Catherina - day 15

Spring came to our school a season ahead of the rest of the town – blooming trees enclosed us, forming a barrier against the prying eyes among dirt and white. The main building, though, remained a boney white and appeared even paler by the contrast of greens inside it, for it had a rectangular structure with an open garden in the center. However, infringing on the garden was a definite no-no, despite a flagging winding across it. The school code had made itself clear on this topic in the first paragraph, and no one dared to raise a question – rumor was that someone in the past had tried to enter the garden, and he or she had gone forever lost in that rectangle no larger than the school gym.

Therefore, as so untouchable the central garden was, our astonishment was understandable when we saw a man rushing towards our classroom from the other side of the building – meaning that he had stepped on and went across that significant grass. Our history teacher, for elementary geography and history, had not locked the door. Thus, the man came in easily – perhaps too easily, for he nearly tumbled and hit the teacher who was going to open the door for him.

The man was middle-aged and featureless – I couldn't remember his face, but I would undoubtedly think that he was a teacher I hadn't noticed before, maybe one for the higher grades. He wore a brown linen suit with matching pants, a white shirt, and a check tie. He should look respectable enough if he weren't soaked in sweat. Could the sweat wet his hair that much? I did not know, but surely it could not have been the rain – our school never rained.

Our history teacher seemed confused, and a bit alerted. Nonetheless, as kind as he could be, he held out a hand to the man and patted his back. Panting still, the man grew calmer, and his stiffened body relaxed slightly like an uncurling hedgehog.

"How can I help you?" History teacher gestured us to stay quiet, which, in effect, meant that we could chitchat in a whisper – what could you expect of us? We were right at the age when our curiosity and noise annoyed everybody, including ourselves.

"Sir," said the man, his voice trembling and low, and fortunately, I sat at the front row and could hear him, "It's earlier this year. We need to go ……"

What did the "it" stand for? I thought about the older students and tried to recall any of their conversation on special school events – no, the midterm break had just passed, and nothing exciting shall occur in the next few weeks.

Then, I looked at our history teacher, who had an unusual firm look – he was not smiling, just like the last time when he gave the entire class a writing assignment as punishment for eating snacks during class time.

"Wouldn't you think it's too early?" Our teacher replied, frowning as he spoke. Although he threw back a question, I could assure that he had already accepted the man's proposal. Before the midterm break, when I was stubborn about choosing medieval astronomy as the topic of my poster, he asked me a question with the exact opening just before he surrendered to my insistence.

"It's such a pity, sir, but this can't wait." The man shrugged his shoulder. His gaze swept rapidly around the classroom as if skimming through a book, and each student a chapter.

"As you say." History teacher sighed, waving his hand at us, "kids, we are going on a field trip."

Immediately the classroom became a buzzing beehive, people exchanging whispers and confused looks. Though as exciting as it sounds, a field trip that came so sudden? Weird thing!

We lined up in pairs and followed the two older men out of the classroom. Turning left, we walked in the veranda, feeling the fresh breeze bringing the garden's delicate fragrance. We then reached the side gate to the field, where a school bus was already waiting.

The engine started smoothly and silently; only the constant quiver from windows conveyed the bus's motion. Each window was painted black, including the front shield, and thus we could not see outside of the bus. How did the driver cope? That was a question that only arose after I graduated from school and saw cars with transparent glass shields.

The journey wasn't long, and soon we arrived at a museum-like construction. In front of its wooden front gate, the school bus dropped us and the two teachers (I decided that the man entering our classroom must have been another teacher).

The gate opened inwards, and we walked into a long, seemingly endless hallway. As chandeliers decorated the ceiling at regular intervals, the marvels that laid floor reflected an ivory light. We made short slides on the floor, but the two teachers were in a passionate conversation and had hardly noticed us. On the right-side wall were tall rectangular windows with golden frames, and by their depth, one would be amazed at the wall's thickness – at least my arm's length, I bet. Along both sides of the hallway stood exhibition shelves with metal pieces in them that embodied binoculars, compass, and other mechanical stuff.

Two people caught up from behind – the taller one was our principal, and the shorter one I had not seen. They passed us and joined the conversation with the two teachers. Being close to the start of the line, I could hear a few words and phrases slipping out of their mouth, such as "university," "research," and "old days."

Based on what I had overheard, I put my Holmes hat on and started a deduction:

1. We were in a "university."

2. Our field trip was about some sort of "research," and possibly one related to geography and history.

3. Things might have been done differently in the "old days," though I did not know what kinds of things.

After a sharp turn leftwards, we came up to a different wall – it was coarse concrete, and that along the hallway was smoother and seemed to be laid by ceramic. On the wall were a wooden gate and a framing arch that reminded me of our chapel's entrance.

Among the four adults, the one I did not know – who came later with the principal – walked up and pushed the gate open, leading us into a concrete chamber. Bathing in warm, yellow light, I saw a gigantic metallic semisphere in the center of the room, and upon which were metallic bridges overlapping above its center.

Thanks to my persistent interest in medieval astronomy (remember the poster I did before the midterm break), I recognize the semisphere as a model of universe. The bridges symbolized the layers of heaven, as written by Alighieri.

Wouldn't that be a theory long banished by science? I mean, the later me would have expected it to be a model of the solar system. However, I was not surprised at that time, for the younger me wouldn't usually be suspicious of things exhibited in a university's chamber.

Unconsciously, I extended my arm forward – the following scenes were presented in a third-person perspective from my memory. As I chose the word "unconscious," I could not remember why I decided to do whatever I did during that period – and touched the semisphere.

It had that coldness typical to metal, and judging from its color and irregular shining spots, I deducted that it would be brass. I, unaware of my peers and no longer noticing my surroundings, was absorbed into the model – spiritually, of course.

When I lifted my head the next second, I found that I was no longer in that chamber in front of the model. Instead, I stood in a dimly lit lounge with a few other people, waiting for a lift. I was taller and looked like a high school student, and I had a bike by my side, my helmet dangling from the handlebar.

The lift came, and the group, including me, went in with our bikes. We ascended. I chatted with people beside me, even though I could not remember a word afterward. From my understanding, we were friends.

It was depressing to stay in the lift, because the light was pale white, and the group crowded the space. Soon, I was relieved to exit the elevator onto a platform, which seemed like the highest level of an overground parking lot. The walls and struts were of concrete, and in a shaded corner at the edge of my sight lay some vague outline resembling cars and motorbikes.

On our left, a slope was extending downwards, leading to a tarred lane across a vast green field. Over at the horizon, a white establishment stood among the green, and above it, the sky was blue and the cloud white, so serene that all seemed fake.

My friends jumped on their bike and started for the slope. Soon, the leading one had already reached the tarred lane and rode into my blind spot as blocked by the parking lot's outer wall.

"Please, I am not confident in biking." I heard myself speaking to the only two friends left.

Then, they said something, and I said something in reply.

My sight blurred before I could get onto my bike.

Again, I found myself among my classmates, walking in a line of pairs in a hallway with chandeliers and large windows.

Photo credit: https://live.staticflickr.com/44/151589954_1c01694eb1_b.jpg