Pottery wheels and several wooden shelves brimming with pots, vases and mugs filled the two floor studio. A group gathered near the central table, already chatting. I stood near Cris, who got close to the ladies, and started talking to them.

From the second floor, a big guy with a bushy beard and long hair walked down the stairs. He had an apron filled with mud stains. Which made me notice my white shirt might have been a mistake. 

"Welcome y'all." The big guy said, with a soft voice. "I'm Martin. I'll be your instructor today."

"Y'know." Cris whispered to me, between the lady's voices greeting Martin, "We didn't agree on a movie, but we ended up seeing a hairy potter, anyway."

I hit them on the arm, putting the other hand on my mouth.

"You laughed at that?" They continued.

"Shut up."

Martin started the class after brief presentations. With his strong arms, he threw the clay into the pottering wheel. I almost felt bad for the poor thing. Then he gently moulded it, using his knuckles to raise it up. He made it look easy.

"We'll be making mugs today." Martin said, picking up the little cup he had done so easily. "The art of making is remaking it." and crushing it, throwing in the wheel again. "You'll have as many tries as you want."

He started making the cup once again. Some ladies were already messing with the clump of clay beside them. I gave it a squeeze too, letting my fingers sink deep into the pile. The earthy smell filled my nostrils.

"And remember." Martin continued, lifting the cup he'd made again. "Practice makes perfect. But it doesn't need to be perfect."

He explained the process from throwing to glazing. The whole thing takes about two weeks to be ready, but we could throw and paint our mugs in a couple of hours tonight.

"Now it's your turn." Martin said, teaching us how to do it.

It wasn't easy. I threw my clay repeatedly before it was centered enough.

Cris was right in front of me. Sometimes we threw glances at each other. They were laughing at how bad I was when raising the walls of my mug until theirs collapsed. I showed them my tongue, watching them doing it all over again.

When we were done with the throwing phase, it was time to take our "unique work," that's how Martin put it, and leave it drying.

"All right," Martin said, giving us a new piece of clay "While we wait for your work to dry. We're going to make handles."

"Do you think you can handle it?" I whispered to Cris.

"Wow!" They exhaled from their nose. "That was a good one."

"Now you're going to cup your hands like this." Martin continued, making the piece of clay look minuscule in his huge hands. "And toss it."

He kept tossing the clay from hand to hand, making a perfect sphere. Again, he made it look exceptionally easy, but we struggled to imitate him.

"Now pinch the end like this and make a nice little pear." We followed. "Have you girls ever been to a farm?" he asked, turning the clay upside down.

"Pretend like this is a cow's udder," He continued. "Your hands will need to be pretty wet for this." Then he started stroking the clay, elongating it.

Let's just say I didn't imagine a cow's udder. And by the laugh of some of the girls around, I wasn't the only one. Cris looked at me confused but, they threw me a wink later while... elongating the clay.

"Now for the hardest part." Martin said.

I wondered what could be harder than what we have done by now.

"Waiting. We need to let your beautiful work get 'bone dry'." He said, "So why don't we go take a look at the studio?"

On the second floor, more shelves filled with pots, mugs and vases. There were a couple of pots that would be perfect from my maturing plants, but I kept that to myself. I didn't want to bother Cris with my plant talk.

Martin showed us how the pieces were glazed, and then the kilns in which they fired them.

I stood by the warmth of the fire, and Cris accompanied me.

"Having fun?" Cris asked me.

"yeah. It's harder than I thought it would be, but it's fun. And you?"

"It's pretty cool. But having you around makes it better."

"You're just saying that." I said, feeling my face getting hotter.

"We should do this more often."

"The girls are getting pretty far away." I changed the subject, looking at the group getting farther from us.

"Yeah. We should go back to them."

Some hours passed, and it was time to paint the mugs.

"Unleash your artistic beast." Martin said.

Cris and I ended up two seats away from each other. I couldn't see what they were painting, but every once in a while, their focused eyes appeared.

My painting was a little garden with sunflowers, in the end I thought it was pretty plain so I grabbed a sharpie to put faces on them.

"It's really cute." Cris said when they saw it.

It wasn't my worst drawing, but compared to Cris' painting, it looked like the doodles of a child. They painted an insane abstract pattern with thin lines, and a lot of details. I didn't even understand what it was, but it was impressive.

"Wow. I didn't know you were good at drawing." I said.

"This is nothing."

"If this is nothing to you, I'd like to see something then."

"I could show you some of my paintings if you'd like, but they're not great either."

"You paint?"

"I used to."

"I definitely want to see them now."

"And that's the end of our first lesson, I'd love to see you gals again." Martin said. "Your mugs will need a couple of weeks to get ready, then they'll be glazed, and I will send them to you."

When he said that, Cris made an audible yelp. Walking up to Martin and saying something in his ears.

"What did you say to him?" I asked on the way out.

"You'll see." They answered.

We took a different route through a park. The moon was visible through the parted trees. Dried leaves crunched at our feet, joining the cricket choir.

The silence reigned between us. A light silence. There was no reason for small talk. But, there was something I needed to say before the night ended.

"I'm sorry." I said.

"You sure say that a lot, don't you?" Cris said, they sounded more offended by the apology than for what I was apologizing for. "What are you sorry for this time?"

"Y'know, for asking you that thing. It's just that I like putting things in boxes in my brain. It's the way I try to understand the world."

We stopped, I couldn't bring myself to lift my head.

"But..." I continued, "If that is a hard topic for you to handle, I shouldn't have asked."

"Well, answering the question..." they said, taking the smile off their face. "I have no idea. I haven't really thought about it."

"That's pretty confusing to me, y'know."

"Well, not everything needs to be thought through. Sometimes things just are..."

With that we went back to the silence, but now it had a weight on it.

The park was almost empty until we reached the street and the city spoke again. The cars honked at each other insultingly and the people strolled through the sidewalks following the invisible sidewalk traffic.

To be honest, I didn't want the day to end. We reached the bus stop; I noticed the street sign.

"St Mark... Isn't your house pretty close to here?" I asked.

"How do you know that?"

"I think I heard you talking to Lily at the party."

"You were conscious enough for that?"

"I remember parts of it. And I'm sorry again..." They laughed. "Well... do you wanna show me those paintings you were bragging about?"

"Bragging? I- " They stopped themselves, grinning. "You want to go to my apartment? On the first date?"

"I see nothing wrong with that." I brushed it off, but I felt my face warming up.

"I thought you were a traditional girl. The type that would wait 3 days after the date to call me back." They continued.

"If you don't want me to go, I won't." I said, pouting.

"I'm just kidding. Let's go then!"