Page 12 of His Wild Storm
My hands move quickly, like I know the field intimately. It’s not possible, but I let myself fall into creating for a moment. Just a moment.
CHAPTER 5
KNOX
When I look up again, the kids are still focused on their papers, and I realize only about twenty minutes have passed. It’s a good time for me to walk around and check on everyone after giving them enough time to have something to look at. No one needs to be hovered over when you’re figuring out how to start something.
The landscape I’ve created is a riot of color with a clear blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds which look like marshmallow whisps. I can almost feel the sunshine on my upturned face in the scene.
All I can do is shake my head because it’s a field I’ve only imagined, and it speaks to me in a way I’ve never quite felt before. Even though it’s not easy to do, my fingers twitching with the need to keep drawing, to add depth to the landscape, and figure out who is visiting this field with me, I force myself to put down the sketch pad.
I stand up and look around the room and take in the way the kids are concentrating. They’ve probably forgotten all about my presence, which makes me smile.
“Now that you’ve gotten a chance to make a good start, I’m going to come around and see what you’ve been working on,” Iwarn the group.
The last thing I want to do is fuck up the work making art has been doing and scare them. The way the kids are relaxed around me tells me art is better than magic.
I always knew it was.
When they don’t flinch at the sound of my voice, I relax a little. As I start to go around the room, I point out places where they can shade and layer colors, especially for the older kids. Having a range of age and skill in the class doesn’t anything easier, but it does make it interesting.
The last kid I go to is Wilde. He glances up at me from the corner of his eye with wariness. It’s not the stark fear I saw earlier which makes it feel like a win. A small one, but a victory none the less.
When I sit next to him, I make sure not to crowd him. I murmur the same words to him which I have to everyone as I went around the room. “Would you like to show me what you’ve been working on?”
We might be in class but showing me is his choice. Art can be personal even if the assignment had nothing to do with whatever trauma these kids have experienced.
The way Wilde looks up at me feels weighted. His blue eyes are intense for his age as he studies my face. I have no idea what he’s looking for, but I really hope he finds it. How strange is that?
Wilde gently nudges his sketchbook closer to me as he whispers, “You can look.”
When I look down at the paper, I’m more than a little surprised. Four-year-olds aren’t exactly known for their artisticability, but he’s good and not just for his age. He’s created a superhero lair where various superheroes are meeting, and it looks like they’re making some sort of plan against an evil villain.
“Wow,” I breathe out and glance over at Wilde whose eyes are still on me as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and not in a good way. “This is amazing, Wilde.”
His shoulders relax and he exhales as if he was holding in a breath while waiting for my reaction. “You don’t have to say that,” he hedges, his lips turning down in a frown.
I reach out to him and almost touch his shoulder before I think better of it and gently touch his hand on the table instead. “I will never lie to you. I’ll never tell you something just because I think it’s what you want to hear. Lies won’t make you a better artist and it won’t help you learn. I will always be honest with you,” my words are a vow, one I hope he can feel in the deepest parts of him and believe.
“Really?” His blue eyes narrow in challenge and I can’t help but grin at him.
I hold up my pinkie for him and murmur, “Pinkie promise.”
It takes a moment, but he eventually hooks his pinkie with mine and gives a decisive nod as if he’s accepting my words. And, maybe, me as well.
I’ll take it.
It probably shouldn’t feel like such a victory, but it does.
“Can you tell me about what you drew?” I prompt him gently.
The eager nod of his head makes my heart pound in my chest in a way it never has before. I don’t know what it is about thiskid, but he’s special. How can I even tell? I have no fucking idea, but I know it’s true.
“This is Iron Man’s space where he does all of his rich guy experiments.” He grins up at me and points to an exceptionally good Iron Man drawing, which shows him in his suit but without the head piece. It’s not perfect, but he’s four and it’s better than most people can produce regardless of their age. “He’s called in his friends and others, like The Flash because of his speed. Their mission is to rescue the damsel who has been trapped by an evil man who uses his fists and mean words to keep her scared and alone. It’s going to take all of them to rescue her,” he whispers the last few words, and I can hear the hint of shame in them.
“It looks like you’ve brought together a really great team,” I praise and some of the shame coming off him evaporates.
“I know not all of them go together,” he huffs as if I was criticizing him even though I wasn’t. “Mom has allowed me to see some of The Avenger movies, but some of them have special skills that are needed.”
