Page 40 of Crystal Iris #1

Thirty-Three

“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.” – Aristotle

There’s something about having my lessons reviewed that reminds me of being a student myself.

And yet, I don’t mind it at all. If I’m being honest, I welcome it with open arms. I’m not entirely sure why.

However, after last night, I learned something about myself: I like the attention—not exactly on my body, but on me in general.

Especially when it comes to my work. I’m proud of what I know, how I think, how I feel about the arts.

I don’t mind being evaluated because I want recognition.

I don’t mention Flynn to the students; I want them to ask their questions, participate like any other day—even if the one being judged is me and not them. The auditorium is packed. They probably don’t even notice the stocky old man in the back.

“The painting looks brighter in person,” says Mary. Some students roll their eyes. Mary has a way of always mentioning her travels.

“There are a few different theories about who is being portrayed in this oil painting. Anyone want to share what they know?” I ask.

“Wasn’t she the ugliest woman in history?” says a tall blonde girl. I’ve forgotten her name.

“This woman was mistakenly identified as Margaret Maultash, Duchess of Carinthia and Countess of Tyrol. Enemies called her that,” I explain. “Any other guesses?”

“Is this a satirical portrait?” asks Gil.

“Why do you think that?” I ask him.

“Because of her wrinkled skin, the withered breasts…” he answers.

“Why would Matsys want to make fun of her?” I ask.

“She looks like a man,” says Terry.

“Let’s take a look at what she’s wearing,” I say.

“The horned headdress—we know it was out of fashion for the time. Her dress, with its laced corseted front, is outdated as well. We know she must be wealthy from the ornaments and the large gold-and-pearl brooch. If it’s a satire, which many believe it is, then perhaps Quentin could be mocking old women who try to inappropriately recreate their youth. ”

“Is she holding a red flower?” asks Mary.

“Yes, although it’s only a bud. Perhaps a symbol of a flower that will never blossom.”

“It says here she had Paget’s disease,” says Terry.

“No phones, Terry. We’re learning to describe what we see and think for ourselves.

And yes, some say the woman had the disease in which bones become enlarged and deformed.

If she is indeed suffering from it, then perhaps Matsys is sympathizing with her instead.

He could have even used a live model for this portrait. Any other guesses?”

Silence fills the room.

“What if she isn’t a woman after all?” I ask.

Flynn coughs, and I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or not.

“It’s a new theory; it’s currently being discussed that this is actually a cross-dressed man comically playing the role of a sought-after young woman, a carnival tradition,” I continue.

“I believe this new theory doesn’t have enough proof to be taken seriously, let alone be discussed in the classroom,” says Flynn. I’m surprised to hear him speak.

I’m still digesting his words when James says, “You don’t think we should be aware if a new theory is being discussed?”

“I think, as historians, we have the responsibility to stick to the accuracy of history. We can’t feed into every theory out there,” Flynn tells him.

I take a breath and respond, “I believe, as historians, we have an even greater responsibility to find the truth. I encourage discussion in my classroom. I hope each one of you will continue to seek history for the purpose of finding the real stories, not just the ones we’re accustomed to.”

The rest of the lecture goes by in a blur.

I’m very much aware of how my review is going—not well—even if Flynn doesn’t say another word.

I reassure myself I didn’t make it this far in my career by trying to please others.

I did it by being myself. I finish the lecture and wait for him to approach me.

“You know I’m going to have to report on this,” he says, coming closer.

“I stand by what I said.” I acknowledge him with a simple nod.

“You’ll hear from us soon.” And he walks away.

Perhaps I should’ve played a little nicer.

“He isn’t a student, is he?” asks James. I hadn’t noticed he was still there.

“Hi, James. No, he isn’t.”

“I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing,” he apologizes.

“You said the only right thing.”

“Is there anything I can do? I could write you a good…review? ”

“Thank you, but unfortunately, I think the damage is done. I appreciate your offer, though. How’s your research? Anything for me to read yet?”

“Actually, yes. Here.” He pulls the papers from his backpack and hands them to me. “It’s just a rough draft, though.”

“I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Are you kidding me?” says Akira by the coffee cart.

“Nope.”

“I can’t believe Aaron gave all of it back.”

“Actually, he did more than that—he apparently turned a profit too, for himself and Hoyt.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it feels good to have that figured out, at least.”

“What do you mean?” she says, taking a seat on the bench.

“I was reviewed today.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, and I don’t think it went very well.”

“Why? You’re so…loved here. Everybody knows.”

“I was too…impulsive.”

“It’s going to be fine, Iris.”

“Yeah…we’ll see.”

“Is Hoyt still in town?”

“He left this morning; Johanna has surgery tomorrow.”

“Surgery? I thought she was doing well.”

“She is, it’s reconstructive plastic surgery.”

“I see.”

“How are you doing?” I ask her. At least my coffee is perfect.

“My parents are coming to visit on Sunday.”

“That’s great.”

She looks at me. “It’s hard to complain about them when you have none. Still… ”

I laugh. “Sorry.”

She laughs too.

“Girls’ night? Friday?” I ask, and she agrees.

