by Mia Ford
Given just about how impossible it was to make a living on your art alone, I wanted to encourage them to explore their creativity, but didn't want to get any of their hopes up. Science, math, reading – those were the classes that mattered the most to parents. The classes that led somewhere. That children could build a smart, practical career on. My class was meant to be fun and help their children learn to color between the lines. To them, it was a fluff, filler class that wasn't really the foundation of a solid future.
Which was why I felt burnt out at times. Art was my life. It was everything to me. And to have it marginalized and looked down upon the way some people did made it tough sometimes. Between the parents and their attitudes, as well as the kids who saw my art class as nothing more than fun time, it sometimes wore me down.
I loved what I did, there was no question, but it also left me feeling a little unfulfilled. A little – empty.
And that day was no different. The burnout and frustration, in fact, were a little higher than normal. As I picked up all the crayons from the tables, the floor, and a number of other places they shouldn't have been, I tossed tehm all into the giant buckets of crayons I kept – because honestly, I did not have the time or inclination to sort through them all anyway. Mostly because I would have to turn around and do the same thing the next day. The monotony and rigamarole of it all could be exhausting.
I'd just snapped the lid back on the last bucket when I heard a knock on my classroom door.
“Come in,” I called, putting on my teacher voice.
I'd expected to see one of my students looking for their backpack or jacket come marching in. But instead of a student, I came face-to-face with a grown man who was wearing a leather jacket and was covered in tattoos. His dark hair was long, falling to his shoulders, and he looked very out of place in my classroom, which was filled with bright colors, and childish examples of “art.”
It took me a moment to get my wits about me, but I had an idea who he was.
“Ms. Cleary?” he asked.
“Yes, that's me,” I said. “I believe that you're Harley's dad?”
“Yes, m'am,” he said. “I was told there was a problem with my daughter and I needed to come in?”
“I'm glad you stopped by, Mr. Jones – ”
“Please, call me Eli,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair. “Or Elias. Mr. Jones makes me sound, well, like my dad. And I don't think I'm quite that old yet.”
He gave me a good natured smile that seemed to transform his face. He carried a hard edge to himself. His mouth seemed to be etched into a permanent scowl. Yet, when he smiled, it was like his entire face lit up. It was remarkable and striking.
I cleared my throat and focused on him again, pushing out all of the other stray thoughts that were straggling about.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Elias,” I said, trying to feign a smile. “And I'm glad you decide to stop by. To be honest, I'm a little concerned about Harley. She's a bright, gifted girl. But lately, her artwork has gotten rather – grim and dark.”
“Grim?” he asked. “How so?”
“Well, let me show you,” I said, pulling Harley's portfolio out of my desk.
Inside, there were pages and pages filled with drawings of skulls, bones, and other grotesque monsters I couldn't make out. It wasn't the typical first grade art by any stretch of the imagination. I'd found that kids that age, for the most part, gravitated toward bright colors, rainbows, sunshine – things that reflected a brighter, cheerier worldview. Which, was why Harley's art struck a real chord inside of me.
“While your daughter is talented,” I started, “and truth be told, she can draw better than most of the kids in my classes, I have a concern for the subjects she's choosing to draw.”
Eli looked over the drawings, an almost proud smile creeping across his face. “Skulls and monsters are a problem? Since when? If she were drawing gruesome murders or something else that was entirely inappropriate, I could see that we might have a problem, Ms. Cleary. I'd understand that. But I'm not seeing a problem here. I dont see the reason for concern.”
I could see that we were going to have a problem. And it was clear that he didn't quite understand child psychology. It wasn't like I did all that well either, but having worked in a classroom for a while, I was getting some serious on the job training. And every instinct I had was telling me that what Harley was drawing wasn't normal. That it pointed to something that was perhaps – troubling.
The trick was going to be in convincing a parent who, unless there was violence or sex, wasn't going to see a problem.
“This one, for example,” I said, handing him one of her drawings. “I'd asked the class to draw the rainbow outside our classroom window. And while she did the assignment I'd asked, she also added her own personal touch – ”
“Is that a – leprechaun?”
I nodded. “Yes, it's a leprechaun,” I confirmed. “With blood pouring out of his mouth and lasers shooting from his eyes.”
“Oh,” Eli said, doing his best – and failing – to stifle his laughter. “Still, I don't see the problem? She's a little girl with a wild imagination. How is that a bad thing? You're an art teacher, I thought you're supposed to be encouraging that sort of thing.”
He wasn't getting what I was saying. Didn't understand my concern. That much was obvious. Not that I was surprised by looking at him. He seemed like the kind of guy who would have drawn the sort of things I was trying to show him back when he'd been a kid. Maybe even worse things than what Harley was drawing.
Given Eli's somewhat rough appearance – and the lifestyle I assumed went along with it – perhaps, I shouldn't have been surprised that Harley had developed an appreciation for the dark and macabre. I had little doubt that she'd been exposed to it regularly enough.
“May I ask you a personal question, Elias?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“What is Harley's home life like?” I asked, doing my best to be delicate about it. “She mentioned that her mom is gone and that it's just the two of you. I only ask because I'm concerned that she's struggling with that a bit.”
