The Idealists--Part I

The Idealists – Part I


He wakes at five, closes his eyes, and goes over his plans for the day. He opens his eyes and it’s 5:11. He closes them again, makes a grocery list and it’s 5:18. Ruthie stirs, so he slides out of bed and stands, counting in his head, until her breathing becomes steady, then he goes into the bathroom, pulls the door quietly behind him, and sits on the toilet in the dark, until it’s late enough to shower without waking her.

“It’s simple,” Ruthie says, later. “They stick some things in me, do some tests, and then we’ll know.”

“And then we’ll know,” he repeats.

They share oatmeal. Outside the apartment door, a bell rings, children’s voices echo.

“Time to go to class,” she says.

“You sure you’re okay alone?” he says.

“I’m a big girl, Derick,” she says.

They leave together, she, to the car, he, across campus. He passes her office, puts a note on the door.

“Where is Mrs. Stone?” a student asks.

“Doctor’s appointment,” he says, before he can stop himself. “I’ll be covering her A Block.”

“Oh,” the girl says. “But I need her to read my paper.”

“I can read it,” he says, taking it. “She’ll be in later.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.”

By the time he gets to his classroom, he’s sure half the building will know where she is.

#

“How’d you get such a big house?” the new math teacher, Christine, asks. He’s invited her over that night to work on May Program ideas. “Just for you two?”

“We were expecting,” Ruthie says.

“Oh,” Christine says with a confused look on her face.

Ruthie gathers up their dishes and goes into the kitchen. She doesn’t return.

They haven’t had a chance to talk about the appointment, though they won’t get the results back for weeks, probably.

Derick hurries Christine along and practically pushes her out the door after they finally make some progress. He climbs the stairs, thinking, not for the first time, about the previous occupants, the husband who slit his wrists in the master bathroom. When they’d first learned about this, the old Chair of the English Department had said, “Hollins Oaks has been around for 150 years. Someone has died in just about every room on campus.”

“Yes, but a suicide,” Derick had said.

“A boarding school invites troubled souls,” the Chair had said. He and his wife had been there more than twenty years.

Derick pauses at the top of the stairs. He hears something like crying or water draining. He pushes the bedroom door open. It’s music. Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring.” Ruthie looks up from the bed, smiling, “What’s up?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says.

She turns back to her book. He pulls the door to behind him and watches her eyes soften, as she reads. The clock says 5:00. He looks again. It doesn’t move.



C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Troubadour 21

I will try and post the rest of this story, or stories, as they become available.

Glenn