Steckland Russ (I.iii)

     (iii) --



    The rest of my first day unfolded as such that I suspect I'll write an account of it again sometime in the future, to reflect upon it at a time where there is some distance between it and present time. For now, I am certain that this will be one of those days that memory maintains a special shelf on the bookcase of life for. We all have them, all of us I'm sure. A recollection so vivid in sight, sound and thought, that our imaginations can return us to those moments with almost the same clarity as when they happened. This was my third such moment, and the first to not take place on a children's playground.
    I had taken a quick look at my timetable and saw I still had a chance to catch my last class of the day: World History with a B. Caruthers, Room 226. It did not take long to get there as I had taken a class in Room 226 before. I remembered it mostly for its chalky smell, uniformly orange chairs, and its proximity to the second floor bathroom. The lesson was already ten minutes in, so I opened the door gently and quickly scanned the room for a seat, in particular one that would make my entrance all the more inconspicuous. The only ones were at the back, and I made my path towards it with as little disturbance as possible.
   
    'Young man, what's your name?'

    This was Caruthers. I was uneasy, but I turned to face him straight away.

    'Steckland. Steckland Russ.'

    He checked a sheet in a red folder on his desk, lowering his glasses on a slightly crooked nose. His features are rather wolf-like: silver hair and beard, dark hungry eyes,  and an obvious affinity towards white sweaters, useful when out on the prowl.
     Mr. Caruthers scribbled something onto a note and continued with his lesson, mostly a long winded reminiscence of previous students he had taught. I took a seat in the back row and put my knapsack on an empty seat next to mine. After eleven minutes (I had been counting) he still had not changed his subject. The door then opened again, and something miraculous walked in.

   
    At first, I confess, I thought nothing of it. I was too busy being bored by Mr. Caruther's pointless lecture, and so was fantasizing about which pizza place to hit for the long walk home. It took me a few seconds to even realize her standing right in front of me, eyeing my knapsack occupying the last available chair in the room. I mumbled an apology, dropped by bag on the ground and dared not make eye contact. In seconds I'd forgotten what she looked like.

    'You who just came in, miss. What's your name?'
    'Galvin. Soraunen Galvin.'

    Her voice was focused, strong, projecting, yet with a feminine flightiness that could throw boys stronger than I to her heels to kiss them. Still I hardly paid any attention to her, and all I remember from the rest of the class were six more people coming in late, and watching them stand in the corner because there were no more chairs.

    'The chair delivery never comes on first day!' groaned Mr. Caruthers aloud.

    Wanting to accomplish something on what had been a useless day, I located my locker on the third floor, just two doors down from the upper level of the auditorium. I opened it up, found it free of any mutating odours, closed it, and saw this Soraunen Galvin girl standing right before me.

    'You're the one with the knapsack on the chair, right?' she asked.
    'Um, yes...' I replied, readying myself for some kind of chewing out.
    'It's really not polite, you know. Inconsiderate, really.'
    'Well, er, I was late.' I blubbered, 'I didn't, think, that anyone else was going to come in.'

    Soraunen shifted her head slightly, looked closer at my face and nodded. Her eyes were wide, dark, lively.

    'I'll just have to be early next time, so that your knapsack doesn't steal my seat again...'

    She walked away, down the hall towards the stairwell, and I realized she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever been in school with. By the way she walked: slow and graceful, but with a higher sense of direction than my eyes could comprehend, I knew I could never resist her. She vanished behind the swarm of exiting classrooms, and a last glimpse of her long straight black hair was all my memory could continue on.
    Her voice echoed throughout the hallway, the words she had said loudly ringing off the walls yet I was the only one who could hear them. Immediately I wanted to see her face again, to study it, analyse it, appreciate it like a lonely man in a empty art gallery. Still I don't know what exactly she looks like.

     (iii) -- Soraunen