“Listen, Ms. Cleary,” he said, his voice harder and colder than before. “Yes, her mom is gone. She's getting the help she needs – far away from us at the moment. Which, believe me, is in everybody's best interest. And I make sure that Harley sees a therapist a few times a week. According to her counselor, she's doing just fine.”
“Who watches your daughter while you're at work?”
“What's it matter?” he asked, sounding defensive.
“It's only a question, Elias,” I said. “Please don't misunderstand me. She's a bright, talented girl and I'm just worried about Harley, that's all.”
“Not that it's any of your business, but she comes to work with me most evenings,” he snapped. “I don't have anyone to watch her, so I either work during the day or take her with me – ”
“What do you do?”
“I'm a tattoo artist over at Skinz Ink,” he said, the hard edge and defensiveness in his tone growing by the second.
Why was I not surprised? Trying hard not to roll my eyes or sound condescending, I asked him bluntly, “Do you think a tattoo shop is a suitable place for a little girl Harley's age? I mean, I can only imagine what she's being exposed to – ”
“Why wouldn't it be suitable?” he asked. “Listen, I'm trying to do the best I can as a single dad – ”
“I don't doubt that,” I said.
“Yes, yes you do. I can see it all over your smug face,” he spat. “She's in the back of the shop. I make sure to keep her well away from customers. It's not like she's sitting there watching me ink somebody. She's in a place where she can watch TV, work on homework, or play with her toys. Some of the others bring their kids to play with her from time-to-time. Do I pass your parenting test, Ms. Cleary?”
I was taken aback by the harsh tone of his words. “I didn't mean – ”
“No, you didn't mean to c
ome off like a judgmental bitch, but you did anyway,” he said. “Because, while you're comfortable living in your three bedroom home in the nice part of town, I'm struggling to keep my daughter fed and housed, working any job I can right now. I bust my ass to provide for my daughter, only to have the likes of you judging and condemning me for it, no matter what I do. I knew I should have transferred her out of this prissy ass school a long time ago – ”
“I don't think that's wise, Elias. Stonebrook is the highest rated school in town,” I said. “It's the best school for your daughter. And it's not as bad as you think, even though you think we're all snooty and rich. Let me assure you though, that your assumption in that regard is very wrong.”
His assumption was way off the mark. I wasn't even close to rich. If only he knew that I too, was living in the seedy part of town, stuck in a one bedroom apartment barely larger than a shoebox, and was paying out my ass for student loans for a degree that was pretty much as worthless as the paper it was printed on.
“I won't change schools,” he said after a long moment, slowly regaining his composure. “Because whether you choose to believe it or not, I care about Harley. I care about her a lot.”
“I do believe it, Elias. I'm not saying that, it's just – ”
“Just what?” he asked, that sharp edge creeping back into his voice.
“I'm just worried about her, that's all,” I said. “Because believe it or not, I care about Harley too.”
“Oh yeah? Well I worry about her too,” he said. “And not over some stupid drawings. She prefers to draw monsters instead of rainbows and smiling goddamn stick figures. So the hell what? You and your liberal arts education sees something wrong with that, while I see a creative child who thinks outside the box. One who doesn't feel the need to conform to society's definition of beauty.”
“Well then,” I said, biting my lip and tucking the drawings back into their folder before I stood up. “I guess that settles it then. I guess we're done.”
“Yes, I guess we are.”
Eli walked out of my classroom in a huff, muttering something under his breath as he exited. He was young – a bit young to be a single father of a first grader, in my opinion. I couldn't fault him for any of his problems, but I had to do what was in the best interest of my kids. And sometimes, the parents didn't like to hear what I had to say. Didn't like to hear the truth of a given situation.
But never, in my three years as a teacher, had anyone ever talked to me the way Elias had done. As soon as he was gone, I sat back down in my seat feeling like I'd been punched in the gut. I buried my face in my hands as I broke down and started crying, wishing I could be stronger. Wishing I had stood up for myself. But it was too late now. The damage was done and I was left in a sobbing puddle. Again.
He was gone, and I was relieved it was Friday.
I had two days to recover from all of what had just happened. Two days to relax and forget about Eli Jones.
Chapter Two
ELI
“How's my silly girl?” I asked, stepping into the back room of the tattoo parlor.
While I'd been meeting with her teacher, I'd had to leave Harley at the shop and she was hanging out with Mitch, one of my friends at the studio.
“I'm feeling extra pretty, thanks for asking,” Mitch said. “Oh, you were talking to Harley.”
Harley had put lipstick on Mitch, along with some bright blue eye shadow. She giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world. And Mitch looked so ridiculous, that it was probably pretty close to it.
“He's very pretty, don't you think, daddy?” Harley asked, staring up at me with her big, brown eyes.
She still had the eye shadow brush in her hands, holding it up like an artist, ready to put brush to canvas.
I stared at Mitch and scrunched up my nose. With a long, ZZ Top-style beard, a septum piercing and several eyebrow piercinga, he was by no means a pretty man. And as a woman, he was downright hideous. But he grinned back at me and I couldn't help but laugh.
