Study Buddies

Study Buddies

Nate

-

Looking around the classroom I realize just how much of a misfit I am among this group of future medical professionals. Why is a right-side-of-the-brain artist like me in this class surrounded by left brain geniuses? Well, maybe they're not all

geniuses

but they're all pre-med. And way smarter than me. Taking an anatomy class was my art instructor's idea and I'm beginning to think his logic was flawed.

I love creating art and for the most part, I do a decent job of it. I am particularly good at scapes - landscapes, tablescapes, foodscapes, seascapes, cityscapes, cloudscapes... But I'm not so good at bodyscapes. I struggle with drawing people. They come out looking either fake or too perfect, which is just as bad as fake. And since the world is not demanding the next Bob Ross, I'm the one who needs to adapt. I need to get better. At the young age of twenty, I've realized (and so has Mr. Prentice, my art instructor) that I'm a one-trick pony.

Now, halfway through year three, I need to make tangible progress. It was suggested that I take an Anatomy class. An art student can significantly benefit from taking an anatomy class by gaining a deeper understanding of the human body's structure, allowing them to create more realistic and believable figures in their artwork, particularly in areas like drawing, painting, and sculpture, by accurately depicting muscle placement, bone structure, and proportions across different poses and movements. Understanding the skeletal and muscular systems enables artists to accurately represent the human form, including the relative sizes and positions of body parts.

So here I am, a junior at Tufts University, two and a half years into an art program, sitting in an anatomy class and expecting to fail. Sure, when Professor Prentice, bored with my treescapes and desperate for me to take growth steps forward in my work, suggested anatomy, I thought it sounded like a good idea. Yes, understanding bone and muscle structure along with tendons and ligaments and so on will bring my drawings of people to life. But what I didn't realize was that this class isn't just for funsies. It's a real class with a real grade. A hard class. And it counts in my GPA. It is not available to take pass/fail. I have to actually do well in the class.

As an artist, I am lucky to have a near photographic memory. I do not need to perch on a cliffside to be able to paint a scene of beauty. I can take in the sight, remember what I saw and replicate it hours or even days later in the art studio. But committing a vision to memory and memorizing every bone in the human body are two different things. I am not good at that kind of memorization, and there is a shit-ton of it. Everyone else in this class is pre-med and crazy smart. They also have a foundation of knowledge that I am lacking. I feel like a kid playing dress up among adults. I do not belong in this class and I am going to fail so hard.

It's the first day of class, mid-January, second semester of year three and when I walk into the room, I am surprised to encounter something I'm not sure I've seen since grammar school - assigned seats. This is weird. I find the desk with my nameplate and take a seat.

Professor Smythe explains that this course is hard - no duh - and it takes a lot of studying. In past years he has realized that the most successful students study in pairs. He not only strongly suggests study partners, but he has taken the bold step of assigning them. In fact, our buddies are the students sitting next to us. Since I'm on the end, my buddy is obviously the guy on my right. He looks like a nice enough guy. I just hope he's smart enough for the both of us though because if he's counting on me the way I'll be counting on him, we'll both be in big trouble.

Cam

-

I extend my hand and shake with my neighbor on my left. He says his name is Nate. I'm halfway through my junior year and I don't recall seeing Nate in any other classes so far along the way. I guess with close to seven thousand undergraduates on campus, I shouldn't be too surprised. But I'm glad Mr. Smythe assigned study partners. I'm good with research and deduction, but memorization is not my strong suit. Neither is meeting new people, so again, thank you Mr. Smythe for taking care of that step. Hopefully Nate will have some helpful techniques to share.

Mr. Smythe goes on to explain that he made these assignments with the intention of pairing residents and commuters so that everyone has a homebase on campus for late night cramming and the ability to maximize all on-campus resources. Obviously that means that Nate lives on campus as I am a commuter. I hope he doesn't mind me crashing his party from time to time as the semester progresses and we get together more and more to study. I need to do well in this class.

