The Opposite of a Sphere is a Torus

In 8th grade, I was unfairly overlooked for an award.

A simple art project.

Drawing a shadowed sphere.

Selected masterpieces proudly lined the wall.

Handpicked and awarded a place in a national competition, an extension of the school walls.

Mine was excluded.

Hours spent on thousands of lines in that circle.

Dimensional.

Flawless.

Greyed fingerprints on my lunchbox as a result.

At that time, I could hardly say boo to a goose.

The teacher was hip, relaxed and arty.

The type who probably owned a pet goose.

I remained mute.

Courteous and churchy.

Silently screaming into my lunchbox.

Weeks later, my sphere was found in a square box inside the teacher's office.

Placed sheepishly into my collection of artwork with hardly a boo.

All 14 years of my life seemed somehow attached to that sphere story.

From then on, I became like a candle in the wind when it came to art classes.

I did gather some redemption as the fastest to spot all the differences between the two pictures towards the end of the year, yet the sphere had already flown the coop.

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