43. An Ode to Felicity
Chapter forty-three
An Ode to Felicity
Kazimir
Pavel cleared his throat. “Lunita said not to ask, cousin.”
Meanwhile, M’s face transformed in an instant, his previously serious and stoic expression replaced by a wide smile that reached his eyes. The lines on his face seemed to disappear, making him look years younger. “Felicity. It all truly comes back to her. This goddess. This. . .angel of perfection. Of love.”
O-kay. . .
Pavel headed over to us.
M spread his hands out as if preparing to tell the greatest story ever created. “When I walked into Felicity’s social studies class for the first time, something strange happened. The room spun a little, not like when you spin around in circles until you fall down, but a gentle kind of spinning, like when you’re half asleep and you feel like you’re floating.”
Pavel held up one finger. “Did you say her social studies class?”
“Yes. She taught social studies.” M gazed off at the distance. “That day, I was stunned by her beauty. I blinked a couple of times, trying to make it stop, but when I opened my eyes again, there she was, smiling at me. Felicity, with her bright blue eyes and the kind of smile that makes you think everything’s going to be alright.”
Pavel frowned. “But. . .was Felicity your teacher or—”
“With Felicity, I was never afraid to raise my hand and answer questions.”
So. . .she was my mouse’s teacher.
M continued as if he no longer saw us, as if he were in that very class. “Felicity loved the stories of faraway places and times long gone. Not like how one loves chocolate or summer break, but a different kind of love, the kind that makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst out of your chest.”
I studied this man, completely captured by his adoration.
“I didn’t know what I was at the time. . .” M gazed at the building. “I thought I was a regular man. . .”
Pavel quirked his brows. “An adult man?”
M chuckled. “Did you not see the degrees, dead cousin? I had journeyed to this school for the purpose of assessing the state of education in the Harlem school system and then. . .Felicity. Well. . .I thought that was my assignment. . .my life. . .”
Pavel and I exchanged glances.
“But here’s the thing. As I am doing this. . . assessment .” M raised one finger. “Sometimes, I don’t remember what happens in class. It’s like there are gaps in my day, missing pieces of a puzzle. My notes are in an odd handwriting and I don’t remember writing them.”
I quirked my brows. “Who do you think made those notes?”
“It could have been the original or the little girl. Amber would not have been in class. She only appeared for. . . him .”
I gritted my teeth.
“Regardless. . .Lunita and Emily had not been born yet.” M turned to one of the chalkboards.
And it was there that I realized that M had dedicated this whole board to Felicity. There were even several hearts with the name Felicity written in the center, and a drawing of a middle aged woman with a graying brown bun.
Oh no. This was their teacher.
“Felicity was nice to me. She told me many times that I was her best student.” M winked at me. “And we know what she truly meant.”
“What?”
“That Felicity desired me as much as I yearned for her.” M touched his chest. “I. . .craved her. But. . .sometimes, when she looked at me, her eyes were also sad, like she knew something I didn’t.”
I glanced at one of the poems he had written for her. “Do you think she knew that you had other personalities?”
“I wanted to ask her about my missed moments. But. . .I feared that she would look at me differently. Stop smiling at me?”
In that moment, Lunita walked in and glared. “Why would you ask him, nasty lion?”
M continued as if he had no idea Lunita came in, “So, I kept it all inside, the confusion, the lost time. And every time I walked into social studies, my heart skipped a beat.”
Lunita scowled at M. “Alright. No more. I don’t like this story.”
I looked at her. “Why not?”
She hugged herself. “It makes me uncomfortable. Stop him from talking about this.”
M went to the chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk. “One day, I had this plan. I was convinced it was the right day to tell Felicity, to say those heavy words that seemed too big for my heart.”
Lunita edged back. “Stop it.”
“I remember walking into class, my palms were sweaty, my heart thumping like a drum in a parade. Those damn kids who were always in the class with me, were noisy, but on this day. . .it was like they were miles away, their laughter and chatter just a background hum.” M held the piece of chalk between his steady fingers.
As he pressed it against the blackboard, the screech of chalk on the surface filled the room.
Lunita covered her ears and twisted her face in disgust.
“After class, I waited for those stupid kids to leave.” He began drawing a single curved line over the dusty, word-filled board. “Then, I went over to Felicity, and she looked up from her desk. Our eyes locked.”
Lunita dropped her hands.
“Then. . .I confessed it all to Felicity. My feelings. My love. I told her that she was more beautiful than all the stars in the sky. I told her that I was the man of her dreams, the one she had been waiting for all her life—”
“I want to crawl into a hole and disappear forever.” Lunita shook her head. “And everyone thinks I am the crazy one.”
I frowned at her. “Stop interrupting M. This is his story.”
“Thank you, Kazimir.” M began drawing a blooming rose at the top of the curved line he’d drawn. “As I confessed my love, Felicity’s face changed. It was like watching a cloud pass over the sun.”
My heart ached as the scene played out in my mind—a little girl looking at her teacher and professing her romantic love.
What did Felicity think?
Did she see the layers of my mouse?
Were teachers even trained to see mental disorders within their students?
Did Felicity recognize the signs?
The weight of such a misunderstanding pressed heavily on me.
M drew petals over words. “Her smile didn’t reach her eyes anymore. She looked. . .sad, and something else, maybe scared or worried.”
M drew more petals, but now there was no delicate kindness to the lines. Soon they became jagged. “‘That’s very sweet, Emily,’ she said, but her voice was too high, too tight. And at the time, I had no idea why she called me Emily. I told her that I was M.”
As if she could not take it anymore, Lunita slowly left the room.
I swallowed. “What else did Felicity say?”
