Just my luck; a 29 day. No, things always go bad on 29 days.
Trouble-shooting, I headed on over to my tree guys. All that tree work was sure to generate lots of woodchips, and I really needed to point out a secondary dump site.
But heading on over, I spied Coral walking up from The Center. She hadn't seen me, so I pulled up. And look at the book she carried--carried out in front of her like a religion. Wait, that pale yellow book. Why, it was the very yellow book I had given her for her birthday.
"Coral, what you up to?"
Coral, coming out of her trance, swept Pan behind her back. "Nothing," she said, pulling up. "We got out of Drawing early, so I thought I'd walk in circles till I have to sit at the Front Desk."
"Say, I'm heading on over to check on my tree guys; want to walk in circles on over there?"
"Sure."
I thought we'd take the scenic route; the storied route down through the enchanted orchard. The kind of route that was sure to give a good girl a bad case of spring fever, November 29, or no.
A good way to prime a girl for fever is to touch on something she has a passion for. "So, tell me, Coral, what lesson did we learn in Drawing, today?"
"Today? Huh, we never got to the lesson. The instructor got sidetracked, started talking color--said color isn't true. We didn't believe her. So she showed us."
Though I'd failed to prime spring fever in the girl, I wasn't so sure I hadn't caught a touch of the spring myself.
"Anton, did you know color changes depending on what color is next to it?"
"No," I said stepping onto the gallery patio, "Then again, I'm more the black and white type of guy when it comes to color."
Coral pulled pale Pan out from behind her back, waved me off. "Well, I love color. There's a whole class on color--so many classes I can't wait to take."
Funny, Coral talking color and here we were passing by the gray picnic table that, without Apolena's pumpkin hair, had all kinds of colors going for it.
"But that's the science of art," Coral was saying, stepping off the gallery patio. "I hope there's a class on the art of art. You know, the creativity."
Walking down the rotten asphalt towards the storied orchard, Coral said, "Anton, when you were in college, studying writing, did you ever take a class on creativity?"
"Na," I said, speeding up. "There's never been a class on creativity--ain't going to be, neither.""Why not?"
"Because creativity can't be taught." I gave Coral my in-the-know face. "See, Coral, you can teach art, teach craft, teach writing, even, but you can't teach creativity because creativity is . . . is like . . . well, like God."
Coral didn't say anything.
"No, Coral, you can talk about writing, you talk about art, you can talk about healing, even, but you can't talk about creativity at all. Why? Because creativity, like God, ain't something we piddly humans can wrap our great gray matter around. All a human can do with creativity, really, is shut up and create. So, what you say we talk about something we can wrap our heads around. Take Spring. Have you ever gotten your head wracked by Spring Fever so bad, you--"
"Anton."
Coral pulled up at the portal to the orchard, held Pan to her head like a gun. "Anton, the healing."
No, I didn't know what Coral was talking about. Didn't care, neither. I had passed through the portal; really needed Coral--lit up on the other side--to get on in here, catch the fever I was already at death's door with.
"Anton, the healing exercise. I have a whole hour before I have to sit at the Front Desk. Want to go somewhere and teach it to me?"
Then again, there were other places a guy and a girl could catch their deaths. I stepped out of the orchard. "Well, ya, sure. But where can we go?" I was hoping she'd suggest her condo.
"We could go to my condo. Trent's there, but he won't bug us."
No, that wasn't the kind of death I had in mind. "I don't know, Coral. That healing exercise requires much touching of little fingers. I don't know if much touching is the thing to do right in front of Trent."
I hadn't meant to be funny, really, but there stood Coral, having a bit of a laugh.
And, yes, her laugh gave me fever all the more. The good thing about Spring Fever, though, is that, unlike regular fever, it sharpens the mind. "I got it, Coral--the perfect place for the healing exercise."
Escorting Coral to my shack, I took note of a nerve or two. On the one nerve I had the pressure of teaching Rachel's healing exercise--something I'd never taught before. On the other nerve, I had the pressure of touching Coral in the dark. But then there was that third nerve--the biggest nerve of all. This was a 29 day, and as any man worth his math knows, things always go bad on 29 days.
Shaking, I unlocked the padlock. "This is my shack," I said, reaching to open the sliding door. "Come on in."
But, damn, the door was stuck. I pulled harder. "What the hell?" I got an eye in the gap that ran alongside the sliding door. "Oh, it's my pitchfork wedged in there. Here, let me find a stick."
****
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