Page 14 of Watching Ames

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Alex cameto class the rest of the week, dressed in more casual clothes that didn’t send me into cardiac arrest with worry of irreparable stains. He arrived early on Tuesday and helped me set up the stations before class and stayed late to help me clean up. He refused any sort of payment - brushing off the thanks I offered and ignoring my offers to pay for coffee, giving the baristas sharp glares when they attempted to take my credit card. By the time Wednesday rolled around, he had somehow convinced everyone who worked at the coffee shop to refuse my money when he was with me, all the baristas shaking their heads when I held out my card. But it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Alex had the attitude of a man who did everything with a single-minded intensity, even when that single thing was refusing to allow me to pay for my own caffeine.

What I didn’t expect was how seriously Alex took the pottery class. Before and after class Alex was his usual, friendly self, helping me set things up and sending me soft, almost-smiles. But once class began, his eyes focused entirely on his work, shaping the clay with nimble fingers that impressed me for a total beginner. He took my criticism with a stoic face, making adjustments without a single wink or innuendo, until he was left with a few choice pieces for the kiln at the end of the week.

Even though we spent two hours a day together, we continued grabbing coffee in the mornings, heading into class an hour before it started so Alex could help me set up. The couple of days he canceled coffee due to a work commitment, we went out for lunch instead, grabbing sandwiches or salads at a few restaurants within walking distance of the studio. And even though I knew we’d keep getting coffee and lunch - we had each other’s phone numbers, after all, and went to the same coffee shop - when Friday rolled around and our last morning intensive class wrapped up, I was downcast.

Over a short couple of weeks, Alex had become my closest friend in years. After my parents died, I had thrown myself into my degree, and later, my work. I cut off ties with my closest friends, too busy helping Bex finish her last year of high school while everyone was partying most weeknights. Then I graduated college and immediately started my job, too miserable to even consider making friends. While my coworkers and I were friendly, most were old enough to be my parents, and the couple of guys close to my age were sleazy frat boys more interested in getting into my pants than being friends.

Bex and I lived in our childhood home together for a couple of years, until she moved a few hours away with a boyfriend. I spent most evenings and weekends packing up the house and sorting through our parents’ things that I wouldn’t be able to take with me. Then the house was sold and I was in my old apartment, alone.

Then I met Peter, and he took up so much space that it was impossible to feel lonely, but also impossible to have time for friends. He always had plans for us, taking me out to dinners and work lunches so often that my calendar was constantly full. Once he made partner, he went on work trips more regularly but would stop by unexpectedly when he had time, so I usually waited at home on the off chance he had time to visit. Not to mention the galas and campaign dinners for his father. I spent the rest of my time throwing pottery at the studio and starting what became my business.

So really, Alex was the first friend I had made since my parents died, and as I wrapped up our last class together, dread gripped my throat in such a tight squeeze I could barely push out my last farewells and thanks to the students. I kept it together as some of the more invested students gave me personalized thanks and talked about their intent for taking higher level courses we offered. But even as I spoke with them, I felt Alex’s eyes on the side of my face as he waited patiently in his chair for the last of the students to leave. When the last few trickled out, I quickly turned my back to him, tidying up in a vain attempt to avoid a goodbye I knew was coming. I waited as long as I could, even as I heard his footsteps rasping on the concrete floor and felt the heat of his body as he came up beside me, until I turned around to face him.

“I have a meeting to get to, so I can’t stay like I usually do.” He gestured with one hand at the rolled-up sleeves of his button-up shirt, as if I hadn’t been staring at his forearms to near-distraction whenever I wasn’t spiraling over the idea of our friendship ending. This information didn’t serve to relieve me of any worry; instead, rather than a business meeting I irrationally imagined him going off to find another potter to teach him how to center his clay and pull the sides of a bowl. That irrational part of my brain considered asking him if she was better at slip carving than me but instead I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

“You okay?” He brushed my hair behind my ear, tugging my earlobe gently as he dropped his hand, which elicited a small smile from me.

“Yeah,” I lied, throat still tight, “I always get a little emotional when a class ends.”

He narrowed his eyes on my face, and I knew he was aware that I was lying. But instead of saying anything, he just offered me a lifeline, asking, “Are we still on for coffee tomorrow morning?”

And just like that, the spiraling that had been slowly taking place over the last two hours dissipated, the small bit of reassurance reminding me that this class didn’t mean the end to our friendship. So I nodded again, this time shooting him a small smile that he returned with a twist of his lips. He backed up toward his station, his trademark almost-smile still on his face as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, calling “See you tomorrow,” like he knew I didn’t want to say goodbye.

