Excerpt from La Ville Oublieé- Novel, 2021
Chapter 5:
Late Autumn. Afternoons were hotter than the morning, sweaters came off, ties loosened. A light breeze blew the fastidiously swept leaves around various greens, as students bustled to their last classes of the day, along narrow pathways connecting the19th century brick buildings to new-age, glass monstrosities, paid for by generous alumni.
There was a buzz in the air, a collective trust that the dark months might not come this year. Maybe every day would be like these fall afternoons, where the sun warmed bright orange leaves into an inferno of color, swirling around shins and up in the trees that stood organically placed on the lawns in front of deep-red brick buildings with white window frames.
A bell rang. The general pace quickened. A cry hung in the air. Shrieks of laughter at the prospect of last-period and then lounging on the green with sleeves rolled up and music playing and all the blue sport coats haphazardly strewn about. Heads lying in the laps of smiling co-eds, so happy to publicly display their affection, to feel the weight of hands around waists and on thighs covered in khaki or up plaid skirts, a promise of greater pleasures to come, jubilant conversation, flutter-ing up toward the infinite blue sky.
Lane always got to E period early because he had D period off and he normally spent his free time alone in the library. All his friends had C period off. They were wont to throw balls and wrestle in the quad, in the fall, smelling ripe for D and E, with grass stained pants. He’d been se-cretly happy to get D period off. When his friends had found out, they’d treated him like a piece of china, as if he’d just lost an uncle to a random house fire set by a rogue pyromaniac on spree. Free time in high school was synonymous with performance, whatever performance aligned with your caste. It felt like free time really amounted to a pedestal. Boys who were temperamentally averse to theatre made their stage there on the green, flexing and huffing for passing girls, pawing at the lush turf with soiled Nike-hooves. This is not to say that Lane was not athletic. He was. But Lane was always a bit embarrassed by fall free period antics. Maybe it was because he was a reader, and thereby had access to a type of reserved 3rd person perspective only available to those who’ve consumed so many narrative descriptions. Or maybe it was because he was a writer, and he could imagine how the scene would be depicted: boyish and insecure, awkward attempts at recognition.
Chapter 5:
Late Autumn. Afternoons were hotter than the morning, sweaters came off, ties loosened. A light breeze blew the fastidiously swept leaves around various greens, as students bustled to their last classes of the day, along narrow pathways connecting the19th century brick buildings to new-age, glass monstrosities, paid for by generous alumni.
There was a buzz in the air, a collective trust that the dark months might not come this year. Maybe every day would be like these fall afternoons, where the sun warmed bright orange leaves into an inferno of color, swirling around shins and up in the trees that stood organically placed on the lawns in front of deep-red brick buildings with white window frames.
A bell rang. The general pace quickened. A cry hung in the air. Shrieks of laughter at the prospect of last-period and then lounging on the green with sleeves rolled up and music playing and all the blue sport coats haphazardly strewn about. Heads lying in the laps of smiling co-eds, so happy to publicly display their affection, to feel the weight of hands around waists and on thighs covered in khaki or up plaid skirts, a promise of greater pleasures to come, jubilant conversation, flutter-ing up toward the infinite blue sky.
Lane always got to E period early because he had D period off and he normally spent his free time alone in the library. All his friends had C period off. They were wont to throw balls and wrestle in the quad, in the fall, smelling ripe for D and E, with grass stained pants. He’d been se-cretly happy to get D period off. When his friends had found out, they’d treated him like a piece of china, as if he’d just lost an uncle to a random house fire set by a rogue pyromaniac on spree. Free time in high school was synonymous with performance, whatever performance aligned with your caste. It felt like free time really amounted to a pedestal. Boys who were temperamentally averse to theatre made their stage there on the green, flexing and huffing for passing girls, pawing at the lush turf with soiled Nike-hooves. This is not to say that Lane was not athletic. He was. But Lane was always a bit embarrassed by fall free period antics. Maybe it was because he was a reader, and thereby had access to a type of reserved 3rd person perspective only available to those who’ve consumed so many narrative descriptions. Or maybe it was because he was a writer, and he could imagine how the scene would be depicted: boyish and insecure, awkward attempts at recognition.