I've always been jealous of the students who live (or get to live) on campus. Being raised by a single father, my dad has always done the best he can for me, but financially, we have the limits we have. My scholarship only goes so far and room and board is an expense we cannot afford. So, I live at home and make the forty-five minute commute. Every day. And I work the same part-time job I've worked since the month I turned sixteen. Well, I work at the same place - Target. I've been promoted a few times, so it's not technically the same job. But I always feel like my college experience is completely different from everyone else's. So, yeah. I'm a little jealous.

Between the job, the commute, the classes, the studying... There is not much spare time in my life. I don't exercise enough, I don't sleep enough and I never just get to veg out. I glance over at study-buddy Nate. He looks like a nice enough guy. He looks like most other college guys; he's in broken in jeans, well-worn sneakers and a hoodie sweatshirt. A lot like me. He doesn't look like a rich elite snob. It's probably not fair of me to assume that most residents are spoiled assholes, but certainly some are. And whether or not I find Nate to be among them, I'll still be counting on him to maintain my GPA.

Nate-

So, Cam must be a commuter. I always wondered what that life must be like. To have to live at home, or wherever else people live, and drive in every day... It's got to be rough. Especially if their family is anything like mine. I needed an escape. Bullied my whole life by three older brothers - who did not leave at age eighteen for college - and surrounded by the hate of two parents trapped in a loveless marriage, I fought my way out of there. I fight every day to manage my expenses with loans and multiple on-campus jobs. Yeah, I wonder what being a commuter must be like, but I also wonder what having a happy, supportive, loving home life must be like too. Does Cam have that? I hope so. I guess I'll be learning more about him soon enough.

Much like me, he is a medium build kind of a guy. I bet he's in his third year too and about my age. He's also in typical college kid attire - jeans, sneakers and a hoodie. Maybe where we sleep is the only difference between us. Well that and about a million IQ points.

When he reaches to shake my hand, I see his hand in a way that I've never seen another hand before. It's distinctively masculine in a subtle kind of a way. The veins create a roadmap effect; an interesting topography unlike anything else I'd ever seen before. I realize that I'd never noticed or considered the male hand before encountering this one; the scant light hairs, the maintenance of his fingernails... This is only day one of the class - the learning has yet to begin, but a familiar feeling comes over me. I am compelled to draw. I've experienced such strong and immediate inspiration before, just not related to a person, or to part of a person before. This is new for me. I want nothing more than to rush out of this room and go draw Cam's hand. It's a work of art. Or, at least by the end of the day it will be.

Cam-

Nate seems a little intense. Not in a scary or creepy way, just in a different way. He seems like he's super focused. Like he's paying ultra close attention, which bodes well for me being his study partner. With my time constraints, I'm hoping he'll help me learn better and faster. When he looked at me, it was like he was really taking me in. And when I shook his hand, it was like my hand was his first test of the course.

After class we both have time for lunch in the main dining hall, so we go together and set up a tentative schedule. It seems as though Nate is a busy guy too. I imagine most residents just breezing in and out of their classes, worry-free, carefree and stress-free. I imagine hours of leisure time every week and every day. I guess I was guilty of stereotyping. That is surely the case for some, but not for Nate. He just doesn't have to drive back and forth. But he does work two on-campus jobs to go along with his class load and studying. He is not living the lazy life I imagined.

We decide that we both have time on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. We exchange phone numbers and Nate gives me his dorm room location. Being a junior now, this is the first year he does not have a roommate, so his solo room makes sense as our main meeting place. If we decide that we need to go to the library or anywhere else, we have that option.

On the night of our first meeting, I arrive at Nate's room and I find that he's changed out of jeans and into a pair of very comfortable looking sweatpants. It makes me feel even more like a visitor than I already am. He also no longer has his sneakers on and I wonder about proper etiquette. He lives here. Am I expected to remove my shoes at the door? Am I not welcome to remove my shoes? Am I just an idiot overthinking the most basic of social interactions? Probably.

Nate takes my coat from me and hangs it on the doorknob. He says, "However you want to make yourself comfortable."

Believe it or not, this is my third year and right now is my first time inside of anyone's dorm room. It's...not impressive. I mean, Nate keeps a very tidy and clean room. It's just so small and simple. A tiny room, smaller than my bedroom at home, with a closet, a bed, a desk and a small sink. A laptop sits on the desk. That's it. I guess residents pay more for the location and convenience than for the amenities.

