a horse with no name

the first day of my art class was interesting, to say the least. nothing at all what i'd expected.
i walked to the high school, walked into the art room and all the chairs were on top of the tables, the kids are taking midterms, so their schedule is different today.

i like to be early, but i was a little later than i'd've liked today--essenitally the first day of class for me.
the teacher is a cool, older art teacher lady who went to berkeley for her two art degrees. she teaches elementary, high school and college art. she greeted me and asked if i knew about the town news today.
an event.
a 10 yr-old boy (in this very small town) died last night from accidental hanging? it's still being investigated.
the news ripples through the town like a single drop of water radiates through a still small pond. there are grief groups.
she drives me to the elementary school, in her classroom a few kids come to ask for markers. they are making a poster for the boy. they bring in a photocopy of an 8x10 portrait of the kid. a boy, red-rimmed eyes from crying, says his name.
my teacher remains composed, seeming only a little flighty and intense. a caring woman. the black and white image of a young boy brings tears to my eyes, the thought of it, imagine if he were my son.

so this was my first day of art.