a heart that functions at all.

I've never thought drawing was therapeutic.  Until today.

It started off with an overflow of gushing tears on my mommy's shoulder, and the school day ended with more tears and lots of green doodles.

I went to my mentor/best friend/English teacher to pour out my heart a little and get chocolate, but the room was chaotic and I knew I could say everything I needed to say tonight, so I left.

I traveled a building over and walked into the classroom of the teacher all the girls at my school go gaga over.

For me, he's just a guy I look up to.

He survived cancer and has this incredible philosophy on loving everyone and, he tells it as it is, but knows when to show compassion and when to tell you to stop crying and get over it.

Maybe it was because my eyes were rimmed with tears or the fact that I was silent in my favorite class for the first half hour, but either way, he knew what to do;

let me cry and doodle.

So with a lime green pen, I began my piece of art.

I made the curves, filled in the blanks, and occasionally shouted out reasons for my horrible day, sporadically jumping around from detail to detail..

I knew he had to leave at three and I was ready to stop drawing.

Mid sentence, while saying how it was necessary that he keep the drawing so I could finish, he picked up an eraser and walked over.  With a deep breath, he handed the eraser to me and I scrubbed the board 'til not even a trace could be found of my doodling. 

Then, I walked out into the sun, made the journey to my car, turned up Brooke Fraser and

smiled.