All's Well(51)

“Quickly, quickly, everyone,” I call as I march them across the campus green. Past the storybook little cluster of white Victorian-era homes that are the dormitories and lecture halls. Past the toy library, the glass dining hall where the children chew their food-shaped cud.

“Jesus, where’s the fire, Miranda?” Grace hisses at my side, breathless.

“We have to get started, don’t we, Grace? Ticktock. Ticktock.”

I smile at Fauve, whom we pass just now on the green—she’s in her winter coat, laden with canvas bags full of teaching materials, marching huffily to her class. What is she teaching this semester again? Oh yes, that’s right. Music for Idiots.

“Hello, Fauve,” I say, I sing.

But Fauve is silent, glaring, sick with suspicion as she watches us all clamor past, such a merry bunch of players, all the world a stage. I’m gloriously immune to her Dickensian plots, her sad schemes. I wave at Fauve wildly.

“Come along, everyone,” I yell. “Follow, follow. Follow me across the green, along the snaking icy path, whoa, watch your step there. Bit slippery. Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt. Break anything. No more injuries or accidents or illnesses, am I right? Not with showtime just around the corner! Round the corner, can you believe it? Ticktock, ticktock!”

I finally stop right in the middle of the rose garden, right before the great black goat statue. I used to hobble over here on my less inflamed days, in an attempt to experience some kind of beauty—The natural world would do you some good, Mark used to say to me. But the beauty of it all, far from soothing me, actually caused my legs to seize up in a kind of grief. And then the students in their beauty, who were sitting in the garden so carefree, in various yogic configurations, their limbs so pliable, their smiles so easy, just set off the red webs so violently that I was forced to limp away. But not today.

“What did I tell you? Doesn’t it feel just like spring?” I sing, my breath a capering cloud.

I look at my circle of children. Huddled obediently on the green. Lightly shivering. Not so lightly shivering. Pink faces. No scripts, because I’ve forbidden them. And guess what? Now they’ve memorized the play. Now they know it by heart. They stare up at me, the tails of my black coat blowing behind me, standing straight in my heeled boots, taller than I have ever been, casting my shadow over them. Is it just them or have I grown taller in the past month?

Yes, Professor Fitch. They nod. You told us. Just like spring.

Wonderful. “Well,” I say. “Let’s warm up, shall we?”

Grace looks at me with panic. Oh no. Not another one of my “warm-ups.” She thinks my warm-ups of late have been a little too—

“Wonderful,” I say, clapping my hands. “Warm-ups are wonderful, aren’t they? They get the blood going. Get the air flowing. Get the cobwebs swept away. Now let’s all get in a circle, that’s it. Closer, closer, don’t be afraid. I don’t bite, do I?” And I laugh. I’m always laughing these days.

“Good. Now let’s all bend forward and touch our toes, very good. You too, Grace.”

But Grace just stands there next to me, watching me fold forward, watching me reach down, watching me sigh with pleasure as my fingers touch the tips of my boots easily, so easy.

“Really reach down and touch those tips. Wow. Doesn’t that feel amazing? So amazing, am I right? That stretch. Wow wow wow so good. Now let’s reach up. Up, up, up and touch the sky, shall we? Touch the sun, that’s it. Can you touch the sun? See if you can stretch up to the sky with your arms and touch the actual sun. Oh fuck yes. Feels fucking wonderful, am I right?”

“Miranda,” Grace whispers.

“How your arms just love it. They want to stretch up, they want the sun. Which is not so weak anymore, is it? Not so pale and glimmering dully behind the clouds, but bright and bold and fierce, isn’t it? So bright it’ll burn your eyes out, am I right, Grace?”

Grace just looks at me. Her arms are still folded in front of her chest.

“Okay, drop your arms back down, arms back down,” I tell them. “Now we’re going to shake it out. Shake everything, that’s it. Hands, arms, legs, head, hips. Really shake them, don’t be afraid.”

We all shake together. We shake and we shake and we shake. I shake with them. I’m with them every step of the way these days. I’m shaking and shaking and shaking. My limbs, my head, I really get into it with them. I’m jumping up and down, up and down, to show them how to shake. Hopping on one leg while shaking the other. And as I’m shaking, I’m laughing again because it’s just so, so fun—“Isn’t this so fun?” I ask them—as I shake and shake and shake.

“Yes, Professor,” they huff.

I ask them is that all they have, really? Really? Oh, I don’t believe it. I tell them to go faster, wilder! Really let loose! Lose yourself in it! Like you’re trying to shake off your actual flesh. Arms, legs, head, hips, yes! Like you’re possessed. Full of demons. The only way out is to shake, shake them out. Shake them free, you’re free. Oh, it feels wonderful doesn’t it? Exhilarating to move like this, am I right? Blood flowing. Air going. Cobwebs swept away. Blood air cobwebs, blood air cobwebs, blood air cobwebs flowing going away, flowing going away, flowing going away, away, away, away, away away, away, away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away away—