I ask, "Shoes on or off?"

He takes me in from head to toe. He seems to do that every time we see each other, it's like, a thing of his. He smiles, "Guest's choice. Like I said, make yourself comfortable."

So, I step out of my high-tops and stand there like a potted plant.

Nate snaps out of his reverie, "Oh, sorry. I have one desk, one chair and my bed. Again, guest's choice. Would you rather sit on my bed or at my desk?"

Now I've gone from feeling like a visitor to feeling like an intruder. He only has one desk and chair. Do I take that away from him? That seems presumptuous if not rude. I wouldn't mind sitting on the bed, but it's his bed. He sleeps there. It's not like I'm filthily covered in mud or anything, but still.

He reads it on my face and comes to my rescue, "I don't have much here, but for at least a few hours a couple times a week, it's your space too. We don't have time for manners and shit. Seriously. It's okay to just barge in, ditch the shoes, jump on my bed and claim your space. We have work to do."

I chuckle. He's right. And it makes me feel better. And way less awkward.

Nate says, "We'll alternate. Decision made. And hey, if you wanted to bring sweats or whatever your most comfortable in to change into, it's fine with me."

And that's how our routine begins.

Nate-

We're a month in and I've never been so inspired in my life. Cam is my inspiration. I never enjoyed drawing the human form before. None of it. Not faces, not body parts... Until now. That first night, I drew his hand a dozen times. I drew it in a dozen different poses. I almost couldn't stop. The ridges, the veins, the rough spots, the smooth spots... It felt oddly intimate. Like I was a voyeur or a spy. Like I was intruding. I could never tell Cam that I've been drawing him. If I was honest with him would he be okay wit it or would he feel betrayed? Maybe even violated?

On that first night in my room, he took his shoes off. I hoped he would. He was wearing socks, but nonetheless, his feet were as inspiring as his hands. After he left my room at ten o'clock at night, I stayed up until three AM drawing his socked feet in every position I had the pleasure to see them in. For the first time ever, my art was real. I embraced the imperfections. Previously when I would draw people, I always tried to make them perfect. People aren't perfect and that's where I went wrong.

I have been embracing Cam's imperfections. His imperfections are what make him such a compelling subject. The scar on his right hand, the healing scab on his third knuckle, his messy hair after pulling off his hat, his deeper left dimple than his right, the pimple on his nose that is almost but not quite gone, the left sock that is threadbare at the heel and the right sock that is dirt grey on the sole... I see these things. I see them, I remember them and then I draw them. I produce them at a furious pace and Mr. Prentice says it's my best work ever. He would know, he's been judging my work for three years now.

He's all proud of himself for suggesting anatomy class; he thinks he fixed me. It's not the class. But to be fair, had I not taken the class, I would never have met Cam. Cam is my muse. When I draw Cam, I don't feel the need to hide or correct the imperfections. The imperfections are art. I am getting an A+ this semester and it's all thanks to Cam's hands, Cam's feet, Cam's face, Cam's toppled sneakers by my door... Yes, I drew his sneakers. All worn and tattered, loose-laced and bent tongue, I was compelled to draw them. In the past, I would have only thought to draw a brand new pair right out of the box. But now...his beat up comfortable looking kicks have personality. They tell a story. They're real.

I've also drawn his face. A lot. His hands and his face are the only skin I've seen, so I've drawn him from the neck up in about fifty different poses and from about a hundred different angles. But I need more. As interesting as his hands, socks and face have been, I need to see his taught back muscles. His clavicles, his collar bones, his ribcage, his abdomen... I need to find a way to get his shirt off. Even if it's just for a minute. I've got that photographic memory.

Cam-

We've been studying together for about a month and it's going well. It doesn't seem to come naturally to either of us, but we're both trying, which is what makes us a good team. We also take little breaks and we spend them talking. It's nice getting to know Nate because I haven't really had time to make any friends at school. I'm just here as little as possible and I spend the rest of my time working and studying.

