Yes this is a new project but it's not a novel it is very short and will be over soon. This is part one. It will have five more parts of about the same length. And yes this is a story involving the relationship between a teacher and his student so forgive me for the cliche. Hopefully I've dealt with it in a satisfying way. :)
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Part I
I.
Elizabeth changed the setting on our alarm clock. Again.
I had always believed that Back in Black was, irrefutably, hands-down the best song to wake up to, until I met her. The morning after we slept together at her hole-in-the-wall flat back in Chicago, I remember waking up to Chopin. I also remember thinking that it was strangely poetic; waking up with a gorgeous blonde, December sunlight filtering through the curtains, her cat Engelbert watching us from the chaise-lounge. Admittedly Engelbert was a bit of a dampener but then, preoccupied more with the naked woman lying inches away from me, I didn’t really care about the stupid tabby.
I digress. Elizabeth’s flight to New York left this morning at three. I was obviously asleep. I told her I’d see her off at the airport because it’s the thing boyfriends do, but both of us knew that today is my first day of school after the September break, and if I sleep at five there’s no chance of my waking up in time to make it to first period. I was awake at eleven when she was packing her things into those goddamn Louis Vuitton luggage carriers that her parents got her last Christmas, lying on our bed and watching her. I closed my eyes somewhere in the middle of the sentence, “So Jackie says we have to try that organic food place on Cenotaph Road.” Then the next thing I knew was that it was dark and she was kissing my forehead and said something like I’ll see you in two months, baby. Love you and I told her I’d miss her too. Because I will. And now I’m waking up to fucking Chopin because she changed the setting on our alarm clock. Again.
Maybe I only tolerate Chopin because I associate it with a naked, twenty-two year old Elizabeth. I can’t do classical otherwise – guess I’m not as cultured as fine arts graduates are supposed to be.
I shut off the alarm.
Our bathroom looks empty when you take away all of her things because all that’s left is my toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and my soap in the shower. That’s it. Elizabeth uses the bathroom for a lot more than just taking a shit and showering. Once I walked in on her standing under the shower smearing mayonnaise into her hair. Before I even asked, she grinned and said, “It’s supposed to be a conditioner.” I probably shouldn’t think about what happened after that right now, so early in the morning.
I stare at my stomach in the mirror as I brush my teeth. I should probably stop having a beer with every dinner – that looks like a paunch.
I lean down to spit. There’s a little blood but I don’t bother because that’s always there.
II.
I don’t dress like an art teacher. It’s just not possible in this fucking weather. A linen shirt is probably the warmest thing you can wear without breaking out into a gross sweat, the kind that shows in patches under your arms and between your shoulder blades. Back in the States I used to stick to the sweater vests which have now been labelled as indie by teenagers – I don’t even know what that means – but sweater vests are out of the question now.
