Crossing The Border #24

San Miguel #24

I found a room marked twenty on the third floor. The door was closed, so I twisted an iron handle and pushed—then leaned—into the large wooden door, whose surface had been carved into sixty perfect squares, six across, ten down. The door creaked and swung open slowly on rusting iron hinges, revealing a rectangular room with five windows at the back. Inside it was quiet like a library, and the sun was suspended outside the center of the windows, showering the room with blinding light and allowing only a view of dark shapes arranged around the room.

I pushed the door closed behind me; it creaked again, but the sound was different—quieter and higher in pitch—than a moment ago. I wondered why, turned around, walked a few feet along the wall, slid my back against the brick behind me and crouched seeing if I could hide the sun behind the window frame.

Ten adult students stand at easels, right arms up in the air, their heads turning from the center of the room to the notebooks on their easels then back again. I look to the center of the room to see what they’re looking at. A naked woman sits there on a white plastic podium. There’s a wreath of miniature white flowers on her head. She’s naked and just sitting there, very still, leaning forward, propping herself up with one hand. One leg is draped over the other and both are angled over to the side. She is staring at a spot on the wall behind me. She blinks every once in a while. Her ribcage is moving slightly. Above the ribcage, she has two mounds of skin hanging there like water balloons; they’re just hanging there, motionless, curving smoothly away from her body, with dark brown round circles in the center of them pointing off in two directions. I watch; as I watch, I feel like a tingling or tickling or something inside of me and I look at her belly button. She’s an innie. And there’s this patch of short brown hair tucked neatly between her bent legs. I watch; as I watch, I feel like a tingling or tickling or something inside of me. I watch. I sit very still, like her, and watch and it’s quiet and everybody is drawing and I am watching.

My mother is walking over now and leaning over and kissing me on the top of the head like she does. I look up into her light green eyes and I feel warm sitting there in a patch of sun coming in through the window like a spotlight. She’s holding her cigarette, smoke swirling around her body like a gathering spirit.

She leaves me there, against the wall, watching. She walks around looking over students’ shoulders, now and again reaching in to point at a spot on the canvas, to whisper something near a student’s ear. I sit all the way down and watch some more. Then I reach into my pocket and pull out a note Eden gave me at school. It’s shaped like a four leaf clover and you can put one finger under each piece and open it and close it and it shows a different message depending on which petal you open. I do this for a while, then I look up and watch the naked lady again.

Later, the church bells ring four times and the students pack up their notebooks and leave their easels standing there and the naked lady puts on a robe and slippers and sips from a glass of water and carries the glass out of the room. I look over and she smiles at me on her way through the door. Mom speaks quietly with two remaining students. Ten lanky wooden easels stand around like giant insects looking for something to eat.