I used to go to nude figure drawing on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8pm to 9pm every week during my freshman fall semester on campus, mostly because my art class professor encouraged it. I remember the first time I walked in, there were a couple older male townies there already, and one of them immediately turned to me and asked, “Are you the model?”. I wasn’t, although I bet he wished I was. Isn’t that funny?
I spoke with a surprising amount of clarity. We were arguing over something political, or maybe something about a family friend of ours? I can’t remember. But I do clearly recall my mother’s eyes laying on me, a small smile of amusement on her familiar face.