Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Debussy and Art Class ( Alessandra twilight post)


The sound of Debussy gently flowed from my iPod as I stood in a smock in front of a canvas gently drawing an image of the land that had surrounded my father’s villa in ancient Rome. I smoothly stroke each line on the canvas, as the images swept across my vision. Debussy hardly seemed fitting for my ancient Roman memories, but it seemed to work. Perhaps it was the gentle flow of the music that brought on the memories. Perhaps it was my need to have pictures from my memory. After all, pictures spoke a thousand words and lasted through out time. Or perhaps I had been dwelling on the past far too much lately. Then again, I always dwelt in the past.

Dwelling on the past for me, was so much easier and simpler than dwelling on the present or the future. The future was uncertain, the present was boring. But the past was something I knew well, and had spent many a moment in. I could relive it any time; I wanted to dig into my memory.

I could hear the birds chirping, see the beautiful Mediterranean Sea, feel it’s cool breeze on my cheek, and smell ancient food cooking from the stoves. The sound of my sister’s laughter drifted on the wind, as Piran spoke gentle, sweet promises to me. I had for a time, completely forgotten that I was supposed to be a bored student in Forks small high school, which had no knowledge of the ancient world. Or perhaps the world at large.

“Is that where you lived in Italy?” A familiar voice asked, bringing me out of my meditated memory. Without jumping as a normal person may have, I flipped my ipod off, took the headphones out and nodded to my teacher.

“Yes.” I said my voice quiet. It wasn’t quite a lie because I really had lived there. Just two thousand years ago.

“It’s very beautiful; you have a wonderful sense of color in it. You really feel as if you’re there.” Mrs. Autumn said thoughtfully.

“Thank you.”

“Alessandra, if you’re feeling a little homesick and need someone to talk too, my door is always opened. Though, I am sure that Dr. Cullen is a wonderful mentor for that.” The woman added at the end. I blinked. I had never really talked of my home to Carlisle. I had only ever told him what Aro had done. He knew very little about my past, my home…. My family. In fact, the only thing I was certain he knew was that I had a family, and of course about Piran. I had never spoken of my family to anyone. The idea of telling this little human about my life, was suddenly absurd but I appreciated the offer. I looked longingly at the landscape forming on my canvas. If only it was as simple as getting on a plane and going home. I thought.

“Thank you Mrs. Autumn, I shall keep that in mind.” I said. Blinking back the memories. I desperately wanted to cry but knew I couldn’t.” I.. I suppose I am a bit home sick. Things are… different here.” I added. If only she knew how different her world was compared to mine. I shook my head. “But yes, you are right, Carli… Dr. Cullen is an excellent mentor.”

Mrs. Autumn gently reached to perhaps squeeze my hand, but I was able to quickly move it out of her reach. “Angela, that is an excellent drawing.” She said moving on to Angela’s painting now, trying to forget that I had not wanted to be touched.

I made a mental note to try and not paint memories from my past in school. Perhaps I should just stick with flowers and horses.

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