It’s raining outside. My window is open, just like Mom suggested. I did
\nopen it last night. Then I closed it this morning when I got up because
\nit was raining very hard. I guess she came up and opened it again this
\nafternoon when it was sunny, before it started raining again.<\/p>\n
I was standing on one of the concrete benches surrounding the fountain at
\nschool when the sun was shining. I was very surprised to find it warm and
\nsunny when I came out. “It was raining this morning, wasn’t it?” I said
\nfrom the other side of my sunglasses to a random girl standing outside the
\nsnackshop. “Very hard,” she coughed vehemently. The sun was still
\nshining when I came back out after spending some time in one of the piano
\npractice rooms, script in hand, and mounted the concrete bench. From my
\nperch, I practiced my lines under my breath, gesticulating at the fountain
\nand pausing whenever I forgot what came next to look up into the sky,
\nwhere small clouds were being bullied by the wind into dashing across the
\nintermintant blue. West, I thought, then corrected myself. Southwest.
\nThat means more rain. And the rain came. It is raining now.<\/p>\n
“Joanna!” hollered Melissa from behind her sunglasses all the way over by
\nthe parking lot. I glanced up from behind mine to look at her. “If
\nsomeone didn’t know you were practicing lines, they’d think you were
\ncrazy!” “So?” In fact, people who passed by gave me a good deal of room
\nafter looking up uncomfortably. Whenever a theater major passed by, I
\nbegan where I was out loud so they could hear. “I guess he can beat me if
\nhe wants to!” I shouted at a pudgy girl with wire rimmed glasses I’ve
\ntalked to but don’t know by name. “I tell you, I LOVE to have him beat
\nme!” “Practicing lines,” she understood, “Been there, done that.”<\/p>\n
“In my opinion he’s the best doctor in the world!” I insisted to
\nElizabeth. “We have class, dear,” she informed me as her companion stared
\nin puzzlement. I collected my things and followed a few moments later. <\/p>\n
“What is this?!” Dr. Khokhlova shrieked excitedly when I walked into the
\nclassroom. She always shrieks excitedly. “What’s wrong with you? You
\nlook like a shadow!” If I’m capable of smiling wanly, I probably did so
\nthen. The good thing about Dr. K. is that if she shrieks a question at
\nyou and you don’t answer immediately, she’ll either answer the question
\nherself or else change the question and then answer it. I shrugged and
\ntried to figure out which desk was mine as she moved on to altering and
\nanswering her own question.<\/p>\n
I knew exactly what was wrong with me as I slumped there in my desk. My
\nstomach was all in knots. My brain was still smoldering from a
\nconflagration, smoke from the dying embers filling my glazed eyes, my
\nunhearing ears.<\/p>\n
People kept asking me how I was, as if I could tell them. How can you
\ndescribe the feeling when your stomach has been ripped in half? “You
\ndon’t want to know,” I’d say after a moment’s hesitation. Or, “I’m not
\nanswering that question today.” “Why not? What’s wrong,” asked Dion. I
\nknow her name is Dion because I looked on the sheet of new recruits to the
\nhistory and political science club and found out what it was. Beforehand,
\nI knew her as the cool chick in the Presidency and Congress class. I
\nliked her the first time I saw her. She has twins and a husband, who came
\nto class with her today. But she asked me how I was anyway. Maybe my
\nface begged it. I don’t know. I don’t think she’s asked me before. My
\nsuspicions about liking her were substantiated when I asked her suddenly
\none day this week, “What do you think, does the Dave Matthews Band have an
\nupperclass appeal?” She was silent a long while, and I was afraid I had
\nasked for too much, when she nodded slowly and said, “Yes, I think it
\ndoes.” I was amazed. There aren’t many minds on campus that will admit
\nto working like mine. <\/p>\n
All the same, I wouldn’t tell her how I was today. I didn’t tell Paul
\neither, though I desperately wanted to. He didn’t ask either. He never
\nasks. He greets everyone else he knows with a “How’s it going?” but never
\nme. He knows better. And I wouldn’t want him to.<\/p>\n
So I’m here with the light on, looking out the open window at the light
\nrain and punctuated lightning momentarily illuminating the slowly
\ndarkening sky.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It’s raining outside. My window is open, just like Mom suggested. I did open it last night. Then I closed it this morning when I got up because it was raining very hard. I guess she came up and opened it again this afternoon when it was sunny, before it started raining again. I was…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-392","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-nonclassified-nonsense"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/392","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=392"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/392\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=392"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=392"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nachzen.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=392"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}