Huang Mengxi

    Chapter VIII

    School started again, and everything went back to normal. When art class began in the afternoon, every student was present in Mr. Kingsley’s studio. Mr. Kingsley walked in with his stately strut and the class began. I thought that someone should really challenge Mr. Kingsley’s teaching method. He showed us pictures by famous post-modernist painters and explained their mechanisms in the first several classes, which I doubt anyone listened to, and today, without further elaboration, he asked us to create our own pieces of art. “Anything you want,” he said, magnanimously. Some students began to stir. Jimmy, Sam and Chuck took the opportunity immediately and snuck to the front row. Jimmy and Sam began talking rapidly to Syl about something while Syl listened indifferently. Sam was gesturing ridiculously with his plump hands. Suddenly, Chuck ran out of the classroom with something and waved it triumphantly. It was Syl’s orange bag. Syl stood up with reddish cheeks and swiftly ran toward the door. Her silver hair made an elegant curve in the air. I encoded that image into my memory and picked up my brush. I wanted to demonstrate the gradient of her hair as it was exposed to different proportions of sunlight, so instead of cold silver, I chose colors from the brighter part of the spectrum: red, brown, yellow and green.

    The rest of the world no longer existed for me. Mr. Kingsley’s sonorous scolding, the “prank triumvirate‘s” laughing, Syl’s sharp protesting, it all happened in a flash and then disappeared. All I could see now in front of me was the colors on the palette, the transient image of Syl’s hair in the air, and I tried hard with every sense of my heart to capture that moment with my paintbrush, paying attention to every detail.

    I had no idea how much time had passed when I finally stopped the paintbrush to look at the painting. The oil was still wet, so I took the painting off the easel carefully. I was very satisfied. I hardly realized how late it was until I looked around the empty studio. Mr. Kingsley was packing his things to leave when he noticed me. “What are still hanging around for? You should have left a long time ago!” He stepped closer to me. I was scared and alert and held the painting instinctively nearer to myself. He laughed drily. “No, no, no. You don’t want to smear your shirt with that thing. Give it to me.” I held my hands out unwillingly. He took it, looked at it and froze.

    (Chapter VIII to be continued)

Huang Mengxi (黄梦曦) is a senior student at Shenzhen Middle School. She is fond of literature, especially English literature. She became interested in psychology a few years ago and started interacting with children with autism and other mental illnesses.

This serial story is based on the experience she had while volunteering at a local psychological hospital and participating in other charity activities. It tells the story of a teenager with Asperger syndrome who observes the adult world from a special perspective and struggles with the ideals of love and affection.