“We must get you to your next class. I’m free to
take you there if you would like. Or would you
feel more comfortable if a student took you?"
You try to speak, but can only manage a gulp.
"Oh you are so transparent! Okay, up we go." She
bends down to you, gently wraps the long fingers
of one of her hands around you, until only your
head sticks out. She lifts you to her face. "So
where do we go from here?" You have no idea how
to process that question. In an attempt to speak,
you begin moving your mouth open and shut, open
and shut. But nothing comes out. "Oh honey, you
look like a little goldfish! Come on now, we'll
try it again. Who is your next teacher?" You
shake your head. "You don't know? Maybe you have
the name written down someplace?" You nod. "Then
let’s have you look at it." She puts you down on
her desk. You begin to fumble through your
pockets, finally pulling out a sheet of paper.
You hold it out to her. “No, you look at the
paper,” she says, “Look at the paper.” You stare
at it, unable to decipher it. "Okay,” she coaxes
you, “Fourth period. Look under fourth period."
You look under fourth period. “Do you see a name
there?” You nod. “What does it say?” You try to
say it: "Gombo ... Gomba ... Gom ..."
"Gompers?" she asks you. "Dr Gompers?" You nod
spastically. "All right, then. Off to Dr.
Gompers we go." Her fingers wrap around you
again. She presses you to her bosom with both
hands. Her hands are soft and warm. You sense
her stand up and begin to walk, but can only see
her shirt (and a little more, in between the
shirt's buttons). The sounds of the school
corridor are all but drowned out by the pattern of
her gentle breathing. But it is the smell of her
perfume that melts you.
She finally arrives at Dr. Gompers' chemistry
class, where another tiny desk awaits you on a lab
table. She carefully places you into it, bends
down to you and smiles, as she gently brushes
straight your hair with her finger. Then she
rises up and leaves the room. Propped up in your
seat, you sit there limp, dazed. Before you know
it, the bell rings (fifty minutes have passed!),
and the class rises up to leave. Two girls vie
with one another to carry you out. The curvier of
the two has her way, and lifts you out of the
desk. “Hello, Mark,” she says, “I’m Elissa. You
want to come along with me to lunch?”
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