Just like she’s helping me. And though I know that it’s in her best interest, I’d like to think that she’d help me anyway, without her tiara on the line.
Ann is speaking to me now. “Can you help me with Raul? Jenna asked him to make a sign, but I need to get the classroom ready for our next session.” She points to a young man with black hair and bronze skin sitting at an art desk.
I’m wary of approaching a stranger so I walk slowly, trying to formulate what to say. What kind of help does he need? He appears to be drawing something. As I get closer, he glances up at me and then looks away.
“Hello. I’m William Drake. Do you need any assistance?”
Without looking at me, he shrugs. I stand there for a moment and watch him continue to work. He’s creating rather complex lettering in a very modern, urban style, similar to some of the more artistic street tagging I’ve seen on random concrete walls and freeway overpasses. Ann said it’s a sign for the support center, and it looks like he’s doing the outline.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do. I continue standing there before interrupting to offer a suggestion.
“You’ve created an interesting font. But if you are going to overlap the letters like that, then the bottom leg of the ‘n ‘should be on top of the ‘g’ instead of beneath it, as you have it. It’s more aesthetically pleasing to have the letters overlap all the same way.”
The young man sits back and studies the lettering for a moment, tilting his head. “I guess that might look good.”
I bend over to grab a stray piece of paper and a woefully dull pencil, then quickly sketch out what I mean. “I’m not well versed in urban-style art, but it might look like this.”
The young man is watching every move I make without saying anything. “How did you do that so fast?” He speaks with a heavy Spanish accent.
“It’s just a mock-up, but you can also make sure you center your word on the page by counting the number of letters in the word. Then, pick the middle letter and start with that right at the center of the page. Like this.” As I demonstrate, he puts his pencil down to focus on what I’m doing.
“Where did you learn that?” he asks.
“I just drew a lot—like you are doing. I was never any good at school besides art classes. I tried college and it wasn’t for me. But the instructor there said I could study privately with her and a group of other students. You could study with friends and learn by critiquing each other’s work. That’s mostly the way I learned.”
“I’m still in high school.”
“Start with an art class there.”
“But don’t they just teach you stuff you don’t want to do?”
“You have to learn the basic exercises in order to do the stuff you want to do. It’s about building your skills and technique.”
I pass along a few other tips, and then he pulls some sheets from his binder, showing me some of his previous work. It’s impressive. I ask him about certain choices he’s made and find I’m learning new things, too.
“I’m Raul,” he says suddenly, holding out his hand. I stare at it for a few seconds then realize he wants me to shake it. I’m not a big fan of shaking hands, so I hold mine out as a high-five and he smiles and hits it.
“I’m William.”
“Are you going to teach here?”
“I’m here to pick up Jenna. I’m not a teacher.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You should be.”
Something about how he says that makes me feel good. He turns back to his paper and begins working again on a new sign using my suggestions as examples. Then Jenna is by my side, watching him.
“Hey, R,” she says. “Sorry I couldn’t get to you earlier. I had to help Anchali.”
Raul looks up. “That’s okay, your boyfriend was helping me. He’s pretty good. I just need to know how to spell some of these words for the sign you want.”
Jenna looks at me out of the corner of her eyes as she bends to write down a phrase for Raul. She’s blushing. I’m thinking about Raul’s assumption that I am Jenna’s boyfriend, and it makes me feel warm, too, right in my chest. Is Jenna thinking about it, too?
I watch her as she’s bent over, the curve of her legs, her butt, her hips. I want her to be my girlfriend. I want it in every sense of that word. But it’s more than just about kissing or having sex with a woman I find incredibly desirable. I want to spend time with her. I want to spend my days with her, along with my nights.
Suddenly, I want to hold her hand so I reach down and take it. Her head jerks toward me, then she smiles. Her fingers close around mine, and that warm feeling in my chest starts spreading.