“Have you ever had a transcendental moment?” Mrs. Reed asked.
There were 16 of us in the English class, our desks arranged in a rectangle on the top floor of our schoolhouse in Rennes, France. We were seventeen and nearing the end of our year abroad; spring breezes blew in, rattling the shutters, and tiny white flowers peeked around the edge of each windowpane.
Our thoughts these days were on anything that could distract us from the inevitable passing of time, the unwarranted return to reality, and so while our bodies showed up for class, our minds we let wander back through Amsterdam, Paris, Spain. But somehow, this discussion brought us to attention.
“It’s when your mind stops.” Mrs. Reed said. “It’s when a moment drinks you in and you’re just there, every one of your senses brought to full potential, smelling, touching, tasting, feeling, you couldn’t care less about the future or the past, you’re just there, and blissful, at one with the universe.”
She paused. Another breeze was coming in from over the rooftops, bringing with it church-bells and the crunch of cobblestones in the alley. It stopped to ruffle our hair and left a trail of freshly baked bread in its wake.
“Has anyone ever had a Transcendental Moment?” Mrs. Reed asked again.
“I think I’m having one right now!” My friend Dee-Dee yelled.
No comments:
Post a Comment