Flights of Fancy--Excerpt from Last of an Exceptional Breed

Coming in time for BACK TO SCHOOL
Excerpt from Last of an Exceptional Breed:

Although tremendously talented, Troy's artistic endeavors did not always please his teachers, especially when he took flights of fancy when he was supposed to be doing serious paintings; for example, painting a smiling worm in his fruit still-life and arguing that a worm in a bowl of fruit would be extremely happy. Another incident that got him into trouble was drawing flying pigs when told to do a pen-and-ink of farm animals. The drawing itself was not what caused so much trouble, but the comment he made about the art teacher only having any imagination when pigs did fly.

However, neither the smiling worm nor the flying pigs caused as much trouble for Troy as did his beloved dragons. Mrs. Spencer, the sixth-grade art teacher, assigned an oil painting of the students' happiest memory. For days, Troy diligently and lovingly worked on his painting. He surveyed his work with pride. He felt it was the best thing he had ever painted. When Mrs. Spencer came to Troy's painting, she shrieked, "What is that garbage? I told you to paint a memory, not a fantasy."

Deflated, Troy eyed his painting of a glistening gray dragon with a small dark-haired boy on its back. The two soared through the air against an azure sky while a pearly white dragon looked up at them from a pristine crystal beach as aqua waves lapped at his feet. Troy defended his work, "It is not garbage. It's my memory. I did it when I was six years old. Smoke and Draco are real."

Mrs. Spencer glared at the boy. "You will redo this or receive a zero. I am tired of your flights of fancy. You will do exactly what you're told from now on."

"I will not!" defied Troy. "You can't tell me what my memories are. You weren't there, you wicked old witch."

Mrs. Spencer grabbed Troy by the collar with one hand and the painting with the other. She dragged the boy to the principal's office and threw the painting on Mr. Stiles's desk as she demanded, "Do something about this brat, now! He is rude, arrogant, disrespectful, and disobedient. He was supposed to have painted a memory. Look at that! It's a blasted dragon, no two dragons. And he refuses to redo it. Besides that, he called me a wicked old witch."

Troy retaliated, "I was wrong! It should've rhymed with witch!"

"Troy!" Mr. Stiles scolded. The principal calmly tried to defuse the situation. "Mrs. Spencer, other than being a bit imaginative, what's wrong with Troy's painting?"

"It's not what I assigned. I asked for a memory." She snapped her hands to her hips and tilted her chin upward.

"It is a memory!" Troy shouted. "It happened to me when I was run over by the school bus!"

Mr. Stiles turned to the student. "Troy, when you were unconscious, did you dream about dragons? Is this the memory of a dream?"

Troy folded his arms. "It was real. It was not a dream. The old bat said to paint our happiest memory." He pointed. "That's the happiest I've ever been."

Mr. Stiles rubbed his temples. Troy Tomerson was one of his favorite students, and Mrs. Spencer was rigidly old-school. He hated to discipline the boy for being creative and inventive. When given the chance, Troy was easy to love, but at the moment, Troy was showing his obstinate side. Mr. Stiles had to be a principal. Shaking his head, he said, "Troy, I will not allow you to call Mrs. Spencer names. Apologize immediately."

"No," said Troy decidedly. "I wouldn't mean it if I did. And I am not redoing my memory."

Mr. Stiles looked at the painting and sighed. He flipped through his rolodex and dialed Eva Tomerson at work.

"Mrs. Tomerson, I'm afraid I need you to come to pick Troy up," he said reluctantly. Mr. Stiles told Eva what was happening and hung up the receiver. He turned back to Troy.

"Last chance, Troy. Apologize and you'll only receive after-school detention for five days."

Troy glowered at Mrs. Spencer. "I-I-I. No. I can't."

"Very well. I'll miss you, Troy." Mr. Stiles set his lips in a fine line.

"I won't!" snapped Mrs. Spencer. "I want him out of my art class."

Mr. Stiles looked at the painting again. "You want to get rid of a kid with this much talent? Why, it looks just like…"  Mr. Stiles stopped in mid-thought.

"It looks just like what?" Troy jumped on the principal's Freudian slip.

"Nothing," denied the principal. "Troy, you leave me no room. I'm taking you out of art, but don't stop painting. You are gifted."

Mrs. Spencer smirked triumphantly as she started out the door. "I'll send your things," she gloated.

After Mrs. Spencer left, Mr. Stiles said softly, "May I keep the painting, Troy? It looks just like my flight of fancy. His name was Smoke. What do you call yours?"

"Smoke. Yes, you may keep him."

Student and principal locked eyes just as Eva Tomerson came into the office with a look of exasperation on her face.

Troy preempted her wrath. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't apologize to Mrs. Spencer. It's a matter of principle. She called me a liar, and I don't lie. Besides, she's thwarting my creativity."

Eva spoke softly, "Do it for me, Troy. Apologize for calling her names."

"Mom," Troy said in a pleading tone, his lip quivering.

Eva shook her head. "Write it if you must, but I don't want a suspension on your record. Honey, there are times for flights of fancy, but sometimes you just have to suck it up and deal with it. You're different. Not everybody can accept that."

Because he loved his mother, Troy wrote an apology to Mrs. Spencer, but he did not mean a word of it. As a matter of fact, he worded it so that it made Mrs. Spencer sound as if she were to blame and should be writing an apology to him:

Mrs. Spencer,

I apologize if you were offended by my words. You caused me to become angry. I am sorry that you could not believe me. I hope all goes well with your class now that your troublemaker is gone.

Troy

Troy received five days of after-school detention, but Eva grounded him for two weeks. He was not even allowed to play with Renée, the worst punishment he could have ever received. However, nothing could keep Smoke from coming to him. Troy whispered to his dragon, "I guess I need to keep you a secret. Nobody believes in you but me, not even Renée anymore. Thanks for being my friend even if you are a flight of fancy."

Troy opened his guitar case and retrieved his rather expensive acoustic guitar that Eva had found at a pawn shop. Troy had made it truly his as he had painted Smoke on the back. He lovingly stroked the work of art before he leaned back on his bed and began to play and sing the heaviest, hardest metal tune he knew, AC/DC's "Highway to Hell."