I love art. As I mentioned I have a creative bent. I imagined it was one of the reasons—among others—I was so attracted to Aaron. There was so much to his physical appearance that the pen and the camera could capture. He didn’t seem to have a bad looking angle. I imagined each creation derived from his form would reveal another nuance, like peeling an onion, layer by layer, and reveling in the magnificence of each stratum.
We took turns in art class standing in front of the artists and having them sketch us as we posed. Today it was Lindsay’s turn to model. She is a beauty in her own right, a tad bit on the skinny side, but, if she played her cards right, she could be a runway model. She has long hair, is tall, petite facial features, and a slim figure.
As I worked on drawing Lindsay, my number 8B-2H pencil seemed to take on a mind of its own. I drew what I thought to be an excellent rendering of her body, but no matter how hard I tried to stay on course with her face I deviated toward the masculine, drawing Aaron’s features instead.
When Joe Leach, our art teacher came by to inspect my work, I held the pad close to my chest in hopes that he would slip on by without looking.
Fat chance.
“Julissa, how are we doing?”
I like Joe. He has us call him by his first name. He’s a throw-back to the Clark Gable era, although I could never see him as Gone with the Wind’s Rhett Butler and saying, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” He still greases his hair up and back the same way those guys did back then. At times, if one looked hard enough, you could see a duck tail protruding from under his collar. He’s easy going, a favorite among students.
“Good, Joe.”
“Can I see your drawing?”
“It’s not done.”
“That’s okay. Just want to see your progress.”
I reluctantly handed over my pad.
Joe never gives up a hint of what he is thinking with his face. He just speaks it out loud.
He held up my drawing for all the class to see, including Lindsay.
“This is good,” he told them.
“It doesn’t look like Lindsay.”
The voice came from the far end of the room. I knew it to be her boyfriend, Kevin Stauffer, voicing displeasure.
“No, it doesn’t,” Joe said. “But it shows imagination. It shows individuality, what creativity is all about.” He handed me my pad. “Very good, Julissa.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, something he always did when he felt good about a student’s progress, which was most of the time. “Keep up the good work.”
Good work to Joe meant doing. If all I was capable of drawing was a stick man, which was the best some students, who lacked a creative bone in their body, could do, it was good work in Joe Leach’s eyes. It was next to impossible to fail his class.
I added more shading under Aaron’s eyes. I couldn’t find a way to capture the reflected light of his pupils. I left them dark. In the end I tore out the page. I folded it up and stuffed it in my backpack to be burned later. I started over and quickly sketched a crude resemblance of Lindsay. I would have to know Aaron better if I was going to capture his essence on paper or, for that matter, in any other form.
It was nice of Mr. Omes, my biology teacher, to introduce me to the seventh period class, but totally unnecessary as far as I was concerned. I recognized Jason Chavez and the drama queen trio right off. I was surprised to see Robert Alomar, who had been in the first period Biology class with me. Was he following me? Or worse yet, did he think I followed him by changing classes? To my dismay Aaron Delmon was still nowhere to be found.
I took a seat in a rear station where there were two empty seats. Robert looked disappointed that I hadn’t chosen the empty seat next to his. His face also told me he was certain, come time for the dissection of the pig, (next on the curriculum) Mr. Omes would pair us up.
Ten minutes into Mr. Omes’ instructions regarding the dissection of the baby pig, Aaron entered the room. Bernard followed in his footsteps. Aaron stood in the doorway, waiting, while Bernard apologized for the interruption. Bernard approached Mr. Omes and, in whispers, spoke to the teacher.
I tried not to be too obvious, but at the same time I wanted Aaron to know I was there, that I had a seat waiting for him. I reached and knocked over a beaker. Fortunately it was made of Pyrex so it didn’t break, but the loud bang brought more attention than I had anticipated. All of the class turned to look.
So did Aaron.
I smiled an apology, set the beaker to rights, and nodded to Aaron.
Aaron’s face remained expressionless. He returned his gaze to Bernard. Bernard whispered something in Aaron’s ear as he passed. Aaron, to my displeasure, walked up the aisle and sat down next to another girl!
That hurt.
The girl looked harmless enough. She wore a plain dress, thick eyeglasses, and, a year or two earlier, clearly had a bout with acne resulting in scarring. She was the classic example of a book worm, an overachiever in the academic world. I placed a bet her and Cherrie could converse on a stratospheric level.
I really didn’t hear what Mr. Omes said next. My emotions and thoughts became a jumbled mess in my head. Why would Aaron ignore me? What had I done so wrong he would go out of his way to avoid me? Was I wrong and Cherrie right? Was Aaron going to remain unsociable?
Even to me?
I remember watching Bernard whisper something in Aaron’s ear as he left. At the same time I saw Bernard whispering, I felt he had an eye on me. Had he warned Aaron off? I couldn’t help but believe so. Bernard’s earlier hint I was responsible for missing personnel property left me feeling intimidated.
Deep in thought, I barely heard the question Mr. Omes asked.
