Still Pretty

Art Class

“Miss Angela?” our art teacher blurted out as soon as I entered the room, “take off your clothes.”

“B-but, Sir—“I answered, still catching my breath. I just hope he considers.

“No more excuses, miss,” he coldly said, “an agreement is an agreement. Whosoever comes late during my class should be the subject. Now, strip naked—or fail the semester. You have your choice.”

My eyes widened. Mr. Alejandro is known in the school for his kind of discipline. He’s a man of his words.

With a wildly beating heart, I set my things aside with crystal tears forming on the corners of my eyes. Besides, I thought, it’s my fault for staying up too long finishing an artwork last night that I woke up this morning very late.

I started undressing in front of the class and I watched as my blouse landed on the floor with my dignity. When I had my skirt off, Mr. Alejandro met my gaze, raising his right brow. I know that look.

I started unhooking my bra and felt as I was slowly clothed in shame. For the greatest suspense, everyone watched as my panty lowered to the floor.

I moved towards the stool positioned at the center. Barefoot, I climbed and tried to find the best position to sit comfortably.

I gulped, looking at the massive words painted at the back wall.

FOR THE SAKE OF ART

Men and women- they had their eyes laid on my body. Today’s lesson is understanding the art of human anatomy.

So I sat there for hours. In the same position of covering my bosoms and with legs crossed. There were only the sounds of paintbrush strokes on canvasses slicing the silence.

When time was up, I still sat there motionless. It took me some time to regain my consciousness knowing that I was the only one left in the room. I walked to witness the different artworks they’ve made. Different styles. Different angles. Of me, naked. Everything was undeniably aesthetic- the sun’s faint rays piercing through the window panes, hitting the rose-pink glory of my skin. Round, teary eyes. A perfect body. Well-shaped face. But every artwork felt like a picture of lost innocence.

I was about to cry when my eyes caught a picture. It was a painting I consider very different among all. It was me. The very same me seated on a stool.

But do you know what made it different?

I was sitting like a princess, clothed with the most elegant dress I ever saw.

I smiled as a warm blanket slowly covered my body. Someone slowly hugged me from behind. By the looks of it, the painter was the guy I really admired- Liam.

Not even hundreds of blankets could best the warmth of the whispers he lipped on my ears.

“A woman’s body is an art- alluring and aesthetic. That when it is laid in front of the world bare and naked- a real man will cloth it with respect.”

Everyone is an art—but it takes a real artist to make you feel like a masterpiece.

He's 94 now, staring at the same painting on a wall of his art gallery. I smiled and leaned on his shoulder. You’ll know it’s a love that will last when you love someone beyond the beauty of the body. When you pour your heart on the physicalities, it will cripple with age. But if you love the soul, you got a love that never fades.

And I still have that love--despite being dead after Professor Alejandro r***d me days after his art class.