Shuffled pages and papers accompanied the sounds of his having to switch out the slide reel in the dark. LCDs flicked on and off through the room in compulsive time checks. They were passed midterms, but some of the students couldn't wrap their brains around the idea that he had his own cell alarm set for 15 minutes prior to the official end of class to field last questions and get them all out on time. Futile checking of time themselves- waste of effort, energy, blinded the lowlight vision for people whose eyes had adjusted.
Quenton got the new reel clicked into place and buttoned the device on- the white blank pierced painfully, vision edges starring out like he'd squinted. He could feel his pulse behind his eyes. A button press brought reds, golds, and swimming bannered letters- " The Pursuit of Fidelity. believed to be 15th century Alsace in origin. There are many variations on the hunt theme in the literature and art of the 14th and 15th centuries. They tend toward allegory- expect to be required to read and compare tapestries and their subjects on the final. For example, A tapestry similar to the Burrell ''Pursuit of Fidelity'' is in the Hermitage, Leningrad. ''Grief turns into happiness, " reads its scroll in marked difference to this one. ''Love,'' the huntsman, pursues his desires. His hounds carry the message with names like ''Beauty,'' ''Kindness,'' ''Intelligence,'' and ''Gentleness.'' Their quarry is finally driven into a net that symbolizes-"
The throb grew more insistent. Quenton swallowed, mouth gone cotton dry as the floor felt to shift. this isn't. A boat at sea. My inner ear is off, or I am shifting, or something.
None of the students were distressed, so there was no unusual east coast earthquake. They waited patiently and silently as he took off his glasses and set them on the lectern. He saw them get smaller, further away. Quenton saw his own hand sliding boneless from the glasses. The world went black and quiet. He didn't have to feel the floor when it came. The students didn't respond at first. Was this a joke? Had he tripped?
One of the girls bucked up her bravery and left her desk to poke the usually intimidating and grim Mr. Marinus on the floor.
"Hey, somebody call the campus security. I don't think he's okay."
*. *. *.
The world opened on a drop ceiling, a fluids bag hung near, and the stale, old ammonia and mop smell of a hospital room. There were nurses outside at their rolling, standing computer stations laughing about a wheel chair race down the hall. I blacked out. In the middle of class.
The evaluation came with a wave of annoyance and disappointment- he expected better of himself if he was going to be given a stipend for handling classes. The students must have stayed long enough to see him carted into an ambulance to University Hospital. Explaining what happened was going to be a requirement to get them to pay attention to the next lesson instead of him. If I am at the next session. Schach might not let me have the week and ask Melonie to cover. I get ahead of myself. I haven't talked to a doctor yet if I will be discharged today, tomorrow, or later. What time even is it.
The clock on the wall said 3am. The date and day were one later than they should be. A moment of self reflection, feeling each muscle, joint, and bone i sequence of limbs confirmed the stiffness of not moving, the bruises of the fall, and a catheter. Quenton sequin he'd his nose in distaste, but no one was present to enjoy the expression. A reach to the side drawer of the bed stand confirmed a plastic bag of his personal effects- clothes, shoes, wallet. Cellphone...come to think of it, maybe I didn have it at class. Wouldn't have had the alarm. Just the room phone here, then. I ...don't have anyone to call, really. I don't want to talk to anyone right now. The nurses or doctor will be in eventually, so why push the call button.
He felt cold, staring at empty white weave blanket and blue floral medical smock. There was no black fur anywhere. He had full use of the pillow under his head.
If he closed his eyes, would he sleep or pass out again? Would there be dreams? Meditation felt safer, more productive of the time.
