I'm thinking one, maybe two, more chapters in this story, although I intend to leave it open ended in case I'm moved by a later inspiration.
In actuality my high school was not quite like this, although there was a teacher and a student-teacher who were.
As always, all story characters involved in sexual activities are 18 years of age or older.
* * * *
It wasn't until I watched Jessica Harris, the Assistant Principal, exit the classroom building and head across the courtyard towards my art studio that I decided which of Marisa's painting to show her. I covered two of them, one of her, one of her and her boyfriend Artie, making love to a women; she'd told me it was a friend of her older sister.
I'd show her the others.
I greeted Jessica at the door, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Thank you for coming."
"I hope I can help. Where are the paintings?"
Marisa Pappan was my most talented student, the most talented I'd had in four years at Charlottesville High. She'd turned in nine works for display at the county student art fair; the rules provided that seven would be presented. The fair was less than a week away.
I led Jessica around the corner.
"This is Marisa's abstract entry."
It was, in my opinion, her best. A large piece, it was awash with bold strokes and powerful vibrant colors. It brimmed with passion and desire. Jessica, after a few moment's observation, said, "Wow, that's good. You can feel her ardor."
The rules required one abstract, two portraits, a still life, a landscape, and two of the student's choosing. The portraits were of her and Artie, sweaty and exhausted. She had, she'd confessed, tried to capture their look after they made love. The landscape, the Blue Ridge Mountains, was good. The still life, a vase and flowers, was competent but uninspired.
Jessica, after studying the portraits, looking at the landscape, and glancing at the still life, stepped back and said, "She's good." Her eyes returned to the portraits and she said in a tone that indicated that she'd guessed their context, "These might turn a few heads, but there's nothing objectionable here. Where are the rest?"
I led her to the last two. "These are the ones I wanted to talk about." They showed Artie and Marisa making love. They were splendid and sexy and erotic and would get Marisa suspended and me fired. Jessica took her time studying them before turning to me.
"They're really quite good, but if we show them the parents will riot."
"I know," I answered, "but I wanted you to see them, to see how talented she is. She's got to produce two new works by Friday; that's four days away. The only place she has to work is here. Her family is poor and uninterested in her talent, they can't afford art supplies and probably wouldn't buy them if they could. I'd like to open the studio to her before and after school, to work in the morning, at lunch, at night, give her the chance to produce some new work in time for the fair. I know there's a policy about kids at school with faculty after hours, but the studio is in a separate building, she wouldn't have access to the main building."
Jessica turned back to the paintings. "That is very generous of you. I'll need to clear it with Principal Strickland, but I don't imagine there'll be a problem."
* * * *
Marisa was not only my most talented student, she was my favorite and, in an odd way, I envied her. I'd grown up in San Francisco. My parents, first generation Japanese immigrants, were well off; I lacked for nothing material. But my mother ran my life, bustling me though an endless regimentation of activities. She was well-meaning, but it was a childhood in boot camp. Even the man I'd married (and since divorced) was introduced to me and championed by my parents. Marisa had none of those opportunities; she made her own friends, played her own games, lived a life she made for herself. She was a passionate free spirit.
* * * *
The next day I asked Marisa to stay after class. After answering a few questions posed by other students, I approached Marisa. As always, I was struck by her beauty. Slender, five feet ten inches tall, hazel eyes, there was no affectation in her appearance. She wore little or no make-up on skin tanned a light brown and her brown-cocoa hair, which she wore in an ever changing kaleidoscope of styles, was now straight and hanging past her shoulders.
Marisa could tell from the look on my face the news was not good. In her straightforward manner that made me feel more her equal than her teacher, she said, "So the school will not allow me to display the drawings of Artie and I making love."
I did not reply, waiting for a furious protest about the rights of art, but she pursed her lips and waited.
"No."
"I guess the ones with us and our friend are out also."
I confessed, "I didn't show those to Ms. Harris."
"Really, she seems kinda cool to me."
"She was. She praised your work, genuinely admired it. She wasn't offended, but she's got to think about the parents and the School Board. For them anything that hints at the sexual is verboten. But I do have good news; Ms. Harris said I could open the studio in the morning, at lunch, keep it open at night. She kinda bent the rules so don't advertise it. You'll have time to produce some more canvases for the show."
Marisa, fiddling with a few strands of hair, said, "Wouldn't that be a big burden on you?"
Not really. I thought. Recently divorced, nothing going on the romantic front. Hanging with Marisa seemed better than re-runs. "No, I'm looking forward to working with you."
Touched, she said, "Thank you. You always been my biggest supporter. Let's see if I can come up with a theme the School Board will adore."
* * * *
She showed up promptly after school, a big smile on her face. She'd thought of something, but wanted me to ask.
"You look like the cat who caught the canary. What is it?"
"I'm going to paint you teaching. Sometimes when you're really into it, you get a look on your face, it's like, transcendent, like nothing matters more than art. That's what I want to capture."
