“Unearthing the Secrets: What the Ashes Reveal About Our Past and Future”
“There are some problems with the perspective,” said Mr. Harrow when he handed the drawing back to me on Friday. “Fix them and turn it in again on Monday.”
I took my drawing in silence. Slid it quickly back into my case. I’m not sure what I hoped for, but I had hoped for something, some reaction, at the very least a question about the girl on the bed. Instead, I was crushed beneath the absence of his concern.
John and I lived in a trailer far from anywhere. He took the car to work, leaving me home alone for long hours, which is maybe how I’d kept the drawing hidden for so long, tucked away in my portfolio unless I was home by myself. I pulled it out on Saturday, while John was out picking up his son. I took a ruler to the angles, trying to work out where the perspective had failed, but I didn’t make any changes. I was afraid my disappointment would spill onto the page.
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