I’m letting myself soak in worry when Hoyt texts me he’s home.

I miss him already. I replayed his words all day in my head: best night of his life.

I think it had been the best of mine too.

And then I replay our other conversation: What am I going to do in Montana?

I need a productive way to clear my head.

I’m looking out my window when a runner goes by, completely lost in the act.

Maybe it’s time I give the sport a chance.

And maybe I’m wrong. How in the world do people do this?

I can still see my building, and I’m already out of breath.

Wow. I guess I’ll walk most of the way. I have music blasting in my ears, and it helps with my worries.

By the time I reach the riverwalk, I’m a sweaty mess.

I walk most of the way, increasing to a run whenever I can.

I make it two miles before I turn back. Other runners pass me like I’m the tortoise in the fable. Or at least I hope I am.

I’ve just gotten out of the shower and am getting dressed when Hoyt calls.

“How did it go today?” he asks me.

I’m still out of breath. “I think I blew it, actually.”

“I’m sorry, Iris.”

“Whatever. On a positive note, I just came back from my first run.”

“Oh good, I was hoping I hadn’t interrupted something…el se.”

“Very funny.”

“How far did you go?”

“Four miles.”

“That’s good.”

“Probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, though.”

He laughs. “I miss you already.”

“Me too.”

“What do you want to do on your birthday?” he asks me.

“Oh… I don’t know… I think it falls on a Thursday. I have to work the next day.”

“I want to take you out, even if it’s just dinner. I know a party isn’t really your thing.”

“Are you coming here?”

“Of course I’m coming.”

“You’ve been traveling a lot.”

“I will be there.”

I smile. “Dinner is perfect.”

I’ve finished my lecture for the day when I receive an email from my department chair.

I’m wanted in the office . I know it has to be related to my review.

I walk toward it with my head high, even though my stomach twists and my heart sinks with each step.

I’ve been too confident, arrogant even. Perhaps I need the lesson.

I’ll apologize. I love my job; I realize that now, when it could be in jeopardy.

“You wanted to see me, Turner?” I ask, taking a seat across from the woman I have much respect for.

She’s made a name for herself in the field, and I’ve always appreciated her advice.

I always thought we got along, and I hope this won’t change things.

She’s wearing a classic black dress and her hair is perfectly curled with precision.

I’m glad I’m dressed appropriately, in slacks and a sweater .

“As you probably already know, Flynn’s report was… interesting.”

“I can explain—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t. It’s perfect.”

“What?”

“You are perfect.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’ve been looking for someone like you for years. Someone who can take this up a notch. We need someone like you at Harvard.”

“Need me?”

“I want you aboard the Art, Film & Culture Faculty Committee. I want you to expand research. We should be doing more when it comes to art here.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Turner… Can I think about it?”

“Think about it?”

“I have a lot going on in my private life right now. I’m very thankful, and I’ll give you an answer soon.”

“Okay. Iris, opportunities like this don’t come often.”

“I know, I really am extremely grateful.”

“Let me know on Monday.”

My head is spinning. I wasn’t expecting a promotion. I wasn’t even expecting to keep my job. My old self would’ve jumped at the opportunity.

That had always been the plan—to grow my name, to follow Turner’s steps.

Yet, as soon as she offered, I hesitated.

Was Aaron right? Was I forgetting who I was?

Was I giving up my career? Who was I if not a professor?

That’s my identity. If I give that up and move to Montana, who will I be?

Thank God it’s Friday. I’ve never needed an escape more than tonight.

Tomorrow… all my worries and decisions can wait until tomorrow.

I just need to ask Hoyt something first.

I text him: Call me when you can. We need to talk.

My phone rings an hour later.

“How’s Jo doing?” I ask.

“She’s great. Should wake up soon. Everything went well.”

“I’m so happy to hear that.”

“You said you wanted to talk?”

“I need to know, Hoyt. I just need to know.”

“Know what?”

“What happened with you and Maeve? How… serious was it?”

“Oh… I wasn’t expecting this… hmm.” He pauses.

“That serious?”

“Look, it’s complicated.”

“Okay.”

“She… was my brother’s girlfriend.”

“She was Luke’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah, only for a year, but he loved her. After he died, I was in pretty bad shape. I did stupid things.”

“Okay.”

“She was a stupid mistake. I should have never…”

“So you…”

“We slept together once. I was drunk, she was there. I was a douchebag. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. She didn’t deserve it. Broc and Sawyer didn’t deserve it. Luke didn’t deserve it. Yet I can’t change it. I messed up.”

“You only slept together once?”

“Yeah, when I was nineteen.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s not that simple. We grew up together. Every time I see her, I realize I hurt her. And her family. I should have known better. I should have been better.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Iris. I know I should have told you sooner.”

“I just needed to know that… there isn’t anyone else. That there wasn’t anything else going on between you two. ”

“No, Iris. I told you, there was, is, no one else. There is only you.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I fucking hate that we live this far apart.”

“Yeah. I wish you could come dance with me tonight.”

“Dance?”

“Akira and I are going to Spiral.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“You… dancing…”

I smile.

“Give Jo a hug for me.”

“Firecracker?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For loving me.”