Paint Me A Story ➳ Larry & Zouis

project i.

project i. ❝sketch a scene from your favorite memory❞

Mr. Tomlinson's first project was given on a Friday.  It was a breezy September day, and the wind was nipping at students' noses as they walked across campus, turning their faces rosy pink.  The leaves were turning crispy brown, like overcooked cookies, and were falling to their graves on the lawn in moribund piles.  You could hear them snap and crackle underneath people's feet as they scurried to get to their next classes. 

But perhaps the best indication that it was Fall was that Mr. Tomlinson's female students began bringing pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks to his class.  He had to confiscate several every day because he didn't allow food or drinks in his class, other than water.  It was one of his only rules, and his students knew that, too.

After the bell rang that day, Louis walked up to the front of the class and switched on the projector that sat upon a black cart.  As he waited for it to boot up, he coughed to get everyone's attention.

"We'll be doing something . . . different today, to prepare ourselves for the first project," he announced.  "Now, I want you guys to write your own definition of the following item.  I'm going to put it up on the screen, and when I do, I want you to give your own definition.  Are we clear?  No Google definitions, yeah?"

His students just stared for a few seconds, and when Louis raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied, an echo of "yes" was heard throughout the classroom. 

Smiling in satisfaction, the teacher stepped away from the projector, revealing a picture of a simple, yellow pencil.  It wasn't anything special.  Just a pencil— a clip art, plain, number two pencil.  A few students laughed, clearly confused, but Louis did not.  

Instead, he smiled softly.

"Get to work."

He tried not to chuckle when he saw his students hesitantly writing out a definition for, of all things, a pencil.  They didn't know what the big deal was.  It was just a pencil.  Why did they have to define it?  This was an art class, not English.

He paced around the room, glancing over their shoulders.  He rolled his eyes at one of his students, Amber, who had left her paper blank and crumpled it up, then gave it to Louis.  She explained that she couldn't think of anything to write down, and that he'd have to give her a zero on the assignment.  Louis gave it back to her and told her to try harder.   Reluctantly, she returned to her seat and began writing out an amateur definition of a pencil.

After a few minutes, he went around the large room and collected every single piece of paper from his students.  He had them write their names on them, too, so he knew who truly tried and who didn't.  He walked back up to the class, adjusting the glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"So," he began, leaning up against the dusty green chalkboard.  "Let's read these definitions, yeah?"

A few students laughed, while others remained silent, clearly not amused.

Louis began reading them aloud, "John said, 'a stick of graphite encased in yellow wood.'  Becca said, 'it's just a bloody pencil.'  Jenna said, 'a piece of work used for writing and drawing.'  George said, 'I don't know, ask Google.'  Alex simply said, 'lead'.  Ah, I like that one.  So creative."

He tried not to sigh as he read through the rest of the definitions.  None of his students truly grasped the purpose of the assignment; that is, until he got to the last one, Harry's.

Mr. Tomlinson's lips were dry and teeth were gritting, reading those stupid definitions, until he saw Harry's.  Then his heart dropped. 

Louis smiled fondly at his shy, green-eyed student, who was seated in the back, picking at a hangnail on his thumb.