Wonderfall

Perspective

Lauren's POV

Perspective (n.): we look at the same things, but we see them differently.

Halfway through the making of the fortieth drawing, I had already given up on the idea of managing to reach the same amount of perfection as the original copy. I wasn't expecting to make great advances until the hundredth drawing, considering that my level of improvement until then had been little. Maybe that's why I was feeling so emotional while staring at the last drawing—finished at 11:34 pm—the night before I was supposed to handle all the hundred copies to Professor Cabello.

My hundredth drawing looked exactly like the original one.

"Wow," Normani was standing right next to me with her jaw dropped. Such was her shock that she almost went speechless.

I couldn't say a single word regarding my work. I could barely believe I had been able to finish it.

The contemplation of the last copy was bringing me so many mixed emotions that they were caught in the middle of my throat. I was proud of myself for finishing everything, for managing to have a substantial and impressive evolution concerning my traces. I felt fulfilled for committing to something I loved passionately, but, paradoxically, I was truly grateful Camila Cabello had challenged me—for making me feel the way I must draw to reach a flawless trace; for touching my hand and guiding me, and for making me realize that the perfect drawing needed to come from within and I just needed to express it. However, I was still mad at her and I could hardly wait to hand her those copies and prove that I was capable of doing what she thought I couldn't.

"Deny it all you want, Laur..." Normani was standing next to me, speaking in a highly contemplative tone. "Camila Cabello may be a fucking bitch, but look how perfect your drawings are because of what she made you do..." The dark-skinned girl moved her face closer to the sheet, adjusting her glasses. "I'm still obsessed with the details of the doorknob. I can't believe this was all hand-drawn. You had to have used a ruler because this isn't possible," She said with her face almost glued to the paper to observe its details. 

"We can't deny that she owes me a new hand, though," I remarked, trying to look unfazed by Camila Cabello's name. 

Normani hadn't touched the subject since last Saturday. I didn't talk about Camila Cabello either. Not that one thing led to the other, but she had realized that the issue was extremely delicate and I didn't feel comfortable enough to talk about it, so she respected that. And that was one of many wonderful things about Normani Kordei: she always respected my space. 

I swiveled in the stool and got up, watching Normani sit down to continue looking at the paper. 

"It's amazing, it looks exactly the same. It's as if you've printed out a copy, girl," She couldn't stop talking about the drawing. "If I hadn't seen you making it with my own eyes, I'd have doubted it."

I was happy with the final drawing, but the ninety-ninth wasn't that different and neither was the ninety-eighth. The truth was, since my encounter with Camila Cabello on Saturday morning in the HGSD drawing lab, my drawings started to flow from within me with ease. 

Maybe it had come from the insight she provided concerning the right movement of my wrist, the way I should guide my mechanical pencil on the paper, about the lines being an extension of my essence, but it could also have come from the peaceful sensation her presence had caused in me. The lightness of her physical influence had given me the push I needed to make the remaining sixty drawings out of pure pleasure, not out of obligation to avoid failing her course. 

On that Saturday morning, she had awakened in me a spontaneous desire for drawing out of genuine love for what my mind expressed through my hand. She had opened the tap of my devotion to architecture that before only dripped but now could flood an entire city. Maybe they were both acceptable, but regardless of the reasons, what mattered was that she was present in what I did. My professor had clogged my body with love for architecture. She hadn't taught me how to draw—she had made me uncover myself so I could teach myself how to draw. She had given a name to all those feelings regarding my career choice. She had opened my eyes to the immeasurable size of my love for architecture and that was priceless in every way.