Getting Juried Out
We three teachers were taking a painting class.
Mr.G, the teacher was new, fresh, nervous.
Asked us if we would please let him put our paintings into an art show.
Kitchia was reluctant, but Margo and I handed ours over quickly.
I begged Kitchia to let him have hers too.
He needs more for the show, I argued.
She had been bragging all the way to Des Moines how great it was.
Her husband Ronnie loved her painting right?
I begged and begged and begged and begged and begged her.
I am not usually this persistent. But I was that day. No idea why.
Except he wanted to prove himself to his daddy, the head art teacher.
She finally handed it over, after I practically tore our friendship up.
Mr. G. was going to take our paintings down, and they would be juried.
No dea what that meant, but had a weird feeling when I saw him return.
With Kitchia’s painting.
Mr. G. explained the art panel had voted not to accept it.
What? I could barely look at Kitchia. I could not look at Margo either.
Margo had seen Kitchia’ temper, but I never had.
Her cheeks were flamingo pink; she was hot. I am sorry. I whispered. .
Her cheeks turned crimson, so I knew this was wrong.
We always get an ice cream for the ride home.
I ask, “Who wants to stop for ice cream?” Kitchia has not said a thing.
“I DON’T!” she screams from backseat next to her unhappy painting.
One she said husband Ronnie loved for an hour on ride to art class.
We stopped anyway.
Margo got vanilla and I got a chocolate vanilla combo.
Air so frosty, you could not have broken tension with a hatchet.
Rode the last thirty-six minutes in silence after I gave up having conversation.
Kitchia leapt out of the car first.
She stopped at a dumpster for a second. Raised it up.
Threw painting in and stomped off, still angry, furious, obviously hurt.
“And you had to beg her to put it in the art show,” Margo said.
I felt like a dead dime.
We saw each other at school, and I tried everything to be friends again.
She gave me another chance, but it was never the same.
No matter what, our laughs and smiles were stilted after that.
I still felt remorseful every time I saw her.
A stale, lukewarm second chance.
I learned one valuable lesson though.
When someone is reluctant to do something, keep your mouth shut.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2021
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