Page 44 of Crystal Iris
Looks beautiful.
You should come visit sometime.
Maybe I will, I type.Heading back to my meeting.
Say hello to all the nerds for me.
There are too many.
He sends a laughing face.
My second class is upstairs. I prefer the classrooms on the first floor; they’re older but bigger. The ones upstairs feel stuffy. My nose crinkles as I open the door that’s been shut for too long; it smells moldy, and it’s too cold to open the windows.
There are only ten students in my HAA 259G – Caravaggio: Light and Shadow, Life and Death class. I love teaching this one, mostly because it’s an elective—only those who are truly passionate about art sign up. They’re my kind of students, the ones who aren’t just here to get a degree. I’m about to start referencing the Italian painter known for his dramatic use of chiaroscuro when a familiar student walks in.
“Hi Stella. Take a seat.”
She’s cut her hair.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I was in the wrong classroom.”
“No worries, we just got started.”
I realize, for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling… happy. Being back at work keeps me grounded. Nothing makes me smile more than talking about art, though I know the bubbly feeling has something to with something else,someone else.
Hoyt texts me that evening and every day since.
How was your day?
Okay, for a first day back. Yours?
Never thought I’d be missing Boston.
Good luck today.
Lawyers are the worst.
You’ll be fine.
Did you find the book?
Someone got it first. You gotta be fast around here.
Nerds.
That sounds awful.
I’ve had worse. You get used to stitches when you grow up on a ranch.
Hangover?
We only went for the music.
Liar.
Even the light from my phone screen is too much.
That’s beautiful.
