In fourth period art class, Mr. Bahar motioned for me to come over to his desk. I had always liked him as a teacher. He never got in anyone’s face or micromanaged. He liked to sit back and see what kind of art we would produce without much prodding. This was a class where it was the student’s space, not the teacher’s.
“Isla, I was very impressed with your final submission last semester.”
I immediately tried to brush it off. “Oh really? It was just a few photographs.”
“No really, Isla.” He swept a finger over his mustache. “The composition was excellent. The juxtaposition between the subject as a young child to the present is stunning . . . eerie, even.”
“It was a few photos I took of my sister. Thank you but—”
“I submitted your piece to the Midwest High School Regional Art Contest. Each school is only allowed one submission. I hope you don’t mind. The deadline was during winter break and I wasn’t able to contact you at that time. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can withdraw it on your behalf. But this piece . . . it really resonates, Isla.”
I stared at the dark hairs above his lip. They moved up and down as he spoke.
“Isla?”
“Are you sure?”
“Am I—”
“There are so many other pieces you could have chosen. We have a lot of talented artists in this class. You really thought mine . . .”
“Know. I know you have a brilliant eye, my dear.”
He was so kind, so real in his belief in my piece. I couldn’t break that.
I began to nod. “Okay, then. It’s fine.”
“Glorious.”
Mr. Bahar used words like that. Ones that made you feel buoyant as he said them.
“The gallery show is in two weeks. You can go see it on display for yourself. I can give you more details as they come. Isla, you should be very proud of yourself.”
I felt anything but proud.
It was only me and Sawyer on the way home. Marlow had cheerleading practice and Oliver a clarinet lesson. The Jeep rattled slightly before I turned it off in our driveway. Snow started to fall again, this time faster and with urgency. The windshield was covered in seconds, a blinding white sheet.
We sat in silence. I motioned to get out, but he stopped me by talking.
“This may sound like a complete lie. But . . .” He tapped his window. “I’m really going to miss this snow when I’m out west this fall.”
“Yes. That sounds like a complete lie,” I said immediately.
He laughed. “Seriously. This has been my home since I was eight.”
“I think you’ll be fine. Give it a week in that California sun and we’ll probably never see you again.”
“Yeah . . . I’ll miss Moni’s food.”
“She will miss feeding you. It’s pretty much her favorite hobby.”
“I’ll probably starve out there.”
“Probably.” I placed my hands on the steering wheel even though the Jeep was off. “Did Ada finally warm up to you taking that scholarship?”
He shrugged. “She has to. It was the best one that was offered. I can’t stay here for her.”
“I’m sure she knows that.”
“I hope so.”
He turned his shoulders to face me. “You decide on which school yet?”
It was my turn to shrug. “I’m getting there. But Chicago for sure.”
We had already had this conversation before. Him leaving for California, which schools we had been looking at, what scholarships he had been offered. Our questions merely followed the footsteps of a familiar path, afraid to stray elsewhere.
“Will you miss me?” he suddenly asked.
I felt my mouth form a protective smirk and couldn’t help but laugh. “What?”
His face reddened and I wanted to reach out and apologize by placing my hand on his cheek. I curled up my fingers instead in my lap.
He faced forward again, concentrating hard on the snow.
“It’s going to be so strange. I’ve seen you almost every day for the last ten years. Moni, your parents . . . Marlow. Even more than my own grandmother. It’s home here, you know? You’re . . .”
He didn’t finish his sentence and looked at me again. My face had started to grow cold sitting there. The snow had thickened on all the windows around us. It was so quiet. We were buried deep in the ground, in a tomb of radiant white, encased away from everything else. A trembling began in the pit of my stomach. He reached out and took my hand, pressing it between his as if to will warmth into it. I looked down at our hands together and back up at him. What was it he had said that made the trembling stop? Was it her name? I shook my head faintly—I doubt he could even detect it—and then placed my other hand on the door handle.
