When Women Were Dragons(84)
This was too much. I rested my forehead on the table and covered my head with my arms. “Mrs. Gyzinska,” I sighed. “I just don’t know what is going to happen next. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Oh, piffle,” she said with a wave of her hand. “What kind of talk is that? You’re going to do exactly what you’ve been doing. You’re going to take care of that girl of yours, and throw yourself into your work, and excel in every way that you choose to excel, and you will simply live your life. You’ll elevate mathematics to an art form and conduct science like a symphony, and I honestly expect nothing less of you. Other people will come and go as they please, and live the lives they choose and I’m not sure why it would affect you one bit. You’re upset because your aunt has returned, yes?” She drained the last of her coffee.
I sat up and stared at her. “How did you,” I managed. I had no words after that. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. After all, they put my aunt’s picture in the paper.
“You’ve figured out her connection to our Dr. Gantz, of course. You always were one to figure things out. He owes her an apology, I’m afraid, but you know how men are. Children, essentially. Listen, I’ve known Marla since she was a teenager. She’s always been bigger on the inside than she is on the outside. Her life has never entirely fit her. Even now. Even as a dragon. That’s the thing about dragoning—it doesn’t solve everything. The body changes, but the self is still the self, with all its original problems and consternations—and yet, still with its capacity to learn. We’re never stuck in one spot. We’re always changing.”
My head swam. “I’m stuck,” I said. “I feel so stuck.” Weights on my ankles, I thought. And weights on my wrists. I felt as though I was nailed in place.
“You’re not,” Mrs. Gyzinska said kindly. “Everyone feels that way from time to time, but I assure you, you’re not. You’re just not looking at the whole picture.”
“I can’t lose Beatrice.” I was in tears now.
Mrs. Gyzinska rapped on the table with her knuckles, her expression inscrutable. “Then don’t,” she said, as though it was that simple. “Honestly, it’s not that hard. There’s very little we can control in this life. All we can do is accept whatever comes, learn what we can, and hang on to what we love. And that’s it. In the end, the only thing you can hope to control is yourself. In this moment. Which is both a relief and a huge responsibility, both at the same time.” She opened her desk calendar. “Which reminds me, you have two exams coming up this week. Since you’ve decided to play hooky, perhaps you should take this opportunity to study. I informed your professor at the beginning of the semester that I expected you to be his top student, and I do hate being wrong. Let’s hop to it, shall we?” She stood. “I have business to attend to in the office. Your materials are in your cubby.” She turned, opened a locked cabinet, and pulled out a large white binder with no markings on it—just like the one that Mr. Burrows was reading earlier. “You can page through this, too, if you can stand it. It is a collection of Dr. Gantz’s more current research on the topic of dragoning. But I’ll warn you. I have nothing but respect for Henry, and I’ve been his supporter for nearly forty years. But that man is wordy.” She rolled her eyes.
She patted me on the back as she passed, and closed the door behind her.
I didn’t study. I spent the entire day reading Dr. Gantz’s research.
Mrs. Gyzinska wasn’t wrong. So wordy.
34.
On the first of April, I learned I had been accepted into the University of Wisconsin as an honors student. I spoke to the director of Student Life on the phone to discuss my housing options, given my family situation. He informed me that I couldn’t live with Beatrice in the dormitories because children were not allowed, and I also couldn’t live in married housing, as I was not married.
“Well,” I said. “That leaves me in a bit of a pickle. I’m curious. What do other students do who find themselves in a situation of unmarried motherhood, but who wish to pursue their educations, unhindered? Is there any plan for them?”
The director exhaled. I couldn’t see him through the phone, of course, but he sounded like he rolled his eyes. “Well,” he said. “I’m sure I don’t know. I expect they drop out.” I could tell he had nothing more to say to me. I thanked him and told him I’d find another way.
Fortunately, a few days later I learned I had secured a partial scholarship. Not enough to cover everything, unfortunately, so I was still contacting potential apartments, part-time employers, and babysitters. Mrs. Gyzinska made phone calls on my behalf as well.
“Don’t say yes to anything yet,” she advised me. “Every institution has its hidden wellsprings of money, and I am determined to find at least one more spout to flow in your direction. Leave me to it.”
I did. I didn’t have the energy to do anything beyond what was directly in front of me, and even then I could hardly focus.
My aunt came by most days, just to say hello, and look at Beatrice through the window as she slept. I wasn’t ready to let them meet yet. Beatrice, of course, had no memory of Marla. She wasn’t even a year old when . . . well. When everything changed. Her only mother was our mother. And yet. The memory of Marla holding Beatrice in those moments before she transformed, of Marla kissing each finger and marveling at her plump cheeks and sleeping mouth and damp curls, rattled in my mind and disrupted my thinking. That memory wasn’t mine, of course, but I carried it anyway. Did Marla’s heart break when she laid a sleeping Beatrice back in her bed? Did she press her hand to her mouth as she hurried out of the baby’s room to stop herself from sobbing? Yes. Probably. I felt my own heart break every time I thought of it.