(OCTOBER 2010)

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RICH MUTATIO

MY NAME IS RICH MUTATIO and this is a story of my growth.

   I was an asshole, but that was what made me loveable. I wasn't cruel or heartless—maybe I was a bit obnoxious here and there but that was what people knew me as and that was who I came to be.

   The October breeze sent goosebumps shivering throughout my body the instant I stepped out of my house. It was too warm for a thick jacket yet too cold to wear only one layer.

   That was the unique beauty of Canadian weather. It just couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Some people hated it, some people loved it, but I admired it. It didn't stick to just one thing, instead changing to however it saw fit.

   I made my way to the playground at the halfway point from my house to the elementary school. Bond leaned against the metal railing snuggled comfortably in his oversized white hoodie while Mallory stood on the wood chip floor with her arms crossed—she tried to look intimidating but you could tell she underestimated the weather.

   "Late again, Rich," Mallory pointed out. She and Bond put on their backpacks and jogged to my side carrying the art homework we had over the weekend.

   "It's only ten minutes. Why do you keep making such a big deal out of it?" I said.

   "Because we're the ones doing the waiting," Bond answered. "You've been coming late and since we wait for you, we get marked late as well. My dad will ground me if I get another phone call home."

   Mallory changed the subject, pointing to the plastic bag I carried. "Rich, can I see your painting? Bond doesn't want to show me his paint—"

   "Because you'll see it in class."

   "Because you'll see it in class," she mocked. "Come on, lemme take a look at yours."

   "Are you sure?" I asked, knowing the answer.

   Mallory nodded vigorously.

   I turned to Bond. "Did she show you her painting?"

   He swung the umbrella he always carried, resting it on his shoulder like a bindle. "Yeah."

   "How was it?"

   Bond shrugged his shoulders.

   He was the first to see my painting, taking a moment to observe it before gesturing his head to her. "Mal, I don't know what made you think yours stood a chance against Rich's."

   "Show me," Mallory whined.

   She shook my shoulder, rocking me back and forth. She was strong for a girl. I handed her my painting and her face lit up in awe with hints of disappointment.

   Mr. Darley assigned a landscape painting as homework over the weekend. He said we could do any landscape we wanted; a mountain, forest, pond. The only criteria he wanted us to check off was that our piece set an atmosphere.

  The one I chose was gloomy. The first image that came to my head was a noir-inspired city. I based it off 50s Chicago, giving it scarce but vivid neon lights. To add to the gloomy atmosphere, I incorporated rain to give it an exhausted look. But to be honest, the rain was simply a flex since I knew no one in our class could replicate it.

   I was the designated art kid in the class.

   "Yours looks so good!" Mallory cried. "It already looks so stylistic and you had the audacity to add rain?! What's your mood, though?"

   "Try guessing."

   "You're really playing that game? Let's see: dark, ominous, bleak, gloom—"

   I pointed at a lit imaginary lightbulb above my head. "Bingo! It was gloomy. Your turn."

   "You really wanna see mine? Yours is obviously better," Mallory argued. She had a point.

   "I showed you my painting, it's only fair if you show me yours. That's the principle of equivalent exchange."

   Mallory reluctantly handed over her painting facing down. I didn't turn it over immediately. Instead, I tortured her by looking at her face without doing anything.

   "Just look at it!" she exclaimed.

   I turned it over and studied the blue mess. There were what seemed like rocks or ships over the horizon. I couldn't tell if this was either supposed to be a lake, a pond, or the sea. She even painted the generic M-shaped birds flying into the distance. However, I'd have to admit that the sun was pretty good compared to everything else. But how hard was it really to paint a yellow circle?

   "Uhh. This is the sea?"

   Mallory dropped her head. "Yeah."

   "And the mood is... happy, joyful?"

   "Calming. The mood is supposed to be calming or relaxing."

   I tilted my observant head. "Why are you looking at the ground like that?"

   "Because you think it's crap."

   "Actually, it's not crap. Not even close."

   Her face lit up. "Really?"

   "It's worse than crap."

   She glared into my eyes for a moment and jabbed me on the shoulder a few times.

   "Ow! What was that for?" I rubbed the part of my shoulder she hit.

   Out of all the girls in the class to be practicing Karate and Muay Thai, it just had to be her.

   She ripped her painting out of my hand and handed both of our canvases to Bond. "You're supposed to make me feel good! You're supposed to say 'No, the painting looks good' or 'It doesn't look that bad', but you make fun of it. You're not supposed to do that."

   She kicked me in the thigh and gave it a cramp.

   "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. There. You happy?"

   "No." Mallory stopped hitting me and climbed onto my back. I grabbed her legs to support her weight, completing the piggyback formation. She pointed at the school, which was only a mere two blocks away, and screamed, "Hurry up! Before we're late!"