Epicaricacy

Meeting the Miss

             “Well, um, hello. My name is Pent Faust, nice to meet you.” I pull a seat off a nearby desk, “Please, sit.”

            “What’s a boy like you doing here, cleaning classrooms?”

         “Oh, um,” I scratch my head and give a nervous smile. “Volunteer work! Some professors have to teach out of town after class, so they don’t have time to clean up afterwards.” Her head scans the classroom with a confused look that stretches across her face. The furrowing of her brow unsettles me; is she a handmaid? Handmaids were a practice that only the elderly performed, and for the slight grey tint to her short, black hair, and misty grey eyes; she doesn’t look over thirty. Her clothes, tell a different story however. The floral skirt that surpassed her knees appeared to be as thick as a blanket, but much more beautiful. Her laurel green mantle is surrounded by an aura of warmth that comforts my wet, bleach-stained shins.

            “Well,” She takes a sharp inhale through her nose, “this place is spotless! With a cleaning like this, you’d give my good-for-nothing husband a run for his money! I haven’t seen a room as clean as this in a good while, boy, and that’s quite a statement coming from this one!” She covers her mouth with an ivory white handkerchief, releasing a multitude of muffled laughter. I wish I could say that this was an act, but her smile seemed genuine. I couldn’t help but to make a tremulous smile in respect of hers. “Oh, young man, you gave me a real rolling. Now onto business, would you like to tutor Miss Pheles?” Wow, she cut straight to business. But who is she talking about? Who is this ‘Miss Pheles?’

“Ma’am, I am not sure who you are talking about. I-I don’t seem to know a ‘Miss Pheles’.”

She looked appalled, shocked by my response. As if I suddenly spoke in riddles.

            “What do you mean you don’t know Miss Pheles?” She then leaned in very close, close enough to feel her warmth beat against my cheeks. “But you are the boy she spoke to me about; the boy who ‘stays long after class and scrapes the bacteria from the walls and floors of the classrooms’.” I can’t say she’s got the wrong student. I am the only one, who does this ‘volunteer’ work around campus, and I am pretty fervent in my work, but who said that? No one stays after class, not even the professors.

            “I’m sorry ma’am, but who is this ‘Miss Pheles’?” Finally, the elephant in the room is being addressed.

            “Miss Saria Pheles!”

            “And she’s in my class?”

            “Yes!”

Who is she talking about? I’ve never heard of anyone by that name, especially someone with an honorific and such an exquisite name. With a couple of handmaids like this one, I surely would have heard of her.

            “Ma’am, if I were to have known this Saria,” which if I did, I would not forget that name. “What would she want with me?” If she has handmaids, I couldn’t possibly see the need for me.

            “You really don’t know her,” she says, slowly backing away. “She will be in class tomorrow, sorry for the confusion.” Mrs. Portier then slowly rises from her chair half way; I help her rest of the way. She grins, and then strolls toward the doorway.

            “I’m sorry that I couldn’t answer your question.” I apologize.

            “Oh, you answered one of them.” She replies. I cock my head to the left.

            “Which one?”

            “I only asked one of them, Mister Pent. The other—well—you’ll know that one soon.” A final smile, then she slowly ambles away. I follow her past the doorway, but my trail ended when I reached the hall connecting to the staircase. She was gone, vanished. I run back to the classroom to look out of the window. I can see clearly, that lemon-juice and water mix does the trick. A cream-white SKODA—a Czech car that’s been discontinued for almost two decades—quietly drove away. Maybe it was the glass I was looking through, but it had a very distinct sheen to it, and the engine was quiet, only a soft humming; like a child whispering a lullaby. The windows here aren’t particularly known to trap sound, we’ve had many a complaint about unwilling people hearing one of Mr. Fou’s rants on how lazy our generation is getting. Which means, that car is very well-kept: someone has put time and a lot of effort into it. They believe that you can turn something that is old, unreliable, and turning into something beautiful. Whoever this Saria girl is, I think I’m going to like her. One little someone once told me that “You are what you surround yourself with.” And that someone was never wrong.

I pull my pocket watch out of the back of my jeans; its 4:30, time to go on home.