Light Bearer by Kat McLarn

Persephone Thorne closed her eyes, rested her forehead on the table, and tried to read an essay through osmosis.

She had caught a glimpse of the first sentences. The student wrote, “I do not think that my school should make us wear uniforms. Uniforms don’t let us express who we are, they cost money and they’re not comfortable.” Based on this, Percy divined a standard five paragraph essay featuring three solid but unconnected paragraphs of evidence and a formulaic conclusion that was little more than a rewording of the introduction. Her mind wandered. What did students think happened to standardized writing tests after the timer sounded? Did they wonder where their work went, what happened to it, who read it? Or did it just drift off into a void, only to be remembered when an impersonal number arrived in the mail months later? Percy lived in the void where the papers came. She envisioned them gliding in, landing on her table, preening themselves before her, receiving her wise judgment, and flapping away again.

Then she blinked the fanciful scene away and forced herself to read the most recent arrival. Her predictions proved frustratingly accurate; it was nearly identical to the nineteen essays preceding it. Percy could almost hear the voice of the eleventh-grade English teacher drilling the procedure into his or her students’ heads. Someday, she might work on that end of the educational process, dealing with the students personally rather than here in the faceless abyss. Clinging to that faded hope, she skimmed the paper for grammar and spelling – above average, she decided – and filled in the appropriate bubbles on her scoring sheet. On this kind of essay, she didn’t even need to check the rubric which Midwestern Testing Company provided in training. Around her, co-workers shuffled papers, scraped pencils, squeaked chairs, shifted feet, sighed and snorted. They sat at long gray tables in a large gray room framed with windows looking out onto a gray parking lot, barren gray hills, and a development of identical gray townhouses, all topped by a rainy April sky. Percy was pondering whether she wanted to pick another first-read packet or do a second read when the supervisor, a stern lady caught in permanent disapproval, called lunchtime.

It was too cold to eat outside, too depressing to eat alone in the cafeteria, too monotonous to eat in the work room. Percy staked out a place on the bench near the bank of payphones and lunched on warmed-over spaghetti. As she forced it down, she idly listened to her co-workers’ conversations. Checking on kids, chatting with spouses, inquiring about other jobs with other employers, arranging interviews -- none of that was available to Percy. There were no jobs for high school English teachers just out of college; she’d been looking obsessively. Every listing, every cover letter and resume, every interview, every follow-up led to the same dead end. She snapped the lid of her Tupperware shut and returned to her station to spend the rest of the half-hour break sketching half-bloomed roses on blue stickie notes.

By 12:25, five minutes before work resumed, Percy noticed new readers drifting in, their rubrics and timecards firmly in hand, looking for their station. Reluctantly, Percy, who had no neighbor on either side, began moving her things into a space more suitable for one person. She collected her arrangements of stickie notes, stacked her rubric and timesheet, and placed her purse and Tupperware under the table. She finished realigning her pencils, and happened to glance up when a woman walked in the door.

The woman’s brilliant red hair glowed, even under the florescent lights. She wore a white blouse and a skirt as scarlet as scandal. Her blazer was casually draped over her left arm, and a glistening oxblood purse swung from her right. Percy stared, forced her gaze down, looked up again, and looked down again.

The woman was headed straight in her direction. Percy flushed. She sensed rather than saw the woman pause in front of her table. The scent of oranges and spice, like the pomander Percy’s mother used to keep in her dresser drawer, accompanied her. She adjusted the numbered card to Percy’s right. Then she set down her paperwork and seated herself.

“Hi,” said the woman. “I’m Luci.”

“Hey,” said Percy, raising her gaze. She tried to look her new co-worker in the face, but her wavering eyes betrayed her.

At exactly 12:30, the supervisor rang the service bell on her desk and called for everyone’s attention. The announcements were routine: new readers, please welcome them, accuracy looks good, speed up your reading, good luck. As the lady sat down, Percy reached for her packet, face still warm.

“I’m sorry,” Luci said, tapping Percy’s elbow. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Percy Thorne.” When Luci raised a delicate copper eyebrow, Percy found herself adding, “It’s short for Persephone.”

“Unique,” Luci said and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same to you,” Percy mumbled, dipping her head quickly in acknowledgement. When Luci rose to fetch her first packet, Percy dove into the essays in front of her, suddenly praying for monotony.

The afternoon passed in fits and starts. Percy drowned in poor grammar and incompetent organization, superb reasoning and ambitious theses, only to surface with Luci still at her side. Even the dullest, most mechanical packets passed by quickly. The ritual of turning in one set for another became an ordeal of avoiding awareness of the presence to her right. When the supervisor declared the fifteen minute break of midafternoon, a cold wash swept Percy’s gut.

“So,” Luci said, putting down her pencil and stretching, “what brings you to the fast-paced world of test correction?”

