Kaleidoscope by Tracy Campbell Read Free Book Online Page B

this was the instructor. Though he certainly didn't look very artistic, sporting a yellow and white plaid shirt tucked into khaki-colored slacks and finished with a pair of white sneakers, he was the only member of the room standing. I had to remind myself that people weren't always what they seemed just at first glance; I suppose I'd been wrong about first impressions on more than one occasion.
    At the realization, a tugging in my stomach sent rolling waves into my brain, in what I could only describe as an some kind of emotional flashback. It stopped me for what was likely only a half of a second, but it felt like a full minute as I attempted to process the sudden fear and guilt that had overcome me.
    “I think you're wrong about him...”
    It was my voice, talking to someone else, a long time ago. But to who, and who was I referring to?
    “Good morning, take a seat anywhere!” The teacher addressed me cordially, gesturing to the long tables before he took a seat at a somewhat large, oak desk in the opposite corner of the room.
    There were four tables total, all aligned parallel to each other. I noticed now that each had a mug full of pencils in its center placed on top of a small pile of what looked like old magazines. I chose the one closest to the entrance where I now stood, then slowly ambled over and selected a brightly colored stool to sit on. Only one other person currently resided at this table, clear on its opposite side and near the opposite corner. The side I occupied, to my contentment, faced a large, horizontal panel window that gave a westerly view of the suburban surroundings.
    As I orientated myself within the room, the fear and guilt that had overcome me early still hummed in my mind I peered around awkwardly, making sure no one was interested in my activity, and pulled the leather journal from my pocket. Placing it in my lap instead of on the table in front of me to make sure it wouldn't be seen, I quickly scrawled an entry.
     
    October 23
     
    Decided to take the painting class, I'm here now. I experienced a strange thing—like I experienced the feelings of a memory, but the actual event was just out of my reach. I looked at the instructor, who doesn't look like any sort of art teacher, thought to myself that I've been wrong about first impressions before.
     
    The only thing I could remember past a sinking feeling of regret was that I once said “I think you're wrong about him.”
     
    The words were hasty and somewhat illegible as I rushed them onto the paper, but they made it there nonetheless. More patrons began filing in; many were young like me, but a few older adults closer to my mom's age were mixed in as well. I slipped the small pen back into its holding space and plunged the items back into my jeans. My anxiety crept around me, lurking in the back of my subconscious like a snake ready to strike at any moment. I willed my heart to stop pounding in my head as the room of people, which had increased in volume as its occupancy grew, collectively became quiet. I looked around to find that the instructor had stood up once again and taken the floor.
    Having no idea what to expect, but not wanting to make a fool of myself, I directed my full attention in the man's direction. At least, that's what it looked like. Truthfully, half my mind was still picturing a distorted image of myself looking into a mirror from every angle, wondering if I was saying or doing the right things and projecting the right persona to everyone else. Another smaller part of me was still trying to wrap itself around the strange half-memory, hoping that if I gave it enough attention, it would somehow be coaxed from wherever it was hiding in the recesses of my mind.
    Nonetheless, I gave as much concentration as I could to the instructor.
    “Good morning everyone! I see a lot of familiar faces here today, but for those who haven't joined me here before or in any of the other classes I lead here, my name is Mr. Pierson. This is