***WARNING***
This is an adult novel and contains explicit language and adult content.
You have been warned.
Now Enjoy!
Chapter One
An Introduction of Sorts
I opened my eyes to find a place that was new and yet so familiar. I stood there for the longest time, just taking it all in. The crash of the familiar waves echoed through the landscape of green. Those sounds were deafening but, oh, so pleasant. An unforgiving wind rushed over the land, and I watched it as it headed straight for me. The kelly blades of grass knelt down in respect to the ever-powerful ruler of the air and I braced myself for the worst as the gale came against me.
Suddenly, the gust weakened and whipped up and around me in a congenial manner, blowing my long hair in tangled strands of dark brown and crimson. That unnatural color of red stood out against the landscape of green, the perfect complementary color pointing out just how much I didn’t fit in here. But as much as I didn’t fit in I still felt at home. And just to prove my uncertain thoughts wrong, I gave in to the desires of the natural world that was surrounding me.
Kneeling down on the grassy knoll beneath me, I began to untie the bright blue laces of my sneakers. Once free of my socks and shoes, I entwined my toes in the soft, wet vegetation, soaking up the cool freshness; it was like a sense of spearmint gum for the soles of my feet. I curled my toes at the sensation and rocked back and forth on my heels. I swear, I felt that my arches were smiling at the engagement between them and the land.
At once, I felt adventurous! It was as if all of the sights, smells, sounds, and textures took hold of me and shook me violently, telling me to just wake up. Hell, even the taste of the salty air on my tongue brought me aggressively to life. It wasn’t fair that I was holding myself there, among the grassy field, when I knew that there was so much more to be seen. Then I reminded myself that in this form, in this moment, I wasn’t hesitant or timid. I was Jade. I was everything that I wasn’t, and then I was more. Here, I could be excited over clashing waves and thunderstorms, over the most intensely vivid greens and blues – colors that even I couldn’t paint. But here I was, letting my consciousness take over while I remained in my subconscious world.
At once the rains began. The beautiful rolling thunderheads billowed over the horizon of the sea, making their way in my general direction. The massive blackness filled the sky as the torrents began to burst from its flanks. As I watched the rain fall towards me, I began to wonder if a cloud could really have flanks at all? I mean, you can sometimes see a cloud that may have the shape of a bunny, or a cow, or even a professional rugby player and they all have flanks. But would that really mean that a cloud could have flanks? No matter what the answer was, the rain was coming from them in a violent manner.
When in this subconscious it seemed that the rain would match the cool crispness of the coastal region. However, to my surprise, when it hit me I felt the hot steam rise from my icy skin. Then all of a sudden, my world was slowly transforming, leaving me alone and barefoot on that grassy patch of green. The rains around me were closing in, making me feel as though the vastness of the land was being vacuum-packed into the tiny little space that surrounded me. Greens and blues faded, losing their vivid saturation right before my eyes. In fact, the colors became so dull that all that was left was the pale cream color of cheap ceramic tiles. Even the shower curtain to my right was a dull faded hand me down of washed out sea foam. Though the subconscious world had escaped me yet again, I still felt the sensation of the senses, as if I were still living them, even if they had only been my overactive imagination.
Doolin. It had to be that magical land that I kept returning to in my thoughts. This glorious region was off of the west coast of Ireland and it is home to many beautiful creations of God. Of course, Ireland in itself is a magical place. And yes, the pictures don’t lie – the grass really is that green.
I had been to Doolin twice and it has visited me over and over again ever since. It is a land of coasts and cliffs, of rocky crags and caves, a land of tradition beyond measure and an unforgettable experience. I remember my high school literature teacher saying once that “Ireland is the place where God comes down when he wants to have a drink.” Funny that I still can hear his eccentric voice ringing out across the classroom.
Classroom?! My mind has wondered again! I hurry and finish up in the shower. Wash self, rinse self, wet hair, shampoo, face wash, rinse hair, condition, rinse face, rinse hair. It’s always the same and takes too freaking long! I jump out of the cream-colored tub and throw a towel around my hair and another around myself, frantically starting to dry as I glance at my cell phone for the time. 5:30 a.m. Damn! I’ve lost 10 minutes. 10 very precious minutes.
I begin to reach for my clothes in the tight claustrophobic bathroom, nearly falling over that God-forsaken, crappy, toilet. Ha ha… ‘crappy’ toilet – oh the world of puns! As I catch myself on the edge of the sink, I caught a glimpse of me in the semi-steamy mirror and I took a quick pause for my imperfections. Man, if only I could look like the girl in my imagination. Though my short height matched that of ‘Jade’ the rest of me, however, didn’t quite measure up. Where her average size was the perfect combination of not too skinny and not too fat, I was well beyond in the latter of the two. And even though I used to have those beautiful burgundy highlights, I knew that if I were to take my hair out of that towel there would be none. Suddenly, the only feeling that filled me then was the consensus of disgust and I moped, disappointedly, out of the bathroom.
