Canopic Rewind

By, Vito DiVicenzo           

The imposing lyceum’s doors- nondiscriminating sieves, two sets on each side- sucked in sputtering swaths of pre-teens, at first hushed, then, in ephemeral seconds, near-riotous. The raucous din dwarfed, in audible majesty, the auditorium’s stained glass ceiling.

Eighty-seven years ago, self-sacrificial immigrants braced faces and burly forearms in searing glass factories so kids would one day overlook the blue and gold masterpiece hovering above. Because of the glass opera, Lincoln Middle was on the state’s “ landmark preservation” roster.

I have often commented on the sight, mesmerized, with head bobbed back in great discomfort. That critical day was no different. Turning to a colleague, I offered a short diatribe on modern architecture’s aesthetic bankruptcy. I pointed to the ceiling, rounding my argument with the stagnant staple, “They don’t make ‘em like that any more.”

My remark went unrequited.

 The auditorium stage hosted a motley coterie. A twenty-something crew toyed with musical instruments, electrical devices and visual props- one of which, metallic and monumental, resembled a pink elephant eating a whiskerless mouse.

“Check. One, two. Check. Check.”

Terri stood at the head of the final class to enter. As I almost always kept watch for her, she wasn’t hard to spot. I’m romantic that way.

Oh, on an important side note, Terri Locke was a 6th grade teacher at Lincoln Middle. Some years ago, we commenced our careers— together. I met her at a novice-teacher training seminar.

The spark? Instant. 

Long story short, we’d been seeing each other for six years. The first year, we were hesitant. The typical uncertainty. Was it kosher for peers to date, or, as I like to put it, court? By year two, there were enough stories about intra-school marriage to know that we’d only been naïve and, admittedly, a little afraid.

Boy, how things change! Each choice creating new turning points. New noetic structures spiraling out of old ones. The connection, often thin, based on tip-toed steps from option to option.

By the day that Canopic Jars—the name of the ensemble that healined the school assembly—performed, Terri and I had come along way.

One important decision remained— popping the question.