Long before she stormed into the room, her aura seemed to proceed her. Everyone seemed to sit a little straighter and a hush settled quietly over them. Even the instructor stopped in mid-sentence, waiting until she was in her seat.
Rummaging through her backpack, she grabbed her history book and slammed it down on her desk. Once she opened it, as if on some unseen cue, the rest of the class picked up where they had left off, and the instructor continued his droning.
She never raised her head, her eyes fixated on the book in front of her. She never looked into the faces of the rest of her classmates. She didn't want to. She had no use for them. Besides, no ones voice stood out. Everyone spoke with the same tone, used the same words. Nothing and noone peaked her interest.
She seemed to sense when the bell would ring, announcing time to move to another class. Seconds before the bell would ring, she was already closing her history book and shoving it back into her bag. By the time the bell rang, she was already standing up and ready to take her first step towards the door.
She had learned a long time ago, you hold a scowl on your face, no one will approach you. You will be left alone and you won't have to answer any questions, nor will you risk caring for anyone. She learned- you care for someone, you get hurt. She had felt enough hurt in her life so far. Her plate was full.
She moved through the room to the door, methodically. She took great care in not bumping into anyone. Sometimes just a brief touch of someone else would send shivers through her mind and body... and it wasn't the good kind. Contact of another human being was more than she could bear sometimes. It was as if she could suddenly feel not only whatever was going on inside of her, but the other person as well. Being in the same room with other people was often hard enough for her. She could sense the mood of others all too easily. Maybe it was because of her home life. Perhaps it made her more sensitive to her surroundings.
She wove her way through the halls keeping her eyes straight ahead, refusing to make any kind of contact with anyone. Just get through the day, was the voice she continually heard in her head. Sometimes that voice in her head made her want to scream, and sometimes she did. But it wasn't until she got home, to the safety and the quiet of her room. She would dive onto her bed, bury her face in her pillow and scream until exhaustion won out.
She wasn't really a bad person, at least she didn't think so, but it was really hard to tell- after all, she heard otherwise most of the time when she was at home. She examined her actions and her thoughts constantly. She never felt good enough for anything or anyone. She felt as though she was in a never ending battle and she was always on the losing side.
She finally arrived at her next class. This one was her favorite, though you wouldn't really know it, she showed no other emotion other than anger and distance. She thought highly of her instructor, though she never showed it. Showing emotions other than anger and distance was bad, at least that is what she was taught.
She sat in her seat and waited. The teacher was rarely there when everyone arrived. He would rush in at the last minute, looking rumpled and unorganized. Typical of most art teachers, she thought. She found it amusing. But the smile was only in her head. No one else knew it was there.
This was where she shined. This was where she could express herself and not get a lot of flack from anyone. If anything, there was acceptance in this room. The bizarre, off- the- wall, intense feelings shown through ones work, the better the grade. And it was here that she could feel safe to express the darkness that loomed inside her. It was within the four walls of this room that she could let go.
Maybe others saw her face relax a little. Maybe they saw that she didn't hold herself as tightly. She didn't care, for once, she just didn't care. She would often wish that she could feel this way outside of these four walls, she sometimes would try to 'pretend'� she was still in that class- hoping for those feelings to come, but they never did.
Her head bent down, her hand feverishly working the brush in her hand, she let all thought drain from her mind and just let her soul speak to the brush. Colors appeared before eyes, shapes and shadows. She wasn't even aware of what she was creating, she was far removed from what she was doing, but she was at peace.
She suddenly felt the presence of another near her, her hand hesitated slightly, she heard a soft voice behind her tell her it was ok. She continued. A smile actually began to form on her face. She was now aware of what she was painting. It was even to her, a beautiful scene... a spring day, greenery, bursts of color as flowers and trees bloomed, there were birds and butterflies, they seemed to float around the paper. There was a beautiful blue stream and a rock near the shore...on that rock was a figure sitting and taking in all the beauty around them. It was her... she had painted herself within all that beauty. She felt hot tears against her cheek. She didn't understand the emotion at first. Tears usually only accompanied intense anger or frustration, not something like this.
As if in a distance, she heard the bell ring. Dammit! I am usually half way out the door by now! She quickly started cleaning up and she felt a hand on her shoulder, her instinct was to cringe, but she didn't this time. She slowly turned around to see her teacher standing there, his eyes glistening, his smile infectious, even to her. In the softest of voices he said to her... 'You painted from your soul, you brought to that paper what is truly inside of you. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.'� She slowly took her eyes from his and looked down at her paper, then slowly into his eyes again. He just smiled and nodded. Words would not come to her mind, she just nodded back at him. She handed the painting to him, his smile widened... 'You will paint me another, this one goes on your wall, in your room at home.'�
She was never one to showcase her own stuff, but she took it with her anyway. Throughout the day she would glance at the picture and a strange feeling would come over her. What was happening to her? Things felt so strange to her now.
Later that afternoon, in her room, she was standing in front of this painting that moved her in ways she just didn't understand. She had hung it up on her wall, just as he had asked. She walked across the room and sat on her bed, still staring at this burst of color on her wall. She had to admit, it was quite pretty. It was different than anything she had ever done before. Where did this come from she wondered.
Nearly 30 years later she stood in her old room, looking at the very same picture. It was a little aged and worn, looking similar to how she felt. But it wasn't until now that she realized what she was feeling all those years ago....
Somewhere under all that darkness, under all the feelings of defeat and dread there lived a garden of hope, a garden of freedom. And it was all hers and hers alone.

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