ART CLASS, 5th PERIOD

Allison Reynolds hunched over her sketchbook as she thought about what she was going to do this weekend. Hell, it wasn't going to be with her parents--her brainwashed, self-absorbed parents who did nothing but sit around and talk about themselves or what was going on in their lives. No. This weekend was going to be different than the boring routine at home. 

The mornings starting out with her father reading the newspaper and her mother reading magazines like Women's Day or Better Homes and Gardens while sipping their coffee or tea, eating breakfast that they made...for themselves.

They assumed Allison was old enough to learn how to make her own breakfast. Mostly it was cereal or toast.

After that, they'd get ready for work. They'd throw together a lunch for Allison without thought or care. Olive loaf on white bread with butter slapped on lazily with pixie stixs and a bag of cereal. They put no thought into making her lunch. They just assumed she liked whatever they gave her so they could go back to their lives.

In the evenings when they got off work, they would go to the living room and drink a cocktail, talking about their boring lives: her father sold insurance and traveled sometimes. Her mother was a sales clerk in the ladies' lingerie department in the mall. Dinner was prepared for them...she was allowed to eat or to make her own meals.

For as long as Allison could remember, she would try to get their attention in different ways, but they just responded with the usual dismissive and apathetic response:

That's nice, Ally.

Not now, Ally.

While her parents provided some basic care to their daughter like food, shelter and clothes...the only thing that was lacking was an emotional bond. Love.  Attention. Care.

While Allison still didn't get attention from her parents, it was then she began to pick up a few habits on whether or not they would notice her.

First it started with the crazy statements like how she was going to run away, was having sex with random guys and girls, just anything that came to mind. Just something to get their attention and notice her. Her parents made the usual statements.

That's nice, Ally.

She wondered if her parents even cared. Would they care if she disappeared forever? She may as well not even exist at home.

That's when the stealing began. It started small at first when she would pluck up small items: an earring, a ring, a bracelet. Eventually it evolved into several bigger items. She stole her parents items around the house. Then it evolved to outside the home where she began to steal whatever she saw. At the mall. At school. Over time she had accumulated junk in her home that she had stolen. 

There was one time she actually got their attention when she took the chainsaw out of the garage. Her parents were more furious that she had interrupted their conversation rather than the fact that she was playing with a dangerous tool.

That's when they sent her to Dr. Rachel Hashimoto.

Dr Hashimoto was a kindly Japanese-American school counselor. While she had tried to get Allison to open up to her. Naturally she wouldn't speak. Dr Hashimoto was patient and understanding that she didn't want to. Most students didn't like talking about their feelings. There were the occassional sobbing and dramatic ones too. 

Allison was a hard nut to crack. 

While Allison was waiting for her session with Dr. Hashimoto, she noticed some beautiful ink wash paintings on the walls. She loved the brush strokes of the black ink in the landscapes. The bamboo stalks and leaves. It seemed...aesthetic. Real. The monochromatic colors gave it a life like essence. It made it more real despite little color it had. 

"Do you like these paintings?" Dr. Hashimoto asked. 

Allison turned her head towards Dr Hashimoto, still staying silent. Her black hair hung over her eyes as she spoke.

"They're called sumi-e. It's ink wash art that was brought by Chinese monks to Japan," she said. 

Allison merely shrugged, still remaining mute. She felt staying silent would be best. Nobody seemed interested in her opinion at all. Not at home. Not at school. Nor anywhere. She wore clothes and behaved in ways that warned others to keep their distance. Dr Hashimoto didn't seem too bothered by her strange behaviors. Allison guessed it was her masking her real emotions with professionalism as a school councelor.

"I have seen your artwork, Allison," Dr Hashimoto said. "It's amazing. Mr. Ferguson, the art teacher, said you are very talented too."

Only a neutral expression remained on the mute girl. 

"If you'd like to try doing these paintings, I can show you how to do them. I, myself, haven't done it since I was a little girl...but my mother encouraged me to try it."

The next session, Dr. Hashimoto brought in some art supplies that were used for sumi-e paintings. She showed her some examples of how to paint. Allison just sat silently watching in almost a fascination. She encouraged Allison to try...she merely stared at the brushes for a moment, but when Dr. Hashimoto sat at her desk to write her notes, she saw Allison took a liking for it and was painting landscapes with the brushes.

During the sessions Allison came to with the school counselor, she sat in silence and did her artwork. Dr Hashimoto didn't mind the silence. She would attempt to talk to the girl at times, but with not much success. She encouraged her to use her artwork to express herself...yet she adamantly refused to show her work to the school counselor.

Aside from the art room, Allison did enjoy being with Dr Hashimoto. She could spend hours sketching, painting, even using the little zen garden to draw patterns in the sand. While they spoke very little to each other, what fascinated her was the school counselor wasn't bothered by the long and intense silence. She couldn't understand how someone like that could be so tolerant of silence. She wondered if Dr Hashimoto was strange and unusual. 

"How can you stand it?" Allison asked.

Dr Hashimoto looked up from her notes with a surprised look that the basket case had actually spoken.

"Stand what?" she asked.

"The silence. It must drive you crazy."

"Not really. I'm used to it. My family is from Japan--silence is something that is valued."

"You don't feel like you're being ignored?"

"No. In Japan, silence can say a lot--it is a sign of respect, avoid disagreements, and defiance."

"That's really interesting..." Allison said with snark. 

Dr Hashimoto frowned a bit. She was a bit offended by this remark, yet she remembered her culture about the value of silence. She remembered her professionalism and ethics on treating students with dignity and respect regardless if they were disrespectful towards her. 

"Do you have any plans this weekend, Allison?" she asked kindly. 

Allison just shrugged. She had nothing to do that weekend. Why should she be stuck at home with her two brainwashed, self-absorbed parents? 

School was alright. It was no different than being at home. Lots of people talked about what a weirdo she was, ignored or avoided her. She would do things for shock value. Some kids teased her, but she would find a way to shock them that they'd never do it again. Some things she'd do was eat Doritos in the bathroom, bite her fingernails loudly and spit them at whoever offended her. She would make very strange lunches. She was smart and did her homework. She didn't talk much. Aside from spending time with Dr Hashimoto, she loved spending most of her free time in the art room sketching and painting. Mr Ferguson, the art teacher said she could come in even when he had class going on. 

"What's going on Saturday here?" she asked. 

"Just detention from what I heard," Dr. Hashimoto responded. "Why?" 

Allison shrugged mutely again. She figured it was better than spending a boring weekend with her parents. She decided to go to detention on Saturday. She had nothing better to do.