Sea of Tranquility Read Online Free PDF Page B

the movement of the moon, our periods and all that.”
    â€œOh, women are tidal, for sure. I’m certain of that. Back then in Boston, I always found myself looking at the big crater called the Sea of Crises —
Mare Crisium
. Everything in my life seemed in perpetual crisis. Men at my door in the night trying to bust through seven locks to steal my TV set. Children in my classroom, high as killer kites on crack cocaine. Air sick as the sea and all the while noise, noise, noise. I’d sit up there on a clear night in my lawn chair on the roof camped out on the Sea of Crises. Thought that was what life was all about.”
    Sylvie felt slightly dizzy suddenly. The mention of children did it to her. Sylvie had never had any children. Not exactly the way she had planned it. Husbands were like children sometimes. But she knew it wasn’t the same. But there were plenty of other people’s children out there in the world. Without family, sometimes Sylvie felt totally and hopelessly alone. Not often. But sometimes. It was like she had moved to the moon, camped out in a lawn chair in the sea of whatever — Sea of Sylvie Alone. “What about the children?”
    â€œThe ones back in the city?”
    â€œYes. Did you try to help them?”
    â€œYes. I did.” Kit had suddenly lost her enthusiasm for the geography of earth’s satellite. “And almost died trying. Every time I got involved, it would be the parents or brothers or some guy selling the stuff who came at me and threatened me to stay clear. I tried and tried until I realized it was killing me. If I’d stayed I would have gone after one of them, the big dealers, would have gone after him with a can of gasoline in the night and burned him to hell.”
    Sylvie wanted to ask if she was so dead set against men selling drugs to her students, how did she end up with a guy growing weed on this island. But she kept her thoughts to herself. Knew it was part of life’s complications. Nothing simple, clear cut, ever. The idea of children stoned out on something called crack cocaine filled her with a big pool of sadness in the very centre of her being, made her feel ancient.
    â€œThe island restored me,” Kit said.“The island children too. So polite. Call me ‘miss’ all the time. The one-room schoolhouse. Boys in big rubber boots. The fact they all cheered when I brought back a wood stove for the middle of the room, to supplement the electric heat. The fifth-grade boys carrying in firewood to feed the stove while we studied ancient Egypt.”
    â€œToo bad the school board made you get rid of the stove again. I always liked the smell of softwood burning, brought your mind alive.”
    â€œSpruced up your senses, so to speak,” the schoolmarm said with a clever inflection. “Oh well, it reminded me I wasn’t beyond the leash of civilization. Taught me a lesson. Kids suddenly seemed to be all that much more helpful once they saw I had lost a battle with authority. They were even kinder after John was arrested. I guess I knew what he had been up to, but John had this silly dream, believed marijuana would do no real harm. Felt that if he could bring a milder, more natural, and less harmful drug back into use, sell it cheap — no, not to kids — well, that would keep people from getting all caught up in the dangerous stuff. Mind you, I wasn’t fully convinced of this. But he always had a way of putting a good spin on everything. Even this. Something good will come out of it for John. You wait. He believes in lifelong learning. Self-education. Probably learn from his time in the institutions. Write a book about it, rise back above it. I miss him, though.”
    â€œI know all about that.”
    â€œI’m sorry. I guess you do. I have no idea what it must feel like to lose a husband.”
    â€œIt takes some practice, but you never get used to it. Men underfoot can be an annoyance,