it.”
The
girls looked away, dismissing her.
Alice
turned the way the girls had told her and went down the street. There was
a corner grocer advertising Budweiser and chorizo but no Mimi. She pulled
into the store parking lot and parked the car. Running her hands through
her hair she decided what to do. Robert Gomez came out of the store.
“Yo,
it’s Ms. Petrovka.” Smiling, he walked over to her car. “What you
doin’ here?” He placed his arms in the window, leaning in.
“Oh,
I…am getting chorizo. Only place I know that carries it.”
Roberto
nodded. “You white people eat that boring food.”
Alice
nodded. “What are you doing here Roberto?”
For
some reason Roberto didn’t think this was a dumb question. “Getting some
tortillas for my mom.” He held the bag up as evidence. “We ran out
when Jimmy and Shay came over for dinner.”
“Oh.
Well, I better get going.” Alice started the car.
“Okay
Ms P. See ya at school.”
Alice
pulled out, defeated. She twisted and turned back to Lake Lansing and
drove east.
Chapter 16
Christopher
sat at a long wooden table. It was late and he knew he should be getting
back to his room, but he was engrossed in the translation of the The Amores.
He finally had the parchment and quills to do what he wanted. In the
excitement and intensity of translating works from the Latin he often stayed up
way past his fellow students. The candle sputtered and he brought it
closer to the book to see the printed words. It was slow and tedious
work.
The
hall was drafty and the books were chained to the tables. Students would
often try to take the books back to their rooms so they could read in more
comfortable quarters. Christopher notices that the chain on the The
Amores had gauge marks in it. His fellow students had tried
unsuccessfully to remove the book from the table. It was no surprise, the
book was full of erotic poetry, easily the most popular volume at the table.
But
although the poetry engrossed him, lately his thoughts had been turning towards
the plays of Seneca and Plautus, the Roman playwrights of antiquity. When
he read the plays, he could vividly envision the actors, the movement, and the
rising and falling of their voices.
Earlier
in the year the headmaster had caught him in the midst of his imagining and he
had become stone silent. When Christopher broke from his fantasy he found
that everyone was staring at him. They then began to laugh. The
headmaster had banished him to his room with no dinner and with extra morning
prayer.
The
other day the students were expected to take part in a performance of one of
the English mystery plays, Everyman. Christopher found himself
engrossed in the direction and the performance. He was praised for his
efforts, and called upon to direct the next school performance of The Second
Shepherds’ Play.
After Everyman Christopher had shut himself in his room during free time.
He was gripped by a vision of something he wanted to write. He had an
idea of a play of a hero that was bold and full of himself. But
how? He vaguely had an idea of something like Seneca or Plautus, where
the actors would speak normally, in blank verse, prose style. Of course,
there would be poetry also, he thought. It was beautiful, and would add
romance and allure to the stage. But the blank verse – it would be like
bold brush strokes on the stage. Yes, yes, that’s it, he thought.
Too many plays were all in the rhyme of verse. It became tedious and
boring and too hard to follow. The audience often would lose interest
half way into the play. Mine, he thought, will be different; it will be
exciting.
He
thought of his play and the main character. This hero would rise to great
heights of glory and fame. Christopher fanned himself with the quill,
thinking, then he brought it to his face, caressing his cheek. He would
be a great lover
The
girls looked away, dismissing her.
Alice
turned the way the girls had told her and went down the street. There was
a corner grocer advertising Budweiser and chorizo but no Mimi. She pulled
into the store parking lot and parked the car. Running her hands through
her hair she decided what to do. Robert Gomez came out of the store.
“Yo,
it’s Ms. Petrovka.” Smiling, he walked over to her car. “What you
doin’ here?” He placed his arms in the window, leaning in.
“Oh,
I…am getting chorizo. Only place I know that carries it.”
Roberto
nodded. “You white people eat that boring food.”
Alice
nodded. “What are you doing here Roberto?”
For
some reason Roberto didn’t think this was a dumb question. “Getting some
tortillas for my mom.” He held the bag up as evidence. “We ran out
when Jimmy and Shay came over for dinner.”
“Oh.
Well, I better get going.” Alice started the car.
“Okay
Ms P. See ya at school.”
Alice
pulled out, defeated. She twisted and turned back to Lake Lansing and
drove east.
Chapter 16
Christopher
sat at a long wooden table. It was late and he knew he should be getting
back to his room, but he was engrossed in the translation of the The Amores.
He finally had the parchment and quills to do what he wanted. In the
excitement and intensity of translating works from the Latin he often stayed up
way past his fellow students. The candle sputtered and he brought it
closer to the book to see the printed words. It was slow and tedious
work.
The
hall was drafty and the books were chained to the tables. Students would
often try to take the books back to their rooms so they could read in more
comfortable quarters. Christopher notices that the chain on the The
Amores had gauge marks in it. His fellow students had tried
unsuccessfully to remove the book from the table. It was no surprise, the
book was full of erotic poetry, easily the most popular volume at the table.
But
although the poetry engrossed him, lately his thoughts had been turning towards
the plays of Seneca and Plautus, the Roman playwrights of antiquity. When
he read the plays, he could vividly envision the actors, the movement, and the
rising and falling of their voices.
Earlier
in the year the headmaster had caught him in the midst of his imagining and he
had become stone silent. When Christopher broke from his fantasy he found
that everyone was staring at him. They then began to laugh. The
headmaster had banished him to his room with no dinner and with extra morning
prayer.
The
other day the students were expected to take part in a performance of one of
the English mystery plays, Everyman. Christopher found himself
engrossed in the direction and the performance. He was praised for his
efforts, and called upon to direct the next school performance of The Second
Shepherds’ Play.
After Everyman Christopher had shut himself in his room during free time.
He was gripped by a vision of something he wanted to write. He had an
idea of a play of a hero that was bold and full of himself. But
how? He vaguely had an idea of something like Seneca or Plautus, where
the actors would speak normally, in blank verse, prose style. Of course,
there would be poetry also, he thought. It was beautiful, and would add
romance and allure to the stage. But the blank verse – it would be like
bold brush strokes on the stage. Yes, yes, that’s it, he thought.
Too many plays were all in the rhyme of verse. It became tedious and
boring and too hard to follow. The audience often would lose interest
half way into the play. Mine, he thought, will be different; it will be
exciting.
He
thought of his play and the main character. This hero would rise to great
heights of glory and fame. Christopher fanned himself with the quill,
thinking, then he brought it to his face, caressing his cheek. He would
be a great lover
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