Page 20 of Falling Slowly
“I can’t taste any glue,” Charlie mused, shoving another sample into his mouth.
“No glue!” Leonie confirmed. “Only fresh mashed potato we will use for sculpting. Don’t eat all of it.”
I stared at the pile on my plate, trying to swallow the lump that began swelling in my throat. So much food. Someone had made enough mashed potato to feed an army, and we were supposed to play with it? No wonder the kitchen helper had looked so pained.
“What are we supposed to make?” asked one of the ladies.
“Anything you want!” Leonie declared. “Don’t think too much. Let your fingers guide you. Ask the material what it wantsto be and let it take you there. There is no failure. There are no limits, except you need to be done in ten minutes. Ready, set, go!”
Charlie rolled his sleeves, peering at his potato plate. “What do you want to be?”
Leonie walked around the room, passing us tools—palette knives, funny looking plastic scalpels, and larger gear I imagined masons would use. I grabbed one blunt knife and began shaping the pile of potato. Maybe if I respected the natural hill-shape on the plate, I would end up with something that was still edible after the exercise.
“What are you doing?” Charlie voice brought me back to the room.
I looked around and noticed most people had abandoned the tools and were working with their hands, shaping and molding the potato like it was clay. I saw phallic towers, busts and one perfect sphere. Charlie’s pile had turned into an abstract, gravity-defying shape I couldn’t make any sense of.
“I… I don’t know,” I muttered, staring at the anthill on my plate. It was still a pile of mashed potato, just tidier.
“Time!” Leonie approached us. “Drop your tools and step away from the table. It’s time to walk around the room and see everyone’s creations.”
I dropped the knife, my stomach in knots. There was no failure, yet I’d managed to fail. I hadn’t thought outside the box, not even a little. I trailed behind Charlie as we wandered around the room, viewing each other’s creations like we were visiting a prestigious art gallery. Nobody said anything about my boring anthill, but I could feel the judgment in the air. Leonie made appreciative noises on every out-breath, thoughtfully commenting on each potato sculpture. It was incredible how quickly we’d all fallen in line with the new dynamic—grownup professionals vying for praise for completing a ten-minute kindergarten activity.
No one received more praise than Charlie. He’d pushed his potatoes to the limit, creating a sculpture that resembled a cat-like animal in motion. “If only there was a way to preserve this,” Leonie exhaled, her eyes filled with reverence.
When she got to me, she took a beat to compose herself. “It’s very… tidy. Maybe don’t worry so much about making a mess next time?”
She pivoted on her heels and returned to the front of the class, talking animatedly about creativity and risk-taking, mentioning Charlie by name at least three times. She must have known him since nobody was wearing a name tag. I could tell the other ladies were storing the information.
Dwelling on my failure, I missed the beginning of Leonie’s next exercise. It had something to do with paint, or pain. Probably pain.
I spent the rest of the morning trying to emulate Charlie’s approach to dealing with anything thrown at us—dried flowers, paper plates, Jenga blocks and glue… I didn’t shine, but I blended in. As time went on, Leonie’s enthused voice grew a tad wary, even if she tried to offer me some encouragement. She had her pet student in Charlie, which was fine with me. All I wanted was to hide in my corner and not be noticed for the rest of the day, or however many days I had to stay here to not anger my boss.
When Leonie announced it was lunch time, I tidied up our tools and materials, eager to get out. I could feel Charlie’s eyes on me.
“Are you okay?” He cornered me, stepping so close that I instinctively shifted further away. He kept advancing until my back was against the window. “You seem… distressed. No. Anxious.”
“Thanks for the psychoanalysis, but I’m hungry. Can we go to lunch?” I pasted on a smile to satisfy his concerns.
Charlie narrowed his eyes, staring at me for an unnervingly long time. “So, what did you think of the exercises?”
“They were fine. Lots of variety. You?”
“I lost the sense of time. I must have been in a state of flow.”
“Sounds great.” I could have sworn the morning had already lasted about 24 hours.
“It happens when you are working on something that you’re skilled at but that’s almost too hard. Did you feel like it was too easy or too hard, maybe?” He studied my face like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
My insides swirled with a hint of nausea. “It was hard, I guess. Especially the potato one. I have a hard time playing with food. I mean, I’ve been teaching my daughter the opposite for years.” I attempted to smile.
His jaw dropped. “Huh.”
“Can we go to lunch now?” I asked again. My stomach growled. “Otherwise, I’ll eat my potato sculpture.”
Charlie’s laugh sounded embarrassed. “Of course.”
Leaving my pile of worthless sketches on the table, I let him escort me towards the doorway. I noticed one of the ladies had also stayed back and joined us at the door.
