There are three things you should know about Michael Corliss.
1. He is a terrible procrastinator.
This is probably the most dominant part of Michael's personality. His motto is secretly 'Why put off 'til tomorrow what you can put off until the day after tomorrow?' He was a month late for his birth, he wrote his college application in an hour, and he will probably find a way to put off dying.
2. He has a bizarre sense of humor.
April Fool's Day is Michael's favorite day of the year. In a strange coincidence, this holiday also happens to be his friends,' relatives,' and co-workers' least favorite day of the year. He once faked his death and hid in the next town for three days. Hilarity did not ensue upon his return.
3. He fancies himself an artist.
Oh, he is an artist, don't get me wrong, and he's a very good one. At least, I assume he is a very good one. It's sort of difficult to tell when he never finds the time to finish anything. If you sit him down, strap him in his chair, take away all distracting objects, and hold a gun to his head, Michael will quickly draw for you a picture of breathtaking beauty and style. But take away the gun, and even chained up, Michael will find a way to stall for an hour and a half. He's been timed. It's utterly amazing.
Something else you should know.
Michael is in art school right now, and he has been invited to participate in a very important art show. We are not sure why, as he missed the deadline for his submission. We think the director has a crush on him. Michael's teacher, beyond frustrated with his pupil, has given him an ultimatum. Michael's grade in the class will be entirely based on his project for said art show.
Michael promised his teacher on bended knee that he would start his exhibit early, get it done early, and thus be able to fine-tune it before the show. Michael swore that since he really did want to do well in class and school and then in the commercial art world, he would not procrastinate.
If you think that's what actually happened, please see personality trait number one.
Oh, it's not that Michael wants to procrastinate. He doesn't do it on purpose. Really, he is very dedicated to his craft, and he thinks the world of his teacher. It's just in his nature. He can't help himself.
Heck, he adores his mother and look what he did to her.
It might interest you to know that today is the art show, and there are three important things about this particular event, which occurs outside.
1. Anybody who's anybody in the art community comes to this exhibition.
If you want to make it as an artist quickly, you beg, threaten, and bribe to get into this art show. One good exhibit here will set you off into the heady world of getting paid for your work. One bad exhibit, however, and you should just go back to school and get your kindergarten art teacher degree immediately.
2. When you get a bunch of artists together, the snootiest, most irritating, holier than-thou, pretentious types rule the crowd.
They make everyone nervous, so the others will talk trash as well to avoid looking stupid. There is, I believe, a maxim somewhere to the affect that a mob is only as intelligent as its stupidest member. Art has lots of these people, as do most professions, but art often encourages them.
3. Michael Corliss has not made anything for his display.
And this, I am afraid, is where I leave you.
Out of disgust.
'Michael Corliss, right? I've heard great things about you!' said a random person, shaking Michael's hand vigorously. 'Can't wait to see your work.'
'Oh, thank you,' Michael said weakly, feeling faint. 'I've heard great things about yours.'
Random Person looked surprised. 'My work? But I'm an art critic. I don't actually paint of anything. I'm more into the 'behind the scenes' stuff. What are you talking about?'
Michael hurriedly covered. 'I love your writings. I've read your articles, I mean, your critiques. They're always very insightful. Excuse me.' He ran.
'Michael!' His teacher came out from behind a tree and Michael nearly screamed. 'Where's your piece?'
He avoided looking at him, trying to think up a good lie, or even a bad lie. 'It's . . . my friend was supposed to deliver it, but her car's not working. I have to go get it.'
His teacher quirked an eyebrow, suspicious, but well acquainted with Michael's bad habit of doing work at other people's houses. 'Okay, but if that exhibit isn't here in 30 minutes, you fail. I've given you more than enough chances to make your work up, and if you can't get things done for a graded class, you're never going to make it in the real world.'
'Right, Professor Hardon. I've got it. Thirty minutes.' Michael stretched his mouth into what he was sure was a ghastly smile. 'Got it.'
Professor Hardon stared at his student for a moment, trying to figure out if he was lying. He finally sighed and threw up his hands. 'If you're lying about this, Michael, I wash my hands of you. Honestly, if you weren't such a brilliant artist, I would've given up on you before now, but you do have tremendous talent. If you'd just use it, instead of constantly-' The man snarled in frustration. 'Thirty minutes,' he repeated, walking away. 'That's it.'
Michael gulped, realizing that he may have finally worn out his luck. He dug his fingers into his longish hair and pulled at it, furious with himself. If he'd just worked on it a little bit each night, just a tiny bit, he could have pulled an all-nighter last night. And last night-he didn't even know what had happened. It was like he'd been in a trance until it was time to leave for the exhibition and it had finally dawned on him that he had nothing.
'What am I going to do?' he whispered to himself, distraught. 'What am I going to do?'
A waitress, laden with cheese and over-priced wine, crashed into him. The woman barely caught her burden in time. 'Jeez, kid,' she hissed, 'if you're going to have an anxiety attack, move out of the way! These people get violent if you don't get them their wine quickly.'
'Sorry,' Michael muttered. He wiped a piece of cheese off his shirt and looked up, but she was already gone. He sighed, pounding his creativity for ideas. Could he sketch something out quickly? Could he make a quick collage? Could he-
And suddenly, Michael saw a girl leaning against a low stone wall. Her face was lovely and lonely, and she stared at nothing. She was leaning on the wall as if it was the only thing keeping her up, and she kept the heel of her left hand pressed hard against her left temple. Her other arm sprawled along the length of the wall. She looked so incredibly sad. The girl was the very picture of misery.