The rest of the morning routine was a bit of a blur for my mind was still on that rocky coast as Jade. As I began to prepare my lunch for the day (peanut butter and jelly, anyone?), I began to remember how Jade came along in the first place. I was still in high school and it was during the age of technology when the innovation of the instant messenger was becoming very popular. I liked getting online afterschool to talk to friends, some old and some new. I think waiting for the dial-up to connect was the hardest part of the whole process. And oh man, that irritating sound of the connection was almost as bad as the screaming alarm at 6 in the morning. If only to sleep in to that time again, that would be so nice. But then again, I was a student back then, now I’m the teacher and 5 a.m. beckons me every school day. Anyway, when coming up with a name for the instant messenger, I wanted it to be something really cool, therefore my original name was out.
I had always liked the name ‘Jade’ and I even thought of naming a future child that at one point. However, that didn’t last due to my brother getting engaged to some chick who already had a daughter named Jadyn. That was a major let down.
Jade came along followed by a made-up last name that randomly appeared on my computer screen by starting with the letter ‘v’ and finding the most haphazard combination of letters with my curious fingertips. And thus, Jade Vantishi was born (pronounced Van-ti-shy not Van-ti-she). It’s a strong name, a beautiful name and consequently, the character formed to fit it.
I’ve always enjoyed writing, creating my own characters at a whim. But Jade always comes back into my stories in one way or another. It could be that she is me, or a version of me, or maybe even the me that I could be if nothing was holding me back. And yet, speaking of holding me back, I glance at the clock in the kitchen as I finish up my muesli to see that time is interrupting me yet again. It’s 6 a.m. and it’s time to go.
It was a cold morning in November, but the stars were shining, which made me smile. Being from the country in BFE it was always pleasant to see the stars shining like there was no tomorrow. Since I moved out of my parents’ house, I’ve been living in a ‘city’ of sorts with my husband. There are no skyscrapers or anything, just lots of houses and businesses close together. Too much light and too much sound. Half the time I don’t even see the stars. But I know that they’re there, just waiting for the moment when I move away from this God-forsaken town and to a place in the country that I can call home.
My car was cold too. I should’ve started it earlier to let it warm up, but that’s the punishment for daydreaming in the shower and losing 10 of my morning minutes. I got inside and turned the key. The engine sleepily came to life and idled with a clicking noise. It does that when it’s cold, so I sat there a moment, letting the car wake up from its cold nightly slumber. Messing with the heater, I switched it to defrost. The window didn’t need it, but the air was just too damn cold to have blowing on me just quite yet. Then gloomily, we backed out of the driveway and headed down the street, both of us yawning in protest.
I reached the outer limits of the city and made my way lazily to the school. The high school where I teach was about a 20 to 30 minute drive. It’s not so bad, but I never seem to make it the whole trip without getting behind someone that just can’t drive. It’s not even like it’s a dangerous road or anything. I think I go around a total of about 3 curves that I even have to tap my brakes on, and the rest of the drive is completely flat. But still, there are so many drivers in this area that feel 10 miles under the speed is going way too fast. I mean seriously, there’s nothing in front of this driver and still it’s stop, drive, drive, brakes, drive, slow down, drive, slow down, slow down more, slow down even more, ah! I don’t have road rage, I swear, but I’m blowing by this bitch.
The further I drive the less there is to see. Corn field, soy bean field, corn field, tobacco field, tobacco field, tobacco field, a random field of donkeys, another corn field, then I’m at the school. Yes, we are right beside a corn field and there’s a tobacco field in the back. We have that in place of a football field. Yeah, we don’t even have football. But I find it funny that there is a tobacco field on school grounds when the school itself is tobacco free. Oh the world of irony.
Since I get there way before the students, or even the other teachers, I walk down the dark hallway and into the art room, my room. The smell of stale paint and old water trays may seem putrid to some, but to me it makes me feel so comfortable. It reminds me of working the late nights in the Arts and Humanities (or A&H for short) building at college. My senses would go wild when I walked into one of the studios. Painting, printmaking, ceramics, sculpture, drawing, and computer art – I did it all and loved every moment of it. I miss it so much. And it’s not that I miss just the college experience, I miss the person that I was becoming in the process.
In college, I struggled forever, or so it seemed. I went in with a love for art and was immediately overwhelmed. Even though I absolutely loved my high school art teacher, I was so unprepared when I majored in art. All of my classmates in my studio classes were so far beyond me in terms of skills and knowledge and immediately I was downhearted and wondering what on earth I was doing there in the first place.