“Before we start the dissection of the piglets, is there someone in the class who would like to partner up with Miss Grant and help her catch up?”
Robert Alomar could not have gotten onto his feet fast enough.
I cringed.
“Not you, Robert,” Mr. Omes said. “You have some catching up of your own to do. How about you two, Aaron and Abby?”
Mr. Omes directed his finger at Aaron and the bookworm.
It had a certain ring about it: Aaron and Abby. I saw hesitation on their part, the looking at each other, and the class looking at Aaron and Abby.
“Aaron, you sit with Julissa. Abby, why don’t you move on over and help Robert out.”
I saw disappointment fill Robert’s eyes. I lowered mine in an attempt to hide the joy.
“Hi,” Aaron said as he sat.
“Hi yourself,” I said. “How did you manage that?”
“Manage what?”
“Coming to class late and not having to see Mr. Roberts.”
“I was helping Bernard move some tables. Just took longer than we thought it would.”
“Bernard’s your brother?”
It was a question out of the blue so I expected some surprise on Aaron’s face, but not as much as he showed.
“Brother? No. He’s not my brother. We call him brother because he looks after us.”
“Like brother monk? Like a monk?”
“More like a foster parent.”
“But he isn’t?”
“He’s morally responsible for us.”
“But he’s not your blood brother.”
“No.”
“So who is legally responsible for you? I mean do you live with your parents?”
“Not anymore.”
“They’re dead?”
“Rather not talk about it.”
“So you live with your big brother.” I put on a smile and laced the word brother with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
Aaron chuckled.
It was the first time I had seen him this at ease. It raised my confidence. I could see the turtle poking its head out of its shell.
“He’s older. But he’s not my brother, in blood anyway.” Aaron pointed to the pig. “You ready for this?”
I looked at the dead pig in front
of me. I wanted to say something sarcastic like, “oh yeah. The thrill of the day. Chopping up dead pigs.”
I behaved myself. This time.
“Not really. Glad you’re here to help me catch up.”
In the background, I heard Mr. Omes lecturing on how pigs are mammals and that many aspects of their structural and functional organization are identical with those of other mammals, including humans and “thus,” he said, “the study of the fetal pig is in a very real sense, a study of humans.”
I looked and smiled at Aaron. “This should prove to be interesting.”
“I got something for you,” Aaron said. “He reached back into his back pack and brought out my orange WBL beanie. “You left it in the store.”
Mr. Omes continued talking about how dissect didn’t mean to cut up but to expose to view. We were supposed to pick and tease apart the tissues with needle probes, forceps, and blunt probes while paying attention to the spatial relationships of the organs, glands, and other structures.
I took the orange beanie. “Thanks,” I said. “I would have hated to lose it.”
“You’re from Minnesota.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been there. Hear its cold and snowy most of the time.”
“Some of the time.”
“I would also encourage you to engage in collaborative discussion with your partner,” I heard Mr. Omes say.
“Well, partner,” I said, “should we collaborate?”
I slipped on a pair of lab gloves and picked up a scalpel. I was trying to be brave, but I had never seen anything being slaughtered before, much less butcher it myself. I like my meat when it comes all wrapped up in those nice little packages you get from the grocery store. I eyed the pig.
“Not sure where to begin.”
Aaron held up the proposed cut diagram for the pig. He read the instructions.
“It says to start your incision at the small tuft of hair on the upper portion of the throat and to cut to the umbilicus.”
I looked at the pig and back at Aaron. I’m sure he saw the color drain from my face. “Maybe I should read and you should cut.”
“Probably best.”
Aaron handed me the instructions. I handed him the scalpel. The knife rested easy in his hand and, as he began to dissect the pig, I sank into a trance-like state while watching how at ease and focused he was with the chore at hand. He moved naturally. So poised and balanced and nimble, matching the description of the Lemurians I had read about.
He caught me off guard. “What next?” he said.
“Oh, sorry.” I searched for the next step. “It says to make a second incision as a half circle anterior to the umbilicus and then proceed with two incisions posteriorly to the region between the hind limbs. It also says...” I stopped reading.
Aaron worked the pig, making the cuts as I described them. Without looking up he said, “also what?”
I waved a finger in an effort to slow his progress. “It says not to cut deeply into the scrotum.”
Aaron screwed up his face as if in pain. He squeezed his legs together. “That would smart.” He looked at me and flashed a smile.
Forget dead pigs, sliced scrotums, and the smell of embalming fluid. I slipped into the purity of Aaron’s beam. I felt emboldened with him at my side. We cut. We probed. We dug deeper into the pig’s bowels. We searched and labeled the organs at each discovery.
“There’s the caudal lobe of the left lung. There’s the caudal lobe of the right lung. There’s the heart,” Aaron said.
I saw the lungs. I didn’t see the heart. I moved in closer, closer to the pig and closer to Aaron. “Where’s the heart?”
“There.” Aaron reached in. He jabbed the heart with his finger.
And then I realized; Aaron wasn’t wearing lab gloves. My first concern lay with him, to get his hands washed after touching the dead pig.