“Sure, baby, he's beautiful,” I said. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“I always knew you had a thing for me,” Mitch teased.
“If I ever decide to date a big, burly man, you're the first person I'm gonna call,” I said. “But seriously, thanks for keeping an eye on Harley, man. I appreciate it and will pay you next Friday, as promised.”
“No worries,” he said. “I had fun. And I think she had fun, didn't you, Harl?”
“Uh huh!” she said. “Mitch lets me eat all the Cheetos I want – ”
Mitch playfully covered Harley's mouth with his hand. “You're not supposed to tell your daddy that. That was just between us.”
“Oops, my bad,” she said with a laugh that never ceased to fill me with joy.
And to think, according to uppity Ms. Cleary, my kid wasn't being raised right. All because she spent a few evenings a week around this place. The people I worked with were all cool, they were clean, and they were friends of mine. Despite Ms. Cleary's snotty attitude and very obvious assumptions about me, I wouldn't bring Harley to an environment that wasn't safe for her.
Considering the high price of childcare, there wasn't any alternative for me anyway. And tattooing was what I was good at. It's what paid the bills. No one else at a reputable place would hire me anyway – not given my lack of skills or my past.
“Do you have any homework, Harley?” I asked.
“Just some stupid drawing thing for art,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Stupid? Why do you think it's stupid? You love drawing,” I said.
“I'm supposed to draw my family,” she said.
“Well, that's not all that hard, is it?” I asked. “You have me, you, mom – ”
“Mom isn't my family anymore,” she said softly.
Mitch gave me a look of sympathy, and then excused himself from the room to give Harley and I a little privacy.
“I gotta client coming in soon,” he said. “Better get set up. I'll let you know if we need you up front for anything.”
“Thanks, Mitch,” I said, joining Harley on the couch. Once he'd gone, I turned to her. “Why do you say that? Why do you think that mom isn't family anymore?”
“Because she's gone,” she said simply. “She left us.”
“She didn't want to, Harley. Believe me, she didn't leave us willingly, baby,” I said. “Well, not really.”
Truthfully, she had absolutely left us willingly. I couldn't tell Harley that though. It would absolutely shatter my little girl. But when I told Amy she had to choose between the drugs or us – perhaps, stupidly believing she'd choose her daughter over heroin – I'd been very wrong about what she'd choose. It took me a minute to get over the rage within me about it – truth be told, I was still trying to get over it. But I knew I had to hold it together for the sake of my little girl.
Last I'd heard, her parents had checked her into a treatment center – one of the best in the country for addiction services. But she hadn't gone in voluntarily – or very willingly.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Harley said, pushing a strand of her dark brown hair from her face. She looked just like her mother with the barest dash of me thrown into the mix. “It just makes me sad.”
“Is that why you usually prefer to draw monsters and stuff? Because you're sad about your mom?” I asked, remembering the drawings Ms. Cleary had showed me.
She shrugged. “Not really. I just like them. It's fun to draw them.”
“Where do you get your ideas for your work then?” I asked.
She looked at me and cocked her head, the expression on her face telling me the answer was as obvious as the nose on my face. When I shook my head and gave her a lopsided grin, she rolled her eyes and sighed.
“From the walls around here,” she said. “The artwork on the walls.”
Ahhh. She meant the flash on the walls and in the books the customers could flip through before they decided on a design. I remembered that Harley had spent some time f
lipping through the books – and studying the walls around her. It all made sense now.
“So do you want to be an artist someday?” I asked.
“A tattoo artist? Heck yeah,” she said, her smile returning. “Just like daddy.”
Just like her daddy. Hearing her say that made me balloon up with pride. Granted, she was a kid and her career path would change about a thousand times, but still. To know that she wanted to emulate me made me feel good. Of course, I hoped she might lead a better life than the one I lived right now, but it was all up to her. Whatever she decided to do, I was going to support her. I'd also do everything within my power to keep her safe from falling into the same traps I did. I had to. She was all that I had left in my life. In my whole world. And I wasn't going to abandon her. I'd be there with her and for her every step of the way.
And damn that Ms. Cleary for bring out more of my insecurities and self-doubts about my ability to raise her. I already feared I wasn't cutting it as a dad, that I was doing more damage than I was good for my little girl. And yet, in my heart, I knew I was doing the best I could with what I had. No, we weren't living in the lap of luxury with all of the latest, fanciest things. But Harley never had to question whether or not she was loved.
And that had to count for something, right?
ooo000ooo
Harley was asleep, curled up on the couch in the back room, by the time we headed home. I carried out to the car, drove home, and then carried her inside. She was so tired that she didn't stir – not once. Holding her in my arms, I looked down at her little form and couldn't help but smile. No matter how big she got, she was always going to be my little girl. No matter how old she was, I would never be able to see her as anything but that.
Harley was my little girl. My princess. My world. She was the only good thing I'd ever done in my life. One of the only things I could point to and be proud of. She was my reason for living and she was my reason for finally cleaning up my act and getting back on the straight and narrow.