I have an appointment with somebody new in a familiar space to start a new chapter of self, I
guess. When I arrive he, who I already know, is there, giving a class. Rolling rhythmically
over the floor with all of his students, face up face down, shouting instructions. I
realize I have no idea where I needed to go, I am badly prepared for this new chapter of my
life. He gets up and comes towards me, letting his students roll on alone, and he greets me,
warmer than I remember he ever did. Tight hug, the big surfaces of our bellies meeting each
other entirely, pubic bone touching pubic bone. A bit much. Not unpleasant. He tells me
happily he is pregnant now – his own enthusiasm about himself covers up that there is no
reciprocal interest – he helps me quickly to figure out my way, to then run back into the
classroom, smash his belly back onto the floor, rolling and shouting-singing instructions. I
realize I have no idea where he told me I needed to go. In order to ask again but to not
disturb the flow of the class I lay down on the floor next to him, synchronizing my turning
movements with his, trying to have a conversation while rolling. We are part of the same
machine, two cylinders of a rolling mill, connected, not touching. I ask again, my hands
folded in prayer, whenever I pass with my back touching the floor and while facing him. He
doesn’t really answer, just says: Something is new about you, what has changed?, you seem
to be a different person (in his voice the recognition and belittlement of a teacher). I say, with my hands still in prayer: I think it is because I have become a good person you know. Good
and without ambition.