I continue to round the ball in my hands and I look over to Paul who has his ball of clay sitting on the mat in front of him as he stares at it with a quizzical look. He really is mighty handsome and good looking. It's crazy to think that his twenty one year old self is sitting only a dozen feet away from me while his seventy year old self is in 2012 planning to go on another tour. I shake my head to dismiss those mind boggling thoughts and then he turns his head to look at me.
"So, um back in the states where you're from and in 2012 did you do this kind of stuff in college? You must of picked it up somewhere." he inquires and I see his dark eyebrows that are so flawless dip as he said '2012'. He must be still trying to get used to that fact and all.
"Well I took the class my high school had and then there are a couple at my college, and I'm taking their beginners class." I reply and I reach down to flip the switch up to see that up is the high speed and that down must be low. Hmm.
"But you, a beginner? I'm sure you're far past that if you know how to use that thing," he motions with his eyes to the wheel I sit at. "I haven't seen you in action of course, well yet, but I'm sure it takes a lot to operate that thingy."
I grin at his use of words and I throw the ball into the middle of the metal plate the shape of a circle and I get my hands as well as the clay wet before turning it on to the low speed, "It does take awhile to get used to, but once you do it's really easy, and just like with the hand building part of pottery; it all takes time." I answer his question.
"Hmm," he mumbles before looking to the window I sit next to and I flick my hair off my shoulder and I make sure the bottom of the apron is covering my nice skirt that I wouldn't want to be getting wet clay or water on now. "If you get the time could you make me something on there, like a bowl?"
I had locked my elbows on my knees and cupped my hands around the ball of clay that's suctioned to the wheel head when he said that and I look up to him to see his baby face showing an unsure look, "Never mind. This is only a two day class after all." he changes his mind and my face falls into confusion.
"Paul, I can if you want. Since we have until basically ten o'clock and I could make a lot of things by then." I tell him and I lift my hands from the clay that I'm trying to get centered. I purse my lips while I inspect it, but it's not quite there.
"It's fine, if you don't have enough time I...," he trails off while sticking his thumb into the clay ball to make a hole and then he turns to face me as I dip my hands into the warm water of the bucket that sits on a stool to my side with the tools I need beside it. "Wait, did you just say you could?"
"Yeah, I sure did. You just tell me what you want on it and what color you want it, and I'll try my best to make it." I answer and I smile at him. He returns it as he holds the ball of clay and he pulls at the string of the apron resting on his neck.
"Just surprise me. I know I'll like it however it turns out."
I nod at his words and the song on the radio ends to change to the broadcaster speaking and then a song from the fifties comes on. One that I haven't heard before, but I'm sure Paul has. I go back to the mound of wet clay that spins counterclockwise in front of me and I cup it with my hands again and I pull up to make it taller. My teacher in high school who was one of my favorites called it 'coning the hell out of it' and all of us in the class would laugh.
"So, what all do ya gotta do on there? Like what are you doing now to it?" his voice returns to me to interrupt the guitar playing coming from the speakers and I blow an orange strand of hair out of my eyes and I glance down to my hands that have wet clay all over them. Unlike most girls I actually like getting dirty and getting my hands into things.
"First you're supposed to center the clay, then you open it, pull it up, and then there's another but it's slipped my mind. My art teacher in high school called it 'COPS' though, and then some people trim a foot on the bottom when the clay is more hard and on a different day," I focus my eyes back on Paul to see him to be more confused than a guy thrown into a pack of girls who are in the middle of gossiping. "I'm getting it centered right now, though."
He nods slowly and looks back to his little masterpiece in the making that he's opening right now, and I return to my wet clay that I push down and then cone again. I find it to be centered finally and I stick my thumb into the middle and down pretty far, but I make sure that I have some space between the wheel head and my thumb for the bottom, "Do you miss back home much?" Paul surprises me with yet another question that I don't mind and my hands leave the clay to wet them with the murky brown water and I glance to him.
"Sometimes, but only a little. I really like it here though, thanks to you." I respond and I see a smile filled with pride swell on his lips and I glance to the clay sitting in his hands that is resembling a bowl; one with very thick walls.
"What about your parents, don't you miss them at all?"
I return to the clay and I proceed to open it and I shake my head slowly, "I guess there's not much to miss about them. I still wonder if they even notice that I'm not there." I respond as my eyes are set on the clay I slowly open up to thin out the walls and bring it up.
"I'm sure they have. You're their daughter after all. They're only child."
I don't respond with anything and I remove some clay from the bottom and I get all of the wet clay sludge from my hands and I look to the clay that looks a bit far from the bowl I plan to turn it into, "What are you doing to it now?"
"I'm making it more taller." I respond as I do so and his voice fades from my ears for a couple of minutes as I continue to lift what is now basically a cylinder.
