Page 3 of Crystal Iris
“I thought it was torture,” says Mila, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She’s the confident one who doesn’t think she needs to be here.
After a few more similar comments, I explain, “The experiment wasn’t meant to torture your souls, waste your time, or even put you into a trance—though I’m glad it did some of those things too. The idea was solely to teach you that you do have the time. The time to take your time. I can see the stress in your faces, the fidgeting in your seats. This goes beyond your addiction to screens; it’s about the constant pressure to impress others by the sheer volume of things you do. You are now more than ever pressured to take more classes, write more papers, all while opening your own business and becoming millionaires by the age of twenty-five. The artists who created the works you sat in front of for two hours last week took their time, and that’s how they achieved mastery. If you learn anything from this assignment, I hope it’s the skill to slow down. Appreciate things.The simple things.Make room to truly wonder, to sit by a painting for as long as you want. The concept that we all have twenty-four hours is often debatable, yet time disappears when you are truly enjoying yourself.” I pause, lettingmy words settle. Perhaps I needed to hear them more than they did.
I finished the lesson and lingered on campus for a while. There was one thing I was dreading more than facing Aaron when I got home at night: theletterthat came with the prism.
Two
“Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one.” – Stella Adler
Iwaited until I was home from the party to open my dad’s gift. I wanted to throw the box against the wall, I wanted to yell at it, to tell it to go to hell. Instead, I tugged on the gold ribbon that enclosed the box, and it slid off like silk. My hands shook as I lifted the lid. The note inside read:For Iris on her thirtieth birthday, not a day earlier, from Mom.Relief flooded me knowing I didn’t just throw it away.This wasn’t from him. I would treasure whatever it was inside, just like I did with everything I kept from her. We didn’t have much, so there wasn’t much to keep. I have her favorite coffee mug, a pair of earrings she got from Grandma on her wedding day, and a handful of her favorite novels.
I found the necklace inside a black velvet bag, but it was what lay underneath that took my breath away:a letter.If the letter was also from Mom, I couldn’t open it. I could barely remember her voice. My childhood videotapes would soon have to be packed up—where were they? It had been a while since I watched them. Only a letter… that was something else. New words from her—my skin tingled at the thought. I had never been more curious in my life. The expectation matched the intensity. Did I want to know what she had to say? What if the letter was actually from Dad? I didn’t want to give him the chance to explain himself. For all I knew, it could be a damn receipt inside. Whatever it was, it was best unread.
A couple of weeks go by, and I let myself forget about the letter, only to be reminded as soon as my head hits the pillow. Dreams and nightmares about all the things the envelope could contain fill my nights.
Aaron can’t stop talking about the wedding. Every day, he adds something new or someone else to the guest list. If it were up to me, we’d simply elope. Only he’s always had this need to prove himself to everyone. I cringe at the thought of what’s becoming a massive event.
“You should invite George and the department chair lady,” he suggests as we order food.
“I don’t know them that well,” I reply from the couch.
“What about your aunt?”
“Maybe. I’ll call her.”
Despite the wedding plans, we are having a nice time. Aaron picked up sushi, and we laugh as we reminisce about our childhoods.
One of my most cherished memories is the Christmas Aaron surprised me with a dog. I named him Benny; he was a mutt, and I loved him the moment I saw him. He was a little shabby, a little dirty. Turns out, Aaron had just brought a stray dog into my house. I didn’t care. Benny was mine. All he wanted was to cuddle in bed, which made it very easy to persuade my grandparents to let me keep him. “As long as nobody claims him, he can stay,” Grandpa said that day. And so, Benny did.
Sometimes, like any untrained dog, Benny would get into trouble—chewing on furniture or a shoe. My grandma wouldblame Aaron and even demanded he pay for the damage once or twice. We never took him to the vet. He never seemed sick. He didn’t look like a young dog, but my grandparents assured me he was fine. We couldn’t afford a vet anyway. He lived with us for three years and died months before I left for college. I was determined to bring him along, even if I had to hide him in my dorm. Benny took care of me, not the other way around. I grieved him the most. I think my heart was still numb from the loss.
Those are my favorite moments with Aaron—casual nights, just the two of us, talking about the past.They’re rare. He’s turned into a full-blown businessman, constantly attending social events. He followed in his dad’s footsteps, taking over the firm, and making it much bigger than his dad ever thought possible. He’s always busy, angry, and tired from all the parties. Yet, he says yes to even more events the following week. He’s addicted to the lifestyle. He has more friends than I can count, and I can’t stomach them for long. I’m always coming up with excuses to avoid the dinners. If Aaron knows they’re lies, he doesn’t say.
I tell myself there are nice times between us. There could be more. Still, nice doesn’t scream marriage, I know that. Even the sex with him has always been…nice. He was my first, but not the only guy I’ve slept with. We split during our first couple of years in college, only to reconnect after coming home for the holidays. My grandparents moved to a home for the elderly that year. I couldn’t believe it when they told me my father had sent a check for that.What kind of person leaves their family and still pays for things?I almost asked Aaron to help me track the money, but then again, what could my father say that would matter? He hadn’t even shown up for their funeral. Aaron and I have been together since. And the sex has always been that, nice. Much better than with the guys I dated in college. Even so, sometimes I wonder if ‘nice’ is all that’s in the cards for me.
“I love knowing you’ll be living here. We can do this every night,” he says, pulling out the duvet.
“Tonight, it was nice, staying in,” I say, knowing well this won’t happen again anytime soon.
“Do you need help packing?” he asks again.
“I don’t think so. I like taking my time, going through my stuff. A lot needs to be donated,” I say, lying through my teeth.
“Okay. Let me know if you do.”
“I will.”
“I have to show my face at Arnold’s tomorrow. You can join me if you want, but don’t feel obligated; the plus-ones weren’t exactly invited.”
“Okay. I think Akira wanted to do something anyway.” Another lie. They roll off my tongue easily these days.
I struggle to get out of bed—at least it’s Friday. I bribe myself with coffee twice just to get going. I never sleep well; my anxiety always finds a way to creep in at night. But I can feel myself extra tense lately. I’m not sure if it’s due to the wedding or the prism; both things are constantly on my mind. It’s especially during moments like this that I wish I had my mom around to talk to.
I put on the simplest outfit and head to work.
“Remember, you’re not being graded today. This is an exercise. I’ll pull a different art piece for each of you randomly, and I want you to try to describe it. Let’s talk about the time period, the material used. You can talk about the artist if you know it. You can mention the style, describe the subject matter, the symbols you recognize. If time allows, you can bring up meaning; however, let’s leave that for last, as it tends to get complicated.”
I have to work extra hard to pay attention to what the students are saying; my mind is scattered by the time they’re done. I’m in desperate need of a break.