M kept the chalk on the board and mimicked a feminine tone. “But you know, Emily, I’m your teacher, and you’re my student. There are rules about these things. And besides, you’re a very young girl, and I’m an adult. It’s important to keep those boundaries clear.”
“What did you say to her?” I asked.
“I laughed, a strange, hollow. . .laugh. . .and said something about age being just a number. I told her that my cock was huge and could pleasure her. Brash, I know, but. . .she looked like she was about to vomit.” M stepped back from the board. “I saw the pity in her eyes. It was worse than anger or annoyance. That was when. . .”
To my surprise, Pavel watched him. “When what?”
“In a display of true romance, I rounded her desk and tried to kiss her.”
I stiffened.
“She screamed and called Mr. Henderson, the school counselor. When he arrived, they talked quietly in the corner of the room. And. . .I felt everyone’s eyes on me, and the weight of their stares and then. . .”
“Yes?”
“That is all I remember. Someone else must have taken over.” M dropped his hand to his side.
The piece of chalk left a trail of white dust.
I turned back to the board.
The rose—with its petals entwined with words—now looked like some symbol of aching love.
M kept his back to me. “They put me in a new class. Maybe Mr. Henderson saw me as competition. I saw the way he looked at Felicity when he entered the room that day. He saw what I saw. Beauty. The possibility of love.”
Fuck. What will I tell my mouse?
“Days turned into weeks, and I couldn’t shake off the feelings. They were like a song stuck in my head, playing on loop. I found myself lingering near Ms. Felicity’s classroom more than necessary, watching her laugh and teach, and when she caught me watching her. . .she would look away.” M glanced over his shoulder. “It was like a game, a secret only her and I knew about, a silent dance between what was appropriate and what was yearned for in the shadows of our minds.”
Pavel looked at me. “I think. . .we have enough clues.”
M placed the chalk back and walked away from the board. “I started to visit places I knew Felicity would be at. She loved this one park with flowers that matched her eyes. There was also a cafe where she sipped coffee. Although I watched her from afar, we were on adventures together , exploring the world side by side.”
His voice faltered for a moment, before he pressed on. “Felicity stopped staying late after school. Soon, her car began to be the first to leave the parking lot. But I knew she was just being. . .shy. Playing. . .hide and seek.”
I blinked.
“Then one week, she was no longer at school and I had to leave and go right to her house. Something could have happened to her. I needed to save my sweet love.”
Pavel widened his eyes. “You also knew where she lived?”
“The commute from Harlem to Westchester County varied from 30 minutes to an hour by Metro-North Railroad.” M wiped the chalk dust off his hands. “She had a small, cozy place, with curtains that reminded me of her dresses. That afternoon, I watched her through the kitchen window.”
Pressure built in my chest.
“Felicity saw me, of course and. . .”
I was on the edge of my seat. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” M shrugged. “I have no idea. I just know that a substitute teacher took her place for the rest of the year and her absence was. . .a loud, echoing silence. The magic was gone.”
But, what happened to Felicity?
“I tried to find her,” M continued after a moment, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I visited her house repeatedly, but it seemed abandoned. Her car was never there. The curtains that reminded me of her dresses were perpetually drawn. It was as if she had evaporated into thin air.”
Pavel exhaled sharply. “Did you ask about her at school?”
M shook his head. “No, I didn’t want to draw attention. A grown man asking about a teacher who he was supposed to be assessing. . .that would not be ethical.”
I blinked again.
“I have published a lot of books of poetry talking about our love, and every book I dedicated to her.” M’s eyes watered. “I wonder if she has bought them. . .read them. . .does she think about me at night when she is alone in her bed. . .does she touch herself to my face? My voice?”
I had no idea what to say. In fact, I now understood why Lunita did not want us to bring her name up.
It was hard to watch him suffer over this impossible love.
If anything, Felicity was probably a good twenty to thirty years older than him and had probably remembered M as a very troubled young student that she could never help.
Pavel went over to me and whispered, “It is time to go, Kazimir.”
“Okay.” I looked at the white board of the building, hoping to memorize it for my mouse.
I had to admit that it was a pretty clear sketch. For a few seconds, I focused on the little blocks representing the stairs.
Wait a minute.
A crucial detail caught my attention, a part of the building’s anatomy I had encountered firsthand. My gaze drifted to the blank space beyond, to where I expected the other staircase I saw earlier.
“Something is missing on your map.” I turned to M with confusion laced in my voice. “There’s a staircase, leading up from the hallway. It goes to another level. Why isn’t that on your drawing?”
“The staircase from the basement?”
“No.” I went over to the board and let my finger hover over the area. “There are a set of stairs right here that goes up to the next level.”
M glanced at the spot. “There are no stairs.”
“I saw them.”
His voice held an unsettling conviction. “I have searched every place in this building for many years. There is no other level.”
His denial sent a shiver down my spine.
“But, I saw the stairs.”
M’s bottom lip quivered. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“But. . .” M rubbed his head. “Is it possible that the brain, in its attempt to protect or conceal, has hidden entire sections of itself from our conscious recognition?”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking, but I responded, “I saw stairs that led to another level.”
“Part of me wants you to show me this, Kazimir. . .and yet the other part. . .it rejects this. But. . .dare I ponder silently, the implications stretching before me like the unseen levels of this metaphorical building.”
Again, I had no idea what he was saying, but what I was sure of was the fact that I would go to those stairs and see where they led.
M looked at the ceiling. “A floor above this one? What realities lay buried, deemed too perilous or painful for the conscious mind to confront?”
Pavel touched my arm. “We should not go there. It will be enough to just tell Emily that there is another set of stairs—”
“If her alters cannot see it, then I doubt she can see it either.”
“All you need to do is give her the information—”
“I can do more than that.” I headed off.
Pavel called after me. “Kazimir!”