The very picture of misery . . .
And Michael got a very bad idea.
And Michael got a very good idea.
And he got some paper, and he borrowed a black pen, and he made a sign.
Do you remember what I told you? About Michael, and his weird sense of humor? About the art show, and the sort of people who go there? Do you remember the tale of the Emperor's New Clothes? Sometimes, there is no little child to say 'He's naked!' Sometimes, the tailor gets away with it.
'Wonderful piece, boy. Michael, was it?'
'Michael Corliss, Mr. Wethers.'
'Oh, no, dear, it's Ars. Just Ars. I got rid of my last name, because it was only a reminder of my terrible father. Horrible man. Worked in a steel mill.' Ars Wethers, artiste extraordinaire, shuddered theatrically and posed with his apple martini.
'Oh. Well. Um. Thank you for compliment, sir, though I'm sure I don't deserve it.' Michael stood uncomfortably. He felt a little dirty. He hadn't expected everyone to take him seriously. He had just been trying not to fail the course. But ridiculous as it was, everyone seemed to love it. Oh, he hoped the girl didn't figure out what was going on.
'Of course you deserve it, boy! You're an artist! Artists are the most important people in the world. We keep people sane and we show people how bad the world really is. What could be more important than that?' The man scoffed. 'Besides, your work is the most original thing I've seen in years. To use a real person in it . . . that's so brave, so fresh.' He patted Michael on the head. 'I see great things in your future, great things.'
'Thanks,' Michael repeated. 'I've, um. I've got to go.' He pushed through the dense crowd, passersby patting him on the shoulder, shaking his hand, and air-kissing him as he went.
'Great work, Michael Corliss.'
'That piece of art spoke to me, it really did.'
'It's fantastic to see someone who isn't afraid to say how the world is really going down the drain. We need to get together sometime.'
'Michael. I see you found your art piece?'
'Professor Hardon!' Michael screeched to a stop as his teacher appeared. 'Um, yeah. My friend was actually bringing her cousin to pose. I didn't want to say the specifics-though it would be better if it was a surprise.' Hoping he was home free, Michael smiled gingerly.
'And I suppose you arranged her like that?' His professor's face was inscrutable, his arms folded across his chest.
'Yes. I did.' Michael took a deep breath and went for broke. 'I really wanted to convey utter loneliness and melancholy. She represents so many women, forced to give up their dreams and beliefs. Here, she loses herself in thought. The wall represents-'
'I've heard enough. Look, Michael, I'm not stupid. This is not your project. You didn't make one.'
'But-'
'But. This was very quick thinking on your part, and you show a creative use of the world around you. So I will give you a week to complete a real project that will be given to me.' His teacher smiled ironically.
Michael's head swimming in shock, he collapsed against a stainless model of a phallic wrench. 'Why?' he managed to ask. 'You-you said that if I didn't-' He lowered his head into his hands. 'I don't know what happened,' he said pleadingly to his palms. 'I'm-I'm sorry.'
'I'm giving you more time because sometimes, even a fairly well-adjusted, content with his life person finds a bittersweet poetic justice in watching the good people of the art world make fools of themselves.' Mr. Hardon bent down a little to Michael's level. 'And I also have a feeling that this might have provided enough of a scare to stop you from doing this again.'
Michael's face emerged from its hiding spot, a surprised look of agreement its expression. 'Yeah,' Michael said slowly, stunned. 'It has.'
'Good. Now you might want to say thank you to your artwork.' His teacher walked away, shaking his head, but with a tiny smile on his face.
Michael's eyes widened as he finally remembered the girl, that sadly pretty, blank-faced girl who hadn't moved in hours and had not even seemed to notice the people pointing at her. He quickly slipped through the crowd, heading for his exhibit. It came in sight, and he sighed in relief. She was still there, and still completely oblivious.
'So, miss, what's it like to be part of a piece of art?'
'Huh?'
With a sinking feeling, Michael watched as the girl rose from her daze. Blinking briskly in the bright sun, she interrogated the woman who had questioned her. He saw her eyes grow very hard and angry as she read his sign, and she began to whip her head around, probably looking for him.
'There he is, over there,' the woman said, pointing him out helpfully.
The girl saw him and strode over to him quickly, her chin pointed out and her mouth held so firmly that her lips almost disappeared. 'Michael Corliss?' she asked, breathing hard with fury.
Resigned, Michael steadied himself for what was coming. 'Yes.'
'You used me.'
'I know.'
'You didn't even ask.'
'I know.'
The girl turned to leave.
'I'm really sorry, I am.'
'You're sorry?' The girl stared at him incredulously. 'What were you thinking?'
'I wasn't, I guess.'
The girl pressed her hands to her face and scraped them along the skin, obviously trying to let out her feelings without violence. 'You're unbelievable. I can't-I mean, how could you-forget it. I'm out of here.' She began to push some people out of her way so she could leave.
'You want to-you want to go out for coffee sometime with me?' Michael asked inanely.
The girl stopped, and turned around slowly. She deliberately wrapped her fingers into a fist, pulled her arm back, and punched him in the nose, knocking him off his feet. The girl shook her head angrily and incredulously and stalked off.
Michael sat on the ground, nose bleeding, ignoring people as they tried to help him up. He craned his neck around to watch the girl leave.
These are the last three things you should know about Michael Corliss.
1. Sometimes he doesn't think before he acts.
2. Sometimes he doesn't know how to quit while he's ahead.
3. Sometimes he is utterly stupid.
But the most important thing that you should know about Michael Corliss is this.
He has just fallen in love.
