Читать книгу River of Love - Aimée Medina Carr - Страница 21

I attend Marie Noonan’s Humanities class on Thursday afternoons at 3:30 p.m. I ride the 3 miles on my burgundy, Batavus, ten-speed bike. I’m breaking an unwritten rule being the only girl at an all boy’s school. Marie Noonan’s a direct, no-nonsense teacher who makes the rules, if she takes a shine to a local, “townie” girl and wants her in class, so be it.

I arrive a few minutes early and thank Marie. “Please, stay after class so I can go over the material with you,” she said curtly.

“Yes, ma’am.” The bell rings, and the boys file into the last class of the day. They murmur in low tones that I can’t hear. The small plain classroom has ten half-desk chairs arranged in a circle with Marie’s wooden desk in the corner. A row of metal framed windows lines the outer wall facing the open quad where the Gonads play football.

Marie at seventy is an elegant and petite lady with a shock of white, wavy hair. She wears light-colored sweater sets with A-line skirts, plain low-heeled pumps, and a strand of pearls. Her vibrant eyes are full of incessant curiosity and wonder. I sense she’s thrilled to have me in her class.

“Our guest student is Rose Ramirez. Please, when appropriate, introduce yourself. Let’s take out the handouts from yesterday; Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces. I’d like to go over a couple of the quotations. Rose, here’s a copy.” She hands me a mimeographed paper.

“The idea regarding the hero myth: he ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder where fabulous forces encountered, and a decisive victory is won. He returns with power and the incarnation of God himself, and with the energies of eternity. This transcendent force lives in all, in all our profound obeisance,” she reads the quote.

She dramatically pauses and they eagerly wait for her next sentence. “Campbell had a different take on spirituality than Carl Jung. We’ll go deeper once we finish Joseph Campbell’s book and move on to Carl Jung’s teachings. I want you to finish the last chapter of Hero with a Thousand Faces and write a summary of modern-day heroes. This is due by next class.” She returns previous homework assignments, commenting on the outstanding papers, the feedback is all positive.

Class ends, and the nine boys file out. I remain at my desk. Marie asks, “Did you understand what we discussed?” She sits down next to me.

“Yes, it was exhilarating. You don’t talk down to your students,” I said.

“No, but I don’t assume they know what I do.” She says while studying me, I’m uncomfortable and squirm in my chair. I hope Jack’s outside waiting for me.

“How do you define yourself, dear?” She asks with little expression. I’m taken aback.

“I wish to live a creative life and grow into a well-rounded independent person.” I stumble over my words. My blood shifts from a pound to a racing pulse.

“What are your passions? What’s the first thing you think about in the morning and the last thing at night?” Her direct gaze puts me on the spot.

“He’s a student here, Jack Dillon.” My face lights up; I crack a smile.

Marie frowns. “Rose, that’s not acceptable. Do you like to read? She picks up a magazine. Do you write?” She rolls a pen toward me. “I want you to start reading the New York Times, at least the Sunday edition. The public library has it.”

She glides over to her desk and pulls out a leather journal and writes my name inside the cover and places it on my desk, “Please, start keeping a daily journal and write about anything—whatever comes to you. Stretch your mind and improve your analytical skills. Wake up and be aware, lead a life of concentration, rather than sleep-wading through la Vida.” She sits down in the chair and releases a long, extended sigh.

“Girls rely too much on their looks and firm bodies—as they should. Do you realize, you’re at the peak of your beauty? You’re at your best physically that you’ll ever be! But it fades, and wisdom prevails—engage the mind by reading and writing and live a rich, vibrant and exciting life. We all have a creative spirit at work pushing us to evolve, to become better, to make what is rare commonplace. The universe is full of creatures that continue to create and recreate. A Mother Spirit that nurtures through evolution.

“I’ll wager what you learn in class, will spark the emergence of something extraordinary in you like our heroes. I didn’t rely on beauty, I managed to raise two boys and teach. I’m thrilled when my students grasp a new idea and want to learn more. It’s my drug, my fix, as you kids say. I see real possibilities in you, Rose, and hope we’ll become great friends. Now go, it’s a long ride home. I’ll expect your best writing on the summary. See you next Thursday.” She stood up and started packing up her things.

Outside of the red brick building, Jack’s waiting for me. “How did it go?” he asks anxiously. I drop my backpack and grab his hand: “Yikes! That was intense. Marie wants to mentor me, I think… possibly? I’m overwhelmed by her interest and directness. A teacher hasn’t ever paid this much attention to me.” I said.

“She sees potential in you, all the smartest, most brilliant students take her classes. There’s a waiting list every semester. I’m just psyched to see you every Thursday.” He slips an arm around me. We walk past the classroom window and catch a glimpse of Marie and Headmaster Rio conversing in the hallway. We stop to watch their animated exchange.

Marie calls out to Headmaster Rio, whom she’s fond of calling “Esteemed Headmaster.” They’re best of friends and have a high regard for each other. She has a way of treating him as an adult and a kid at the same time.

“How are you, Rawleigh? You look down in the dumps.”

He’d just finished teaching a senior class on critical thinking. He tried to explain the anti-Nazi German, Lutheran Pastor, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s theory of no person existing simply in their own space in time: the past—we inherit, the future—we create it, and the present—is the vehicle we inhabit now.

“I explain this theory once again, and probe them with questions. It’s clear; they don’t understand an iota of what we covered this week.” He cries discouraged. She looks at him quizzically. “My dear boy, when will you ever learn, all they’re interested in, is sex!” She playfully slaps him on the back as they laugh together.