ART JOURNAL

I am writing this in a note pad that one ofthe nurses gave to me.I asked them if Drew had ever come back withmy stuff.They told me he never returned.I've been thinking about what the twoorderlies said to me today.That my father only wants to help me and that'swhy I'm here.That I am some sort of freak.  Maybe they're right.  All my life people have run from me.  I thinkthat they're my friends or family and they flee.Do I know how to love?I'm not sure.  I do know that I know how tolust.I'm not sure I know the difference.In seventh grade I had my first crush on ateacher.  His name was Mr. Lifermil and he taught PE.He was strong and well built.I watched him as the class did its morningworkout.I'd watch him do the exercises with perfectcontrol of his body-- unlike us studentswhose hormones were making our bodies awkwardand clumsy.I'd watch the whistle he held tightly in hislips.  The sun reflecting of its chrome finish.I waited for Fridays.On Fridays, Mr. Lifermil would take a showerwith us.I had to look at him in quick glances and withthe cold water running.He had the darkest tan I'd ever seen.  His whole body was a dark golden brown.  Thecolor of a fresh baked cookie.Except for one area, the area around hispelvis.It was as white as clouds on a summer day.It was like a glimpse into heaven.My first wet dream was about him.We were in the showers all alone.  He asked me to help him soap himself up.I held the bar in my hands and rubbed hisback."Not there," he told me and he guided my handslower.  "Here."I felt him become aroused as I began to latherhim up.I asked him if I was doing it right.  He justsmiled.He took the soap and told me it was my turnto be clean.He turned me around andfrom behind hestarted washing me."I love you," I said."I really do."He told me that he didn'tlove me but I didn'tcare. When I woke up, I was wet.My whole life has beenlike that dream.It didn't matter if they didn't love me.  Justas long as they were well built and handsome.  That's what was important.How wrong I was.