Free Collingsworth by Andy Eisenberg Page A

Michael’s fantasies. The chaplain’s voice was a pleasant drone as Michael lost himself in his examination of David’s blond hair, imagining running his hands through those waves and wondered if it would be soft or coarse, if it would smell of macassar oil or the outdoors.
    The chaplain’s voice had faded, only to be replaced by the headmaster’s baritone with neither Michael’s notice nor “amen.” His attention only turned to the headmaster’s voice when he heard a murmur spreading through the assembled students. The announcement of the masked Christmas ball and the dance lessons that all of the men would have to endure, while causing much excitement among his classmates, only caused his own heart to sink. The annual influx of the perfumed and powdered creatures from the neighboring St. Anne’s was to be endured, not celebrated.
    The first of their dance lessons was to be held the following day after the last class and would be led by their music instructor, Dr. Kennedy. Michael waited until his study period, slipped from the library, and walked softly over the dark hardwood floors to the choir room to attempt to gain permission to avoid the dance lessons. The small choir was practicing for vespers when Michael pushed the heavy oak door open. Seeing David standing in the last row, he was able to pick out his clear tenor among the rest of the voices, and passed the time until Dr. Kennedy dismissed the choir watching David’s animated face, his blue eyes, the pink of his cheeks.
    Barely able to maintain a decorous walk on the way to the relative freedom of their lunch period, the choir filed from the room as Michael stood and approached the music professor. “Dr. Kennedy, may I have a word?”
    “Yes, of course, Mr. Taylor. Sit, please.”
    “Thank you, sir. I would like to request your permission to miss the dance lessons and the ball.” Uncomfortable speaking to any of the professors, he could feel the heat in his face as he spoke.
    “Do you have a physical ailment, Mr. Taylor?” Dr. Kennedy moved behind his desk and sat, resting his elbows on the blotter.
    “No, sir.” Michael paused, unwilling and unable to say that he had no desire to go to the ball with the girls of St. Anne’s but unsure what excuse he could give. “Well, sir, it’s just that, well you know that I’m a day-student, and on scholarship. I don’t think that I’ll have the opportunity to dance after leaving Collingsworth, and your time could be better spent on the men who will use what they learn.”
    “Nonsense. Every gentleman must learn to dance.” He waved his hand dismissively.
    Michael thought quickly for another plausible reason. “Sir, I’ve grown out of my formal wear, and my cousin won’t buy me another set.”
    Dr. Kennedy examined the threadbare jacket, the obviously turned collar, and shoes that no amount of polish would make respectable again. “Attend the dance lessons and we’ll figure out proper attire before the ball.”
    Michael sighed, knowing that he was defeated. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.” His only consolation was that this would be the last ball that he would have to attend.
     
    *  *  *
    The following afternoon found the upper classmen in the ballroom, the choir accompanist at the grand piano, and Dr. Kennedy trying to talk over the din of excited adolescent voices. “Gentlemen. Gentlemen! Please sort yourself in pairs according to height. As we have no young ladies present it will make it easier to switch leads. Hurry, now.”
    To Michael’s horror, he almost found himself paired with David, but at the last minute he slid in place next to another sixth year, Joseph Bishop. “Taylor, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, and you’re Bishop?” Joseph had started at Collingsworth several months before the end of their fifth year and the two had never spoken.
    Michael was saved from further conversation when Dr. Kennedy clapped his hands. “Gentlemen, for today’s lesson one of each pair will play the