Page 37 of Crystal Iris
It’s best said… in person.
Are you serious?
Very.
Okay, well… do you or do you not live in the country?
Yes, but I’m still in the city until tomorrow.
I can meet today.
All right, where?
I think about my apartment. I don’t feel comfortable taking him there. There’s Akira’s place, but I want to talk to him alone.I’m at the museum right now, I text back.
Right now?
Too busy?
Which museum?he asks.
MFA—465 Huntington Ave, Boston, MA 02115.
Then comes his reply:See you soon.
Eleven
“If a man devotes himself to art, much evil is avoided that happens otherwise if one is idle.” – Albrecht Dürer
Somehow, I end up in the musical instruments section, my mind busy with all the questions I have for Hoyt.I need information.That’s what I’m doing. My invite has a purpose. I have a reason. I tell myself.
The collection includes flutes, whistles, panpipes, and other instruments spanning from ancient times to the late twentieth century.
I stop to study a cane flute with six finger holes. Its surface is covered in engravings of a battle. I wish I could hear its sound. Moving on, I find another cane instrument—a nineteenth-century Spanish panpipe, held together by strings. Apparently, I’m drawn to music whenever I need an escape from my feelings.
When I reach the wooden drums, my heart begins to beat in rhythm. An English bass drum, adorned with white and blue ensigns, sits next to a mallet.
I check my phone—Hoyt will be here any minute. The rhythmic drumroll continues to beat in my chest until he arrives.
Hoyt seems a little out of place in the museum—he moves slowly, as if worried he might break something if he’s not careful. He’s dressed in jeans, a plaid button-down, and a corduroy jacket.His hair is tied in a man bun. He looks a bit wild in this city environment.
“Have you been here before?” I ask when he finds me in the sculpture gallery. I’m eyeing a sarcophagus adorned with relief carvings from the Hellenistic period when he walks over.
“First time,” he replies, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Not an art fan?” I ask, trying not to let his... scent distract me.Is that cologne?
“Can’t say that I am. I grew up in the country. You?”
“I grew up here.” I gesture to the museum.
“Like your parents work here or something?”
“No, but we came here a lot.”
I detect something citrusy mixed with musk. I shake my head to distract myself.
“And you still come often?” he asks.