Percy fingered her pencil and sketched a few quick, random lines on her stickie pad. “I studied to be an English teacher. Looked for a job, haven’t found one. This is it.” She tried to give a casual shrug. “It’s a common story around here. You?”

Luci laughed. “I’m just passing through. This looked interesting.”

“You want to do this?”

“Sure, I like kids. Why not?”

“I hope you still feel that way in a week.”

“Oh? How long have you worked here?”

“Two months.”

“A little early for burnout, don’t you think?” Luci’s smile hadn’t dimmed, but she regarded Percy with a frightening intensity.

Percy tried to focus on the tulip developing on her pad. “I suppose. It’s intense work, but it’s not what I want to be doing.”

“I see that. Hey, I’m going to grab a drink from the machine; do you want anything?”

Percy’s eyes flew back up to Luci’s face, but she shook her head. “No. No, I’m fine.”

The second half of the afternoon was no better than the first.

~~~

Percy arrived at Midwestern Testing early the next morning, having forgone her turn with the apartment toaster for the privilege. The day was coated in a pale silver drizzle and already looked tired. She pulled into her usual parking spot and turned off the car. The strange clicking in the engine of her ’89 Ford station wagon gradually faded; she still needed to get that checked. It was 8:24. Work officially began at 9:00, although the company encouraged employees to start earlier. Percy stared into the rearview mirror. Dark hair pulled into a plain ponytail, dark eyes dull with exhaustion – it was not an encouraging sight. Impulsively, she took her token make-up case out of her purse. She actually didn’t bother with cosmetics very often, but now she slid gloss over her lips and dotted the violet shadows under her eyes with concealer. The biggest improvement, though, was rose blush dusted over her pale cheeks. Maybe things would be different today. She gathered her papers and courage before walking into the building.

Luci was not at her station yet. Percy laid out her things neatly, filled out her time card, and picked up her packet from the previous day.

At 9:00 sharp, the supervisor announced that everyone should be working.

At 9:05, Luci walked in the door. “Lovely weather,” she said as she seated herself, seemingly oblivious to the frown the supervisor was sending in her direction.

Percy managed to glance past her to the windows and the rain beyond. “It’ll clear up,” she said. “It’s spring. Nothing’s set in stone.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Luci said as she started work.

By 10:15, when the supervisor rang the bell and declared morning break, Percy had only read about twenty five essays rather than her usual forty. Beside her, Luci was like the summer sun; too bright to look at directly, but always in her vision one way or another. Still bent over her papers, Luci continued writing even as the break time noise began to rise.

“You can stop,” Percy said quietly.

“One minute. Just need to finish this thought.”

“Thought?” Percy took a closer look at Luci’s packet.

She was not filling in rows of black bubbles on the scoring sheet. She was using a red corrector pencil to write on the essay.

For a moment, Percy did nothing but gape. Making any kind of mark on the students’ papers was strictly forbidden. However, as Percy watched, Luci scrawled, “Beautiful start – more detail!” into the margin. “Fascinating spelling of ‘rechoirment.’ Better applied to music class than uniform policy?”

Percy tapped Luci’s upper arm with the eraser of her pencil. Gesturing to the angular script, she said, “We’re not allowed to do that.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But I can’t let theses kids’ words just go by. I have things to say. Responses. Suggestions. They’re talking to me; why can’t I talk back?”

Luci moved so fast. It had taken a week for Percy to feel that tug. It started with grammar, a worming need to control wandering apostrophes and schizophrenic homonyms, to corral them into safe little circles. It grew into the desire to nudge misplaced words into logical slots. It blossomed into frustration with the paper veil itself, a curtain of formulas and repetitions. Every so often, the curtain parted to reveal the people on the other side, high school kids with colors and voices and lives. Every so often, Percy ran across an essay teetering on the edge of excellence, needing one last push. Every so often, she wanted to punch her pencil through the lined paper, tearing the barrier, and tell the teenager on the other side, “You’re so close! Just fix this one thing…”

“But we’re not allowed to comment,” she said to Luci. “Even if we were, the students don’t get the papers back. They’ll never know what you’re writing to them. It’s a waste of time, and you’ll get in trouble.”

“I won’t judge silently. It’s not possible to capture an essay in bubbles and numbers.”

Percy started to say, “But that’s the job.” Somewhere between her brain and her tongue, the words got stuck and rang around in her head instead of coming out. Luci went back to her reading, adding a shower of fireworks and a “Superb!” to a circled phrase. Percy made scratch marks on her stickie pad and thought about sunflowers until 10:30.

She pretended not to notice when the supervisor came by and took Luci away for twenty four minutes. When Luci came back, Percy noticed that the supervisor had confiscated the red pencil.

Lunchtime brought a clear blue sky. The slow gray mist outside had faded, and now wet pavement glistened under springtime sunlight.

