Four by Four by Sara Mesa

Author:Sara Mesa
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Open Letter
Published: 2020-06-14T16:00:00+00:00

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30TH

I had a terrible dream last night. I dreamt I was going blind. Crushed by darkness, surrounded by ravenous shadows, I stretched my hands out into the void.

I woke up, heart racing, blinking in the pitch black. I felt around for the light switch and checked the clock: it was only 5 a.m. I thought I had lost my vision, that I was losing it by the minute. I spent two agonizing hours opening and closing my eyes, diagnosing myself until I finally fell asleep again. When the alarm went off, I didn’t hear it.

Late for class.

As I ran down the hallway, I had the sensation that everything was blurrier, less defined. I lost my sense of clarity a long time ago. The world seems like a work of fiction; the things that happen are like projections on a movie screen. They flicker before me and I have nothing to do with them. I can’t change—or even understand—them.

They happen right before my eyes, nothing more.

(…)

Ignacio is leaning calmly against the classroom doorway, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred the day before. When he walks by me on the way to his seat, he stares and slows his step. The students are all transfixed by this scene, all except for the boy on scholarship. He sits in the corner, completely motionless.

The air is charged with expectation. The boys sit, their heads cocked, feeling me out, interrogating me in silence. I don’t know what to tell them.

Later, Marieta approaches me at the entrance to the dining hall. She looks like she has something urgent to say. Blinking nervously, she blurts out:

“I have to speak with you. We need to meet.”

An ultimatum. I suppose she wants to talk about what happened yesterday, or rebuke me for arriving late to my classes. I search her eyes. Metallic gray, cold and distant.

I ask why.

“To discuss your pedagogical methods.”

My methods? What methods? I don’t follow any method, except that of survival. I don’t say that, obviously. In fact, I lead her to believe that I’m very much interested in hearing her advice.

“It’s come to my attention that you take a rather … peculiar approach to your classes,” she explains. “Perhaps you need a bit of guidance. Remember, Wybrany parents are demanding. You have to offer high quality, innovative instruction. That’s what is expected of us at Wybrany. You can never be too careful.”

She’s pretty when she talks like this. The slighty jutting upper lip, the straight little white teeth. I fake interest, nod my head, I’m all ears.

She checks her planner, flips through the pages with a commanding index finger. We can meet on Monday, she says, next Monday at five.

Plenty of time, but I don’t have a clue how to prepare myself.

Deepening unease, that’s the sense this appointment gives me.

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