But the dead pig wasn’t dead.
I saw the pig’s eyes flicker. I saw its heart beat, maybe once, maybe twice.
I stood.
I jumped back.
I screamed.
“It’s alive!”
As fast as the pig came alive, it died.
I turned in time to see the entire class gawking at me, as though I were an insane person, gone beyond mad.
Mr. Omes hurried to my side.
“Julissa, what’s wrong?” he said.
“The pig. It opened its eyes.”
I looked to Aaron to corroborate my story. He turned away and lowered his head and eyes.
Mr. Omes raised his hands as if to shush the class. “Quiet,” he said. He poked at our pig with an instrument. “Sometimes a specimen, if you touch it the right way, will reflex. You all know what a muscle spasm is?” He didn’t wait for the class to answer. “If you manipulate a muscle, dead or alive, sometimes you can make even the dead appear alive.” He leaned down and looked at Aaron. “That what you did, Mr. Delmon?”
Aaron looked to me and then to Mr. Omes. “Guess so. Not on purpose. It just happened.”
Mr. Omes waved the class back to work before turning to me. “Miss Grant,” he said, “You feeling okay? You look a bit off color.”
After seeing what I saw who wouldn’t feel a bit off color?
“I’m okay. I think it might have been the smell just got to me. That’s all.”
Mr. Omes nodded. “Enough for today, class. Bag it up. I don’t want to see any pigs, dead or alive, (the class laughed) left out. Put them in the mortuary cabinet. Rinse your trays. Wipe up your station.”
I sat down and watched Aaron dutifully carry out Mr. Omes instructions. He made it a point to steer clear of me, not looking my way and, when the bell rang, he bolted for the door.
I chased him down the hall. “How’d you do that?” I yelled to his back.
He stopped and faced me. “What?”
“You know.”
“You mean make the pig open its eyes?”
“Yes. And its heart beat.”
“Like Mr. Omes said. Muscle spasms.”
“From an embalmed pig. I don’t think so.”
“Can happen. I knew a farmer who could make a chicken cluck after he cut off its head.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I make it up to you?”
“You can walk me home. After all,” I turned and looked out the window, “it’s getting dark. I wouldn’t want to run into anymore dead pigs coming to life or your clucking chickens.” I gave him as serious a look as I could under my veiled smile.
Aaron turned. He looked down the hall. The smile left his face. “Like to. But I can’t. Got to work tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Sorry.”
He disappeared into the masses before I could reply. Turning, I saw Bernard standing at the end of the hall, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out the front door.
I made it to Cherries without running into any dead-come-back-to-life pigs or headless chickens clucking. Dierdra’s car sat in the driveway. I knew I should be going home, but I had questions I needed to ask Cherrie.
I found Cherrie with her nose buried deep in Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History in Time, from the Big Bang to Black Holes.
“How can you read that stuff?”
“You should try it. Learn about the world.”
“That’s why I’m here. This morning you said Lemurians need vast amounts of energy.”
“I said that’s what the story tellers say.”
“What kind of energy?”
“All humans emit an energy field.”
“I remember reading that.”
Cherrie put her book down. She sat up. “Then you know some humans have stronger energy fields than others.”
“Okay. So?”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. More active?”
“Correct.”
“I am?”
“Think about it. Want to expend more energy you need more
energy and,” Cherrie said, “since any given amount of mass is equivalent to a certain amount of energy and vice versa...”
“What? Tell me what?”
Cherries face glowed with excitement. It glowed with excitement when she smelled the hot trail of a boy and it glowed with excitement when she talked physics or anything else over my head.
“E=mc squared.” She held up Dr. Hawking’s book.
I guessed. “Einstein’s equation is in Hawking’s book.”
“Yes. But he mentions it only once.”
“I’m shocked,” I said, faking dismay.
“His publisher told him for every equation he put in the book his readership would be halved so he limited its use.”
“Wise man. So what’s this have to do with Aaron?”
“Depends. Is Aaron a Leprechaun?”
“Lemurian. And, no I don’t know. Except...”
“Except what?”
“He made a pig come alive today.”
“What?”
“We were dissecting it. He touched it and the pigs eyes opened. I saw the pig’s heart beat too.”
“You’re sure?”
“Mr. Omes said it was muscle spasms. But how can a muscle move if it’s been embalmed?”
‘Can’t.”
“Then Aaron brought it back to life.”
“You know how crazy that sounds?”
“Yes. You should have seen the class looking at me. They thought I had flipped.”
“Can’t say as I blame them.”
“I saw what I saw.”
“Not saying you didn’t. Hard to believe, though.”
“What if Aaron is Lemurian? What if he has an unusually strong energy field? Wouldn’t it be possible then to make the pig look alive?”
“In my world, anything is possible. Story tellers claim Lemurians emit a higher energy field. That’s why they’re capable of doing things us minions can’t.”
“Like pulling a car off a cliff and bringing dead pigs to life.”
“The car, maybe. Bringing dead things back to life? I don’t know. I’m not so sure that’s physically possible.”
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