who greatly admires your talent, you can do better.”
Annalisa’s anger rose into her cheeks, and she felt her jaws bite hard against one another. This whole thing with Thomas had left her on edge, and she’d definitely found her inner tiger. “You know what it is, Sharon. You’re just going to push me no matter what. Because the minute you tell me I’m great, you’re worried I’ll drop out of your stupid classes.” Annalisa couldn’t believe she’d just said that, but ... if Sharon was going to be honest, so would she.
Sharon dipped her chin. “I don’t think you mean that.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” Annalisa said, looking around the room at Sharon’s work, “and I do think that I’ve learned a lot, but I’m done here. You don’t get me. Jackie doesn’t get me either. And that’s fine. I can do it on my own.”
Her teacher crossed her arms and frowned. “Suit yourself.”
Annalisa collected her art and stuffed them into her tote. No doubt she would continue to get better. She wasn’t stupid, expecting to be a master at eighteen years old. But she was starting to think that Sharon might not be the right teacher. Maybe Sharon and her hippie ways and her damn art show weren’t the pathway Annalisa needed. She was doing fine just the way things were.
Feeling Sharon watching her, Annalisa marched out of the studio and started the long walk from the empty warehouses of the Old Port back home. The thing was she was a grown-up now, and she needed to trust her instincts. She had definitely reached a new level in her painting, no matter what Sharon said, and her instincts were now telling her that it was time to move on.
Chapter 24