I've told him all about how my mom died from cancer when I was just ten and how my dad has been everything to me. I told him about my job and my life aspirations. He listened to it all in that Nate way of his. He has this way of making me feel like I'm the only person in the universe.

I also learned about him and his family life. A life he was desperate to get away from. I always thought I wished I had siblings but after hearing Nate's horror stories about what life was like being the youngest of four brothers, maybe I'm glad I was an only child.

Tonight it's really hot in his room. Like really hot. He tells me that the temperature is controlled for the whole building and this happens once in a while. Maintenance might be working on something and it should cool off in a few hours. But it's crazy hot. We don't have time to pack our stuff and head to the library, so we'll just have to deal with it.

Right there in front of me, Nate pulls off his sweatshirt. I've seen guys without shirts before in my life, but seeing Nate right now is unexpected and...exciting. There is a sudden stirring in my crotch. He crosses in front of me, shirtless, and opens his closet. He pulls out a t-shirt and turns back to me, "You should take off that sweater. You're gonna melt."

I get a long view of shirtless Nate before he pulls the t-shirt on. I don't know why I didn't look away. My eyes were trained on him. They wouldn't budge in any other direction. He doesn't look like he spends any more time in the gym than I do, but his smooth unblemished skin was transfixing, all stretched across his natural and subtle musculature.

I clear my throat, "I don't have a t-shirt under the sweater. Just me."

He chuckles, "In high school I was a life guard in the summers. I have seen too many shirtless guys to count. You don't have anything I haven't seen a million times before."

I blush a crimson red. Does he really expect me to spend the whole night shirtless?

He laughs, "That's a true story, but here." He tosses a t-shirt at me from his closet. "Borrow this."

The red drains from my face. It is really hot. I look around the tiny room and there's nowhere to hide. No privacy. I guess I have to just change my shirt right here in front of Nate, like he just did in front of me. If we were two friends at the beach or at the pool, we'd be shirtless together for hours. But this isn't the beach and I feel like I'm on display. But my only other option is to sweat to death. Nate is watching me, but I guess I was staring at him too. And in such a small room, there's nowhere else to look. He just has this way of looking that feels like more than a normal look.

Nate-

I've been taking studying with Cam seriously. I am not pre-med and the class has nothing to do with my major, but in addition to protecting my own GPA, I owe it to Cam to go in 100%. He is unwittingly helping me in my art class by being my new inspiration. The least I can do is be the help he deserves as his study buddy in reciprocity. While We're together, it's all about anatomy class. What I do after he leaves, well that's my time and my business.

Tonight I cranked up the thermostat two hours before Cam got here and told him that I had no control over the situation. The truth is that I am in complete control. I am the one who cranked up the heat and it worked. I had to take my own shirt off first and act like it was no big deal, but then I got my reward. He pulled that sweater off. It's freezing out today, of course he was wearing something warm. Something much too warm for my sauna of a room, so he pulled it off.

I took about one hundred mental snapshots in the all of five seconds he was shirtless. His skin, his bones...wow! He was more spectacular than I imagined. I mean, artistically speaking. He was a real boy standing before me, shy and vulnerable. An Intriguing subject. He would never be a male model. Good. Perfection is boring. Real is interesting - beautiful, even. And that's why I've been so inspired and why Mr. Prentice has been raving about my work. Cam does not work out and thank God that he doesn't. His subtle pecs are the ideal size for his small, round, dark nipples. His neck is longer than I thought. His lightly toned arms are toned just enough. The contours of his hips are mesmerizing. The curve of the slight mound of his lower abdomen makes my heart skip a beat. And his belly button is the bullseye that draws my attention. It's a vertical oval and just about a half an inch deep. I want to see it stretched and pulled in a thousand different directions.

I take all of this in in about three seconds, because Cam quickly becomes self-conscious. He turns around before pulling my t-shirt on. It was perfect that he did, because it gave me a view of his back. I could see every bump of his vertebrae before his spine twisted it's way under the cover of my shirt. I saw his back muscles stretch, flex and twist. I saw the waistband of his Under Armor underwear above the waistband of his jeans. In five total seconds, I saw enough to keep me drawing for a month.