After I had refined the edges and thinned the bottom and walls of the cylinder a bit I lift my eyes to Paul who is silently pinching his little bowl out as he doesn't look too excited or anything, but more like bummed out.
"I have to go back to work at the diner tomorrow." I note and he sets down the little knife after leveling off the top with it.
"Yeah, I thought so. How are ya feeling 'bout it? I reckon you're not looking forward to it. I can tell as much as that right now." he comments and I wet my hands to pull out the clay more so it's wider to be a bowl.
"I'm just nervous to be there again and to see Robby, you know?" I reply and I look up to see him nod as his chair and himself are facing me.
"You could always quit, ya know."
"I don't really like finding the easy way out of things." I remark and I grab the needle tool to take off the uneven top of the bowl. I wonder if that shows in some of the actions I've made.
"Yeah, I figured you didn't, considering that you're a pretty driven kind of girl." he adds on and I smile and then I shut off the wheel. I catch his hazel eyes and he smiles at me before looking to the bowl I just finished.
"Woah, you're already done? I felt like that took ya hardly fifteen minutes to make and I'm over here coming along with the speed of a drunken snail." he jokes and I chuckle at his words. I grab the wire cutters to cut the wet bowl off of the metal wheel head.
I purse my lips and look around for something to put this on and the shelf with everything somebody would need for pottery holds has just what I would need, "Paul, would you mind doing me a favor?"
He looks up while holding the dull knife again and his eyebrows rise as well as his open lips form to an 'O', "No, I wouldn't. Do you need something or help maybe? Even though I doubt I could be much of help to you."
"Yeah you are, don't say that. But could you grab me one of those wooden bats over there on the shelf?"
He nods his head and sets his bowl down that is about the length of my palm to the top of my knuckle, as well as its width being the same, "What're you gonna use it for?" he inquires as he walks over to me and I take it from him to set it on my lap.
"To put this on it. Could you just hold down one side for me?" I ask and he takes another step over to kneel down and his hand dirty with the dark clay places pressure on the side of the piece of wood. I set the wet bowl on it carefully and I reshape it a bit after the moving changed its shape a tad.
I thank him before he walks back over to the table, "It looks nice so far, you know." I tell him and he draws his attentive eyes away from the bowl that I'm sure will look great in the end. He looks confused at first, but then notices that I'm alluding to his bowl.
"Ta. Your bowl looks pretty gear, you know. Ah, I wish I could make one of those like you did and have it look that nice."
"I could help you make one," he makes a funny face that looks to be saying 'no'. "Unless you're scared." I decide to poke some fun with him and he huffs and stands up.
"Fine, if you're okay with me showing you up on that wheel thing." he jokes while he treads over to the table with the clay, and we both smirk.
"Just cut a piece of clay that weigh it to be a pound and a half, smart guy, and get over here." I remark and he pulls the bag down to do so and I look back to my dirty wheel that is covered in brown water and little bits of clay. I honestly have no idea how it somehow gets so messy.
I take the sponge and clean off the wheel head as he retrieves some clay and I get up so he can sit down. He rolls his sleeves up and adjusts his apron as I wedge the clay to work it and get the air out of it back at the table, "Okay, get your hands wet." I advise him after I stopped in front of him to sit on a short stool I drug over to sit next to him, but still facing him as I round the ball of clay.
He dips his hands into the water and then looks to me. I plop the ball onto the still metal head closest to the center as possible. I get my hands wet again and I show him how he should have his hands cupped around the clay that I got plenty wet with the water, "The teacher I had in high school taught us to have our thumbs locked together and our right hand overlapping our left. It might be different since you're left handed, but it should be okay." I tell him.
"You really should be an art teacher, Court. I reckon that you'd make an awfully fantastic one." he compliments me and my cheeks grow pink at the compliment as we share eye contact and then I glance back to the clay.
"Make sure your elbows have good support on your legs because that's really where you get your power from, or so my teacher said." he lifts his solid eyes to me with an amused grin at me saying that and I smile back. He does as so and I take his wet hands that are only going to get more and more dirtier in this process and he relaxes them for me to cup them around the clay that runs past his fingers.
I place my hands over his to apply the right amount of pressure, just like my art teacher did when I first learned how to make something on the wheel. Paul looks down at the clay that moves around and around under his hands that are below mine as his hairy arms are tucked into his legs that are half covered by the apron. He glances up to me and slowly looks from my eyes, past my nose, to my lips and then back to my eyes a couple of times with passion coating his eyelashes and then he grins before winking at me.
AN: I hope that you're enjoying these new parts and I apologize if you find all of this pottery talk boring or that it doesn't make much sense. I'd love to read some reviews from you guys!