Well. . . we have a visitor in the house. And she wants to hear a story. I will make one up for her and put her into it. But how to untangle all the mess. . . . I can't. And this is a mere blog, anyway, so I'll start somewhere and see where it goes. I can always quit and pick up somewhere else tomorrow. So. . . we away.
* * * * *
Her name was Skylar. Her family called her Laurie, she said, but I called her Sky. She told me that she had never been called that before, though that was impossible to believe. Still, later I learned that the family part was true.
Skylar and I met the first day of a film class. She was the pretty girl nobody could quit staring at. All the boys were squirming in their seats, but she didn't look around. It was almost as if she could see no more than a few inches in any direction unless she focused with purpose straight ahead. Which she did only occasionally. I know, because that is where I sat. Straight ahead. At the desk in the front of the room.
It was an evening class that met once a week on Mondays. I loved teaching. It was all I'd ever done. And I loved teaching these evening classes for fewer people were around. The dark came upon us, and though you could not see it, you knew it was there. The circadian rhythms settled down into a quiet, more liquid place. Voices fell. Movements were muted and motions stilled. People seemed to share some unspoken, secular communion.
Classes started too early in the year. It was the end of August, but this was called the fall term and everyone was praying for autumn. It would come eventually to break the heat and bring the longer shadows and the milder weather, and it would bring the holidays. And whatever happened, people would remember. Fall terms are the only ones I never forget. Everything seems to have happened then.
I already knew some of the kids in the class from other courses we'd had together. I was friendly with several of the boys, and they wasted no time looking at Skylar and quickly turning to me, popping bug eyes with tilted heads and clenched jaws and exaggerated hands covering their genitals. Jesus Christ, I thought, this is going to be murder. I knew not to look at her. Never look at her, I told myself. You will be foolish and then stupid. Whatever you do this term, do not look at her. But it mattered little what I told myself. She was like a magnet and everyone in the room already knew how it would be. And I swear, I didn't look even her way for the longest time. But when I did. . . she was just turning her eyes from the paper in front of her to me. It was like a punch to the heart. I'm sure it was audible. I couldn't help it. I had gazed just that half second too long. It was done.
When I looked back to the class, the boys were smiling sad smiles and shaking their heads slowly. Everyone knew. I was already a goner.
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