flying in the breeze

  Hart stood solemnly in the center of the room. The only sounds were wind chimes dancing in the window and graphite scratching their blank slates. The room like every other college drawing studio was home to an invisible glass wall facing the west, and hard wooden floors. Surrounding him was easel after easel, all with their respective freshmen and canvas. He could see well over the tops of their easels and chose to stare at one of the many paintings decorating the walls.

How am I supposed to be completely naked in front of these people? he contemplated, trying not to shiver as the frigid April air brushed it's icy fingers across his bare chest. Every time he imagined this setup, the faces of the sketchers contorted and snickers echoed as he tried so desperately to cover himself. No I just can't do it. It's not possible. Even now with his denim jeans coddling his legs he felt nervous to be up here.

And yet even after deciding not to do it his mind wandered back to three months ago. Hart had been an amazing football player, the regular quarterback even. People admired him and Hart had felt so in control and on top of the world. Then the happy dreams left and all that remained was a nightmare. The injury, the hospital bills, the loss of his scholarship, all flashed before his eyes. Even though his ankle had long since healed the memories throb there like a post it note to never forget. He couldn't play now without the risk of permanent damage to his tendon.

All that was left of his college career, his hopes and his dreams, was an ugly scar stretching from his calf to his heel. All that confidence had vanished in smoke. Hart could barely stand in front of people clothed without the regret and the mourning of the loss of his former self.

Stealthily Hart shifted the weight from one leg to the other but as nimble as he was at least two of the students glared at him. A single pitch black hair fell into his eye and he squirmed trying to get it out but also not move an inch. Hart's heart skipped a beat as he noticed the teacher in the corner looking over other's shoulders, walking slowly and with purpose. She brought with her the memories from six weeks ago.

Hart had just gotten off of his crutch and onto a cane and needed money: FAST. His scholarship had been revoked and the medical bills were piling up. He had spent days going from department to department and store to store to find a job. When he was about to give up on an on-campus job, his prayers were answered.

He got the job in an odd way, but then again the job itself was weird. The art teacher had stalked him in the court yard and demanded impatiently “Hart Adams?” When he confirmed her assumption, she yanked his shirt up and the battered up cane almost slipped under his weight. She gazed at his well built abdomen and sighed. “well defined abs and absolutely no flab. You're hired.”

“As what exactly?” Hart was highly skeptical toward any job that the only requirement was a toned torso. Depression had crushed almost everything he had left and he was not in the mood to get his hopes up again.

“Why, modeling my dear.” she made it sound so simple. Little did she know this answer brought so many more questions than answers. Towering over her he realized he did not have much of a choice; he had to take the job. Who was he to refuse when the bills were piling up but the questioned remained how far was he willing to go?

A snap of a pencil broke the impenetrable silence of two girls to the left and they began giggling and looking over. As was Hart's usual habit he flushed. The cool grip of spring loosened just a bit as he heated up uncontrollably. If he could barely control himself from being embarrassed with his top half naked how on earth could he without any clothes at all. Ever since the accident he had lost all confidence in himself and just being in front of them was difficult.

The money was good that was for sure, 50 bucks per session and at least one session every weekday. Without even having to strip down to his birthday suit. Unfortunately that was barely enough to survive off of never mind clear any of the debt. Being a nude model was double that and although still not a lot would give him space to catch his breath. If only he could get over the whole flying in the breeze part.

The normal side effects of the job had begun to show their ugly faces. The pain of his bladder enlarging was growing unbearable. A clock on the nearby wall ticked back and forth, only ten minutes left. Every little things began to pile up; the urge to pee, the hair in his eye, the cold wind blowing against his bare arms. However none of that really broke through the fog in his mind, that this decision was making.

Should he or should he not take the job. It sounded simple enough, so why was it that this one decision was tormenting him so?

Hart didn’t think he had very much longer before he collapsed from the exhaustion in his legs, but he couldn't take his mind off of his own problem. A weird sort of balance had created itself in his mind in the form of a scale. Neither side had enough weight to tip the level in their favor but neither was willing to give up. The cons; I'll probably pass out from embarrassment, what will these people do with these pictures after, what if people laugh, and would I have to cover up my long gruesome surgery scar? The pros; oh that sweet, sweet money, how many bills I could pay off, and could it keep my father from working himself to the bone just to pay my tuition. A cold sweat broke out on his upper lip and he itched to mop it up with a rag or anything he could reach.

A shrill ring sounded and the class around him began moving and shuffling away. They laid out their unfinished canvases in a neat little row by the door, patiently waiting for their next turn on the easels. Hart, freezing, snapped up his sweatshirt and slipped it on before racing to relieve himself. He only stopped for a moment to look at his twenty black and white reflections before running out the door. Fear pitted itself in his stomach but he still had that one question on his mind: to be or not to be naked.