dark
eyes, and tiny pink lips, which were sculpted like a child's. I
self-consciously glanced down at my dull ski sweater, turtleneck, jeans, and
hiking shoes. The Principal saw me and held his hand out, indicating the
classroom door to me like it was a five-star grand hotel. I was the only
student left in the hall.
The
new arrival looked sheepishly at me as I walked toward him, sizing up his
flawless, 'Young Republican from Hell' Halloween costume. We glanced at
each other with mock disregard. Nicolasha patted me on the back as we
went in. I took my front corner seat. The little senator sat in the
empty desk to my left, folding his raincoat into a neat pile and putting it on
his lap. He sensed half of the room was staring at him, and shifted
uncomfortably in his seat.
"Good
afternoon, friends. As you all have noticed, we have a new student who
has just transferred in. Principal Connelly has asked me to introduce you
to Felix Cromwell, and for you to welcome him to our family."
Nicolasha smiled warmly at Felix, who gave a friendly little wave to each side
of the room. I was not the only one whose eyes widened at this Felix
character's silly gesture. Maybe I should have reached over and messed up
his tidily groomed hair, but I was afraid he might stand up and punch me in the
knee.
"As
for your essays, they were quite creative and very well written. I would
like to read a few of them, if you do not mind." Nicolasha sat down
on his desk, next to the school phonograph. Our eyes met for a moment.
I
pictured him crossing his arms over his head and pulling his jeans down as he
began to read this rather odd, stream-of-consciousness poem about Soviet
leprechauns dancing in a corn field made out of rifles, and then played the
introductory Allegro from the Age of Gold which Farrah based it
on. She was always out in the bleachers.
(I
liked the recording Nicolasha gave me better than this one.)
He
skipped to this riotous song, a collection of rapid-fire words and phrases that
our teacher struggled to enunciate in coordinated time with the Suite's Polka
that Zane conjured it up to. Of course, that's pretty much how Zane
talked when he cornered some poor idiot into a conversation with him.
Nicolasha
then spent almost ten minutes reading an incredibly rich and detailed portrait
of a chaotic night at the circus. Kim had composed a nearly perfect
accompaniment to the Suite's Dance. She looked around her desk casually,
but I could see that gleam of triumph in her pale green eyes. The whole
time, Felix sat there smiling, openly impressed by what he was hearing.
Nicolasha
reached for another essay. His eyes linked up with mine, and I began to
wish I had missed my train that morning.
"Picture
a very large and empty courtyard, a field of cobblestones. Far in the
distance, the field is lined by dark, unoccupied, but fabulous old
palaces. The firmament above is a sunset mixture of orange clouds and
blotches of deep blue sky peeking out from the thick cumulus veil. The
courtyard is littered with music stands that face in every direction and
surround a tall monument topped by an archangel reaching up to the spectacular
heavens. A cold wind flips the blood red pages on the stands.
Suddenly, a ragged young boy, dressed in beggar's clothes, dances onto the
courtyard, holding a wood-carved toy violin to his coal-smudged cheek, playing
the instrument from the crimson sheets of music. The archangel's arms
move gently in rhythm to the unseen orchestra that wells up from the unlit
palaces, accompanying the boy until he cannot keep up and drops exhausted to
the damp, hard cobblestones. The red pages are swept off of the music
stands in a savage blast of wind, a scarlet tornado that pulls the toy violin
out of the boy's dirty hand and across the courtyard. The archangel sees
this and floats down from the monument, hovering over the sobbing child and
taking him in its stone arms back to the
eyes, and tiny pink lips, which were sculpted like a child's. I
self-consciously glanced down at my dull ski sweater, turtleneck, jeans, and
hiking shoes. The Principal saw me and held his hand out, indicating the
classroom door to me like it was a five-star grand hotel. I was the only
student left in the hall.
The
new arrival looked sheepishly at me as I walked toward him, sizing up his
flawless, 'Young Republican from Hell' Halloween costume. We glanced at
each other with mock disregard. Nicolasha patted me on the back as we
went in. I took my front corner seat. The little senator sat in the
empty desk to my left, folding his raincoat into a neat pile and putting it on
his lap. He sensed half of the room was staring at him, and shifted
uncomfortably in his seat.
"Good
afternoon, friends. As you all have noticed, we have a new student who
has just transferred in. Principal Connelly has asked me to introduce you
to Felix Cromwell, and for you to welcome him to our family."
Nicolasha smiled warmly at Felix, who gave a friendly little wave to each side
of the room. I was not the only one whose eyes widened at this Felix
character's silly gesture. Maybe I should have reached over and messed up
his tidily groomed hair, but I was afraid he might stand up and punch me in the
knee.
"As
for your essays, they were quite creative and very well written. I would
like to read a few of them, if you do not mind." Nicolasha sat down
on his desk, next to the school phonograph. Our eyes met for a moment.
I
pictured him crossing his arms over his head and pulling his jeans down as he
began to read this rather odd, stream-of-consciousness poem about Soviet
leprechauns dancing in a corn field made out of rifles, and then played the
introductory Allegro from the Age of Gold which Farrah based it
on. She was always out in the bleachers.
(I
liked the recording Nicolasha gave me better than this one.)
He
skipped to this riotous song, a collection of rapid-fire words and phrases that
our teacher struggled to enunciate in coordinated time with the Suite's Polka
that Zane conjured it up to. Of course, that's pretty much how Zane
talked when he cornered some poor idiot into a conversation with him.
Nicolasha
then spent almost ten minutes reading an incredibly rich and detailed portrait
of a chaotic night at the circus. Kim had composed a nearly perfect
accompaniment to the Suite's Dance. She looked around her desk casually,
but I could see that gleam of triumph in her pale green eyes. The whole
time, Felix sat there smiling, openly impressed by what he was hearing.
Nicolasha
reached for another essay. His eyes linked up with mine, and I began to
wish I had missed my train that morning.
"Picture
a very large and empty courtyard, a field of cobblestones. Far in the
distance, the field is lined by dark, unoccupied, but fabulous old
palaces. The firmament above is a sunset mixture of orange clouds and
blotches of deep blue sky peeking out from the thick cumulus veil. The
courtyard is littered with music stands that face in every direction and
surround a tall monument topped by an archangel reaching up to the spectacular
heavens. A cold wind flips the blood red pages on the stands.
Suddenly, a ragged young boy, dressed in beggar's clothes, dances onto the
courtyard, holding a wood-carved toy violin to his coal-smudged cheek, playing
the instrument from the crimson sheets of music. The archangel's arms
move gently in rhythm to the unseen orchestra that wells up from the unlit
palaces, accompanying the boy until he cannot keep up and drops exhausted to
the damp, hard cobblestones. The red pages are swept off of the music
stands in a savage blast of wind, a scarlet tornado that pulls the toy violin
out of the boy's dirty hand and across the courtyard. The archangel sees
this and floats down from the monument, hovering over the sobbing child and
taking him in its stone arms back to the
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