The Art Class

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CHAPTER 21: THE ART CLASS

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Ren asked me to meet him at the art room on Tuesday.

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"I need a second opinion," he said.

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"On what?"

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"On something."

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He didn't elaborate. He just walked ahead of me through the hallways and up the stairs and into a room that smelled like paint thinner and old paper.

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The art room was empty. Easels were lined up along the windows. Shelves were stacked with half-finished projects. The light came in through the tall windows and made the dust look like it was floating.

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There was one other person there.

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He was sitting at the back of the room with a sketchbook open on his lap and a pencil in his hand. He was tall and thin and he had the kind of face that was easy to overlook. He looked up when we came in and did not seem surprised.

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"Ren," he said.

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"Haru."

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"Who's this?"

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"Makoto. He's from my class."

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Haru looked at me. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just looked at me the way you look at a book you might want to read.

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"Hello," he said.

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"Hello."

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He went back to his sketchbook. Ren walked to an easel near the window and pulled a canvas out from behind it.

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"I've been working on this for three weeks," he said. "I can't finish it."

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The canvas was a painting of the school.

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Not the whole school. Just one part. The rooftop. The water tank. The sky above it. It was good. It was really good. The colors were right. The light was right. The feeling was right.

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But it was unfinished.

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The rooftop was there. The water tank was there. The sky was there. But there were no people in it. It was empty.

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"What's missing?" Ren asked.

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I looked at the painting.

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"People," I said.

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"I don't paint people."

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"Why not?"

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"Because people are hard."

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"That's not why."

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Ren looked at me.

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"Why do you think it is?"

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I looked at the painting again.

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"Because people leave," I said. "And if you paint them, they stay. And if they stay, you have to look at them. And if you have to look at them, you have to think about them. And if you think about them, you miss them."

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Ren was quiet for a long time.

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Then he said, "You're annoying."

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"I know."

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"Where did you learn to do that?"

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"Do what?"

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"See things."

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I thought about it.

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"Practice," I said.

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Haru stood up from his seat at the back of the room.

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He walked over and looked at the painting. He didn't say anything for a while. He just looked.

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"You should finish it," he said.

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"I can't."

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"You can."

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"I don't know how."

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Haru looked at him.

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"Then put me in it," he said.

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Ren's hand twitched. Just a little. Just for a moment.

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"I don't paint people."

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"You paint me."

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"I've never painted you."

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"You've drawn me. A hundred times. In the margins of your notebooks. In your sketchbook. When you think I'm not looking."

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Ren didn't say anything.

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Haru looked at him for a long moment. Then he turned and walked to the door.

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"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

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He left.

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Ren stared at the door for a long time after it closed.

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Then he picked up his brush and dipped it in paint.

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He didn't finish the painting. But he started.

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