Loud Lincoln #2

I hated art students. Natty hair, awkward clothing styling and a chip on their shoulder that made the Thing from Fantastic Four look small. I was poor and working for the Art Gallery. Work Study requires you to do all the hours given. I was working four hours a day, taking Calculus, Organic Chemistry II, Jazz and the American Experience and traveling on Friday, Saturday and Sunday with the swim team as their manager. My life was not fun. It was made less fun by having to tell skudzy Art majors that they had to have shoes on to sketch the latest “Piss Jesus” or other shit that was called Art.

It was a Monday, the bus had gotten back at 2:00 in the morning from the swim meet in freakn’ Montana. I was currently doing the head bob thing and praying that my supervisor wouldn’t come in and catch me sleeping. He had already done that once.

She comes in, and for an Art Major, actually looks well kept. Normal even.

She sits down at one of the benches and starts to sketch the imitation Greek Marble statue. Except she’s using pastels. I know for a fact that this was supposed to be a charcoal assignment. A Fresher in 101 told me.

“Hey- your doing it wrong.”

“no, no I’m not”

“Okay-your funeral”

This is where it gets weird. She starts singing to herself, beautifully even. It’s so soft no can hear her. My post is right by her, so I can, but I’m probably the only one. It’s soft and low, pretty and strong smooth, flowing like the water. As she crescendos, I turn around and as I open my mouth to tell her to be quiet. I actually glance at the statue. She’s singing the statue. The curves and moves of the lithe figure are somehow expressed in her song. Instead of rebuking her, I say:

“How do you do that?”

“Oh…It’s easy”

“Whadda mean it’s easy?”

“It’s just easy for me”

She continues singing now, softly as she’s got and audience now. The song even matches the pastel strokes. She still sees me watching.

“It works the other way too.”

She grabs my MP3 player and listens to the Jazz song I’ve got to listen to for class.

And starts sketching with her pastels on another piece of paper. The song is a smooth mellow one, with the sax adding a bit of tart. Like a ice cool tea with a bit of unexpected lemon. She listens to the song about five times, and I can’t stop watching her hands. The move purposefully, almost with a power unexpected from such a demure individual. This way and that, with bits of blue, and silver, and ebony and green flitting creating a piece of abstract art that’s simply breath-taking, even for someone jaded as me.

When she was done she handed me the piece.

“I couldn’t tell you were an art major, your clothes are so normal”

“I’m not, and I certainly couldn’t function if I saw the sound of a rock band in my reflection.”

“You see sound?”

“Yeah, and hear color. It’s some sort of complex, synesthesia or something like that.”

“So what major are you if you’re not an art or music major”

“I’m going to be an accountant.”