12 years old, and already a disaster

When I was attending Chisholm Trail Middle School, in Texas, I had a couple of art classes taught by a woman that I'll refer to as Mrs. Smith.   Things seemed to go okay in those classes for the most part...  I remember that we had a "free sketch" due every Friday, and that I would invariably draw a Star Wars picture.   At one point we had to make a plaster mask of our own face, and I remember being so proud when my mask was set, and removed from my face.  The mask had no cracks... it was perfect!  And Mrs. Smith was so pleased.  


Well, the glory days were not to last.  I think it was near the end of my time as one of her students, that Mrs. Smith took a leave from the school, to have a baby if I'm correct.  While she was gone, I and a few other students were given the task of painting a mural on the wall which was right outside the classroom.   Things proceeded as planned initially, but on the last crucial day of the painting,  every one of my fellow artists decided to fool around and do nothing.  It was left to me to do the bulk of the painting.  


I don't recall precisely, but I think the painting looked something like this, except sloppier:

As you might expect, a work of such bold imagination and vision was an arduous task, especially while my classmates were goofing off, rolling around like tumbleweeds and eating Star Crunches behind me.  Well, Mrs. Smith returned to school the next day, and she was furious!  Not because I was left high and dry by my partners in crime, but because the mural was awful!  She despised it.  And no amount of my explaining what happened made any difference.  At only 12 years of age, I was already considering hanging up my art career and going back to choir class. 


Fortunately, no serious repercussions came of the debacle, except for the good tongue lashing.  I wonder if the mural is still there, looking faded on the old school wall, and prompting the occasional pitiful glance from passers-by.  I wish that I could talk to Mrs. Smith again, and let her know that my painting has in fact gone from bad to worse, and that she had really had it pretty good back then.  After all these years, maybe her pain has subsided.  Or maybe the school building collapsed, and we can all feel free to resume our lives again.