Elena
It took me several days to find the perfect venue for our little outing, there were a number of 'do it yourself' pottery places in town, but so many seemed like a bunch of amateurs trying to kill a few hours. I wanted something homey, quaint even, where Tamara could really tap back into something she loved, and with someone actually skilled in the art. I found what was essentially a studio, in a very small building several miles outside the city limits, a place called very simply 'Sadie's Studio.' I arranged a private session in the late afternoon on a Friday that was scheduled for a couple of hours. I messaged Tamara with the details, including that we could catch a casual dinner after if she felt up to it.
Since an 'art session' is casual by nature, I opted for jeans and a yellow, conservative, off the shoulder top that hugged my body but not obscenely so. As long as I didn't ruin my clothes with clay or paint, I would consider the evening a success. I really didn't have any romantic illusions about Tamara at that point, I just enjoyed her company.
I pulled up to the tiny cottage, which was down a gravel driveway, which kicked a fair amount of dust as I arrived, the sound of pebbles also bouncing off the underside of my car. Tamara hadn't arrived yet, making me a bit concerned that she had gotten cold feet and wouldn't show up at all. Pushing the doubts from my mind, I stepped out of the car and felt the crunching of the ground beneath my feet as I came up to the door. The building was unimpressive, the screen door at the front was almost falling off the hinges, and there was peeling paint all around the exterior, making me regret choosing the spot. I opened the screen door and knocked loudly.
The wooden door jerked open, and a woman in her forties, whom I presumed was Sadie, appeared in my view. She was dressed in jeans as well, and a printed floral top, and already wearing a paint-stained smock. She smiled at me. "Elena is it?" she asked, in a soft tone.
I smiled and nodded. "Yes, plus a guest. She should be arriving any minute," I replied, hoping it was still true.
"Come inside!" Sadie said in a delighted tone, pulling the door wide to allow me to enter.
"Wow!" I exclaimed as I got a better look at the place. It was immaculate, well-organized, and smelled fresh and clean. Supplies were located on the far wall, including pre-made pieces, and on the opposite wall were finished ceramics, in a dazzling array of sizes and colors. There were several tables that had been pushed against the far wall, with two pottery wheels and tables located in the center. It made me smile.
"Since I wasn't totally sure what you girls had in mind to do, I set you up with the basics. You can ask me for anything else you need, especially since it's just the two of you," Sadie said with a smile. "Date night?"
I giggled loudly, maybe too loudly. "Nope, just friends," I answered.
Sadie's eyebrow went up and she smiled. "Well that's how it all starts, you know," she said with a wink.
In that second, my gaydar went off like a loud klaxon, which only surprised me because it hadn't happened right away. I cleared my throat, feeling self conscious. "Well, she is married and quite straight," I said softly. I felt my face going a bit red.
Sadie laughed heartily. "Well, better tell your heart that then, I can see a glint in your eye. But you never know, right?"
As I nodded, I heard another car pulling up the gravel road and I breathed a sigh of relief, first because it ended the awkward conversation with Sadie, and second because it meant Tamara had decided not to chicken out. Sadie just smiled and went to the door to greet her.
Tamara made eye contact with me briefly before getting distracted by the trimmings of the studio itself. She let out an ecstatic giggle, hands up by her lips and doing an excited dance. To say she was enthralled would have been an understatement. I could feel the energy from her filling the room and it thrilled me that I was able to play some small part in helping her rediscover herself. Without warning, she threw her arms around me and pulled me into a bear hug, almost crushing me, planting a wet kiss on my cheek that I presumed was her way of saying thank you.
"Oof," I said as she hugged me.
Tamara jumped back. "Sorry, got carried away," she said, still giggling. "How did you find this place? It's perfect!"
"Just got lucky, I guess," I replied.
"C'mon over here, girls!" Sadie said cheerfully. "Let's get you started!"
Tamara pulled a paint-laden smock over her head and sat down at the pottery wheel, rubbing her hands together like a child in a candy shop. She reached her right hand down into the five gallon bucket and scooped a large clump of clay and formed it into a rough circle before turning on the motor. She moistened her hands in the water of the same bucket and began molding the wet clay with her fingers.
I was mesmerized as I watched her work the clay, flattening it, shaping it, bending it to her will, making it transform every couple of seconds, as if it was a living thing. The clay danced as she made it change once more, sliding a finger into the center, creating an opening, widening it. Tamara's eyes never left the object she was creating, as if putting herself into it, injecting her own soul somehow. There was nothing sexual about watching her form the clay into a lonely vase, but it was intimate, personal, and private. And she was sharing it with me, gladly willingly. After a few minutes, she had shaped a lovely long vase with a wide mouth and ridges all up and down from the top to the base.
"There ya go, I made that for you," Tamara said, reaching up to scratch her nose and leaving a glob of clay there.
I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed off the clay, almost unable to speak. "Thank you," I murmured, adding a few seconds later, "that was absolutely incredible."
Tamara smiled brightly, and drew in what I could tell was a happy breath. Her face was beaming, and I could tell she felt more alive than she had in a very, very long time. I thought I had been doing
her
a favor of some sort by reconnecting her with one of her passions, but in truth she was doing me an even bigger favor. Even as a comparative stranger, she had willingly invited me into a deeply personal place and we both felt comfortable with that.
She nagged at me for a while to try something, but I was very self-conscious now that I had seen what she could do with ease. Eventually I relented by starting with a smaller lump of clay, thinking I would be lucky if I could even manage to create a lopsided ashtray. I started the wheel, trying to make the clay into a circle the way I had seen her do, but I pushed too hard and the clump flew off the wheel and hit the floor. "Shit!" I exclaimed, face turning bright red.
