#13 'Teach' Envelope (Part II)
I tried to put from my mind the horror stories my husband scared me with on long wuthering nights. It was all a ruse for him, all to push me into his arms and us into a love making where I honored his hero's status. After all, he was the one who saved me from the monsters and goblins in his stories. Towards the end he hadn't made up a story, but told me to climb under the covers while he stood watch. The wind had made noises like it did now. "What is it?" I had dared to peek over he edge of the comforter and ask. "Fetches." He said.
From behind me came a shrill flute-ish whistle. I jumped, spun around. I glared at the cracked windows, the dirt encrusted windows. These were the windows that made the entire building equal to that of a bottle organ, a mouthpiece to lost souls. .
With perspective back in balance I returned to teaching. "We came into a new style of artistry. I can see by the . . . by the designs on your dresses that you've already had an introduction to the subject." I lifted my hand to the faded walls, wrote out the words 'Art Nouveau'.
Somewhere, behind me, someone giggled. I knew that sound, the distinctive uplift of a child in mischief.