Luci tapped her on the arm. “Looks like you were right about the weather. What do you say we eat outside?”

“The tables will still be wet,” Percy said. “If you want to go out, there’s a fast food place down the road.” After the slightest hesitation, she added, “I could drive.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Percy cursed her stupidity as she led Luci to her car. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” she started apologizing. “I share an apartment with three other people, so most of my stuff is still in here.” She unlocked the passenger side door and tossed her backpack into the second seat so Luci could sit down. The other woman crossed her legs delicately as Percy turned on the car. It only took three tries. She gave silent thanks to the invisible forces of mechanical whim

“Three roommates? Friends?”

“No, I answered an ad.”

“Sounds crowded.”

“It’s okay.” A moment of awkward silence prompted Percy to correct herself, “No, you’re right. I don’t even know the other girls very well.”

“Mmm.”

“Where are you living?”
“A hotel.” Luci lowered her window. “You’re an artist, I noticed.”

“Uh, no, I just sketch. It’s a habit.”

“Not even a hobby?”

Percy eased into the drive-through line and stared out at the lilac bushes beginning to bloom along the edges of the restaurant parking lot. “No, it’s not even a hobby. It’s just…I don’t know.” She trailed off, and they sat in silence until after receiving the food. Percy parked near the lilacs. She knew she should ask Luci a question, but couldn’t come up with the proper words. Instead, she picked at her salad.

“They’re beautiful,” Luci said between bites.

“What?”

“Your sketches. The flowers. You know them very well.”

“Thank you. I used to garden with my father when I was little.” She poked at her lettuce a few times. “Where are you from?”

“Nowhere. Nowhere in particular.” Luci met Percy’s eye and laughed. “I move around a lot.”

“Are you always difficult?” Percy said.

“I prefer ‘challenging.’” Luci gave her a wicked smile. “I’m not an easy person to know.”

“So I see.”

“Mystery provides motivation.”

“Or frustration.”

“Maybe,” Luci conceded. “Those who don’t want what I offer aren’t worth my time.”

“Offer? What do you offer?”

Luci tipped her head and grinned.

“Now you really are being difficult,” Percy accused her. “We should get back.”

It took seven tries to start the car again. Luci dangled her hand out the window as Percy drove back to the Midwestern parking lot. It was 12:20.

“How boring,” Luci said.

“What?” Percy followed Luci’s gaze.

“Those townhouses. They’re all the same – every last one.”

“It makes the neighborhood more orderly, I suppose.”

“To hell with orderly. Life is more chaotic than that. They’re lying when they make it look so neat.” She turned back to Percy. “Want to play hooky?”

Percy parked in her usual spot. “I wish.”

“I’m serious. Let’s get out of here.”

“You’ve only been here one day.” Percy glanced at Luci. She was resting on her elbow, propped out the window. The color and sweep of her hair put Percy in mind of a phoenix’s wings. She shoved away the accompanying image of self-immolation, envisioning cleansing fire and smoldering cinnamon instead. “We have a few minutes still.”

“And then back to the mill?” Luci sat up and leaned closer. Even in the relative shadow of the car, her eyes were brighter than the sky outside. “Is that what you want with your life, Persephone?”

Percy fixated on the teasing smile. “Do I have a choice?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer. She closed the distance between them and kissed Luci on the mouth. The answering pressure had all the heat and spice that the smile promised.

The spell broke when Luci gently pulled away. Her smile was triumphant now, but her gaze went over Percy’s shoulder. Heart gone eerily still, Percy turned to confirm what she already knew. The supervisor stood outside, gasping at them. Then, she clenched her jaw, drew her paper lunch bag to her side, and continued past the car directly into the building.

“She can’t do anything,” Percy said in the ensuing silence. “It’s against the law.”

“Yes,” said Luci.

“She can’t botch references, or fire us…”

“She doesn’t have to give references at all. Or let you stay for the next project.”

It was 12:25.

“My numbers have been good, mostly,” Percy said. “They don’t get floods of applicants for this job. The higher management will want me to stay. And if my numbers stay good, nothing else matters.”

“True.”

“This place is my ticket into a real job. It’s how I support myself.”

“Mmm.”

“I can’t give it up.”

“Yes you can. Do you want to?”

“What is it that you offer, again?” Percy asked, but she already had a feeling. Burn the nest, spices and all. Start anew.

“Come with me and find out.”

“Don’t be like that. I need to know where I’m going. I need a plan.”

“What you need to know is that your life is a mess.” Luci tipped her head. “My car’s over there. We’ll go somewhere else, anywhere else.”

Percy stared at the clock again. 12:27. She thought of strings of half-bloomed roses, lilacs ready to open their fragrance, long gray tables, essays fluttering into an empty chasm, and a distant classroom. She thought of cookie-cutter townhouses and cluttered apartments and a house with a garden where a father taught his daughter to plant tulips. She thought of how, just once, she wanted to live the fantasy rather than watch it go by without her.

It was 12:29.

“Let me collect my things.”