Page 144 of Crystal Iris
“Yeah?”
“What do you think is the reason we can’t touch?”
“I’ll be damned if I know. Probably because if we could, I wouldn’t be able to pull myself away.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?” I ask him.
“I’m thinking we move to the Bahamas, get a beach shack, and live our days in the water, like fish.”
I smile. “I could do that.”
He smiles back, taking my bag to the car waiting for me outside.
Thirty
“For me, art history is like a feather bed—you fall into it and it catches you.” – David Salle
Ifeel like a ballerina inside a music box.How did I ever live in a place so small?I almost feel claustrophobic now, after being in Hoyt’s enormous house and spending time in the open fields. The view from my windows is gray—tall buildings everywhere I look. And below, traffic. Even with my choice of street, just a few blocks from the river, I already miss the nature, the mountains...him.
I text Hoyt before leaving the house:I’m pretty sure my apartment shrunk.
I might not enjoy the view from my place, but the beautiful campus welcomes me with open arms.
“Good morning,” I say to Akira, handing her a cup of coffee.
“Hey, thank you!” She gives me a hug, taking the cup.
“I missed you. A lot has happened since I last saw you.”
“How’s Johanna doing?”
“She’s good. Hoyt said Sawyer has taken the nurse job personally.”
“Oh good. Are you ready?” she asks as we walk.
“You know, first days… they suck.”
“What are you talking about? I love their scared faces. I wish I could take a photo of them, looking at me, trying to figure me out.”
I laugh. “I forgot, you don’t do anything that isn’t fun.”
She winks, or attempts to.
My classroom for HAA 233G – The Body and Embodiment in Greek Art has twenty students awaiting me when I open the door. All of them are on their phones. I can’t blame them—I have mine in my hand too. Hoyt had replied to my earlier text:All you city people living like rats in a lab, no idea how you do it.
I see what you’re doing,I text back, getting an instant smiley face in reply.
I spend the lesson describing the marble sculpture ofLaocoön and His Sons, one of the most influential ancient artworks in art history.
“Where is it now?” Marissa asks.
“In the Vatican,” I answer.
“Are these snakes?” asks a girl whose name I’ve already forgotten.
“Sea serpents. They’re killing him. See the one biting Laocoön on the hip?”
“What’s with his eyes?” Nick asks as he writes something down.