I’ll never forget my first project in my three-dimensional art class. We had to create an abstract work of art using cardboard that demonstrated the Elements of Art and Principles of Design. First of all, I had never made anything with cardboard before. Secondly, the Elements of What and the Principles of Huh? Nonetheless, I really tried to do what I was supposed to do, but I really didn’t get very far. In fact, one week into the project, my professor, Andries, gave me some very down-heartening advice.
Now, picture this: my little 5 foot, freshman self is staring up at a very tall white, like 6 ½ foot, South African man. He looks down on me from freaking Mt. Olympus and says in the thickest accent ever “The best thing you can do with this involves a match.” Then he walks away leaving me to doubt the fact that I even called myself an artist in the first place.
Much to his surprise and much to my own as well, I did struggle through it and finish that stupid sculpture. I felt like an idiot when we set all of our projects side by side in the art gallery for the first class critique of the semester. Mine looked like total shit. When it came time for me to discuss my principles of design that I had used I explained how the giant cardboard macaroni noodles were repeated throughout the work, using the principle of repetition. Dear Andries replies with “and?” No answer… let’s doubt ourselves some more. Hmmm… My second choice was to be a culinary artist, how about that?
Needless to say, I finished my bachelor’s degree in art education 4 years later. I graduated cum laude and wore an Irish flag as my sash due to my student teaching experience in Ireland. I think all in all I’ve done pretty well for myself. I’m in my third year of teaching high school and 7th grade art. I really enjoy it overall. But I guess sometimes it is okay to feel a little bit selfish too. I do hate that I’ve lost myself in the process of teaching others to find themselves.
By the end of college, I was creating art that I was proud of – art that showed my views, my opinions, who I was. I don’t have much time to do art anymore and in that meantime, I have lost my ability to just create. I am very judgmental of myself, I lack self-confidence, and my motivation sucks ass. All in all, I’m too busy teaching kids how to create that I’m distancing myself from the act of creating. Before too long I feel like I’m going to be a textbook teacher – teach how you think it’s done rather than knowing from experience.
“Beep Beep Beep” the sound of the school bell sounds in a deep melancholic tone. And so my day starts. I head off to hall duty at the bottom of the stairwell. Kids always seem to fall up the stairs there. Yes, up. I think there’s only been one kid that actually fell down them. That’s a good thing though, in my opinion. If I were to have a choice, I would just fall up – there’s less injury that way. Not to mention, then I don’t have to fill out an accident report.
I go through hall duty, same as always, saying good morning to the students I know and sometimes, if I’m feeling a little daring, I shout out to the ones I don’t know too. I get along very well with most of the students in the school. It’s really easy to build a great rapport with them right off the bat. It could be my age, I suppose. Being only 3 years out of college, I am technically still part of the generation I’m teaching. I suppose that having kids one day will make me feel different.
The day goes fast and smooth. Art I – 28 kids, Art I – 30 kids, Advanced Art – 28 kids plus 3 special education students and their paraprofessional aides, quick lunch (which is usually eaten in my room because students want to work on projects during their lunch periods, so why would I stop them?), Drawing/Painting – 24 kids, 15 min. break, walk to the Jr. High, 7th grade – 9 kids, 7th grade – 25 kids (yeah, could we have made the class numbers a little more even?), then my half hour worth of planning time (which is usually used to just chill and collect myself from the hectic day). It’s the same old thing every day, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. The kids are what keep me going. But still, when 3 o’clock hits, I am outta here!
By about 3:40 I arrive at the YMCA for my daily afternoon exercises. I should’ve been there by 3:20, but once again I ran into those Sunday drivers that don’t know what day it is. Maybe I should buy them all a calendar. Aside from that, I’ve have finally arrived. There are not very many cars here at this time, but then again there are not many people that come and exercise after work. Most of those lucky bastards come here before work so they can jump start their morning and make it so they feel good all day. Or, maybe, they just don’t come at all. I, on the other hand, come right after school because if I don’t, I won’t come at all. My biggest mistake is going home first, thinking that I will go workout later. Yeah, that never happens. But damn it all, I am very tired when I get there. I mean, come on, 5 a.m. comes early and then I deal with traumatized, and not to mention dramatized, teenagers all day.
At this point, I’ve stopped my brain-rattling long enough to have put on my swimsuit and head to the pool. Oh, good, the air in the poolroom is thick and warm – a good sign that the pool will be too. In high hopes, I back myself down the ladder and… SHIT! That’s cold! Damn it all, could they not heat the pool on cold days? I swim so much better in warmer water. Nevertheless, I begin with my laps. I ‘sprint,’ so to speak, the length of the pool then lazily backstroke back. This will continue for about 30 minutes, so I let my mind wander.
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