Educating Esmé by Esmé Raji Codell Page A

travel through books.
    I left the machine in the classroom, buckled and locked closed with lots of signs all over it: “Top secret!”“Under construction!” “No peeking, this means YOU!” “Danger! Highly radioactive!” and the like to build anticipation. The big question buzzing: Is it real? Does it really work?
    A tricky question. I recollect clambering over laundry bags in the back of my parents’ closet, eyes clamped closed, one hand groping, praying that I might enter C. S. Lewis’s Narnia. Or, moving forward delicately, eyes closed once again, toward the mirror in our dining room in the hopes that I might go through like Alice managed in
Through the Looking Glass
. Alas, my head bumped the back of the closet, my fingers could not penetrate the glass. This did not negate that such adventures were possible, only that I was not among the lucky ones to be so enchanted.
    â€œYes, it really works,” I offered, acting slightly perturbed that they would ever doubt me.
    In the weeks before winter break, children from other classrooms have popped in to deliver messages or borrow things, and they stared bug-eyed. “Is it real? Does it really work?”
    â€œYes, of course,” the children sniffed, now annoyed at the skepticism.
    Then, the next biggest question: Who would be the first daring hero to risk his or her life in the contraption? In the interest of fairness, this seemed best left to chance, even at the risk that some terrible realist like B. B. was chosen, who I imagined would announce, “It’s nothing but a box full of books! It’s a fake!”
    It turned out that JoEllen was chosen. We sent her off with much fanfare, with me pressing buttons and turning knobs feverishly, double-checking for accuracy that the medieval period was properly set, making her promise that her mother would not sue me should something . . . unexpected . . . occur.
    â€œLike what?” asked JoEllen.
    â€œBeing eaten,” I ventured.
    â€œOooooh!” The class crooned enviously.
    â€œYes, I hear that dragons possibly existed,” I began, “though people may have believed that due to the inexplicable presence of dinosaur remnants found during the period. Still, if you’d rather give up your spot . . .”
    â€œI’ll risk it,” JoEllen said quickly.
    â€œYou’re on school time,” I reminded her. “In the event that you return in one piece, I expect a full report on what you saw.”
    In she went. The doors closed. On went the police car light. “Back to work.” Silent reading time.
    In a half-hour, I retrieved her. She came out, breathless. “What did you see?” Everybody wanted to know. JoEllen paused. For thought? for effect? I’ll never know.
    â€œA joust.”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œTwo guys. Fighting on horses. Their armor clanging as they rode. Even the horses wore armor on their heads. The guys carried two big sticks. Everyone was watching and cheering, like a sport. One of the guys died, ran through with a stick . . .”
    The class was impressed. “Write it in your journal before you forget,” I suggested. “Who’s next?”
    For the rest of the day, the kids took turns in the time machine. So far, nobody has said, “It’s just a box full of books.”
    After school, I shut the lights to leave and saw the machine with its red light still carouseling around. “Their armor clanging as they rode,” I remembered. The words, the detail, they seemed different from what JoEllen regularly produces. I couldn’t helpsquinting suspiciously at the silver box before turning it off.
January 7
    This whole week at school has been very good. I kept waiting for something bad to happen, but nothing did. The only kind of bad thing: It was snowing so beautifully outside, first snow kind of snow, powdery, glittering, ivory, the neighborhood was frosted and perfect. So I