I spent the rest of the morning teaching classes, June and I switching just before noon. I left to run some errands, grocery shopping and little things that I’d been too busy for most of the week, between teaching and glazing and firing and spending my little free time with Alex and Bex. I headed back to the studio in the late afternoon, planning on unloading the kiln full of my pieces now that all the classes for the day and open studio hours had ended.

I found June finishing up a piece of hers, a tall sculpted vase that likely took her most of the afternoon. We hadn’t really gotten a chance to talk in the past couple of weeks, too busy with our respective businesses and teaching the series of intensives, which were much longer and more time-consuming than our weekly classes. Not wanting to interrupt her focus as she finished a few intricate details, I quietly made my way to the back corner where the kilns were tucked away, opening it fully to begin pulling out my pieces. The kiln held a mix ofMorelbowls and more of the customized dinnerware set, all of them glistening slightly from the sheen of the glaze.

After a few minutes, I listened as June’s wheel slowed to a stop and she cut the piece, metal wire thrumming as she unspooled it before running it through the clay. A few minutes after that, June rounded the corner in my direction, wiping her hands off on a washcloth. I gave her a once-over, shaking my head at her pristine appearance.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I told her, motioning with one hand at her outfit while the other pulled another bowl out of the kiln. June didn’t have to ask what I mean; this exact conversation was a running joke between the two of us.

“Just natural beauty and grace,” she quipped, and I looked down at my jean shorts with a grimace, noticing clay splattered on them from early this morning. But instead of making another joke like she usually did, June sobered, stepping closer to me and touching another spot of clay on my shoulder. “I like that you get messy, Ames. It shows how focused you are on your art. And you’re so serious all the time.” At this, she pushed a finger softly into the furrow between my brows in an attempt to relax the tension there. “It’s nice seeing you relax and allow yourself to get dirty and have a little fun. It’s what makes you an artist.”

The sincere compliment caught me off guard, leaving me speechless until June moved on, pointing to one of the dishes that I had just removed from the kiln.

“Is this aMorelpiece?” Her soft voice echoed slightly around the empty space, pinging off the concrete floors and clay dishes. She picked up one of the dishes, flipping it between her palms as she looked at the structure of the piece.

“That is, yes. The rest are from a custom order.” I passed her a bowl from the dinner set, eager to get her feedback. Even though we were technically peers now that I taught at the studio, June would always be my mentor. I had always craved her input, her opinion and criticism making me the artist I was today.

“TheMorelpieces are well done, exactly what you described.” I beamed at the compliment, but before I could thank her, she set down theMoreldish to inspect the other bowl more closely. “But this is gorgeous.” Her quiet voice carried that much more weight, her awe-filled tone something I hadn’t heard in my years of working with her. She reached into the kiln to pull out another dish, this time grabbing a plate to inspect. “These are…you. These pieces are some of the best work I’ve seen from you. Not just the structure and the shape but the design as well. They’re for a customer?”

I nodded, speechless at the level of praise June sent in my direction. Despite being a kind, gentle soul, June could be a hard-ass. While she was patient and complimentary of all her students, especially those just beginning their artistic journey, her expectations were high, which made any compliment that much more rewarding.

That was especially true with these pieces, because I felt like they were mine from the start. While I always put my heart and soul into all my pieces, these pieces had felt like an extension of myself, a true representation of my skill and my personality into what some people might just see as “something to eat off of.”

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. But before I go…I keep meaning to ask you something, but we’ve been like passing ships in the night these past few weeks. I’ll be going on vacation for a long weekend in a few weeks for the Fourth of July. The studio will be closed Monday for the holiday, but would you mind covering all the classes the Friday before so I can leave early to beat traffic?”

“Of course, June, you don’t even have to ask.”

“I’ll send you the details,” she told me, shooting me a grateful smile as she leaned over to grab her bag and headed out the door, calling a final, “Be safe locking up!” before I finally heard the door shut firmly behind her.

I pulled the rest of the dining set out of the kiln, the black outer glaze turning to navy at the edge of the bowl, speckled with white to look like a starry night sky. I admired the plates for a moment, impressed with how they turned out and disappointed that they were for a customer and not for myself. I imagined keeping the plates, using them at my apartment for dinner parties and simple breakfasts.

But I had no use for twelve place settings, much less space to put them in my small apartment kitchen, so instead I began to pack them up for their true owner. I packed the dishes into a few thick boxes, separating the pieces with bubble wrap to keep them secure during transit. I wrote a personalized note and slipped it into one of the boxes, thanking them for being such a great customer and hoping the pieces were to their liking.

The tape was in the other room, so I left the boxes to the side, instead focusing on the student pieces that were created this week along with pieces from the previous week that had just finished bone drying. I started loading up the kiln with the older pieces first, moving on to the newer pieces to see how they were faring.

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