Was zur Hölle?!
The smoke curling around Emmy’s eyes looked like phantom butterflies and smelled like cheap cigars. The sky above stared back at her, an infinite blue, harsh with its unrelenting openness. The sun looked different this morning. Fainter and dustier, swirling with uncertainty and ragged, pale grey fire. She rubbed her eyes and it went back to its normal state.
She tucked a few stray grays into her bun. She tugged at her dress, which was wrinkled and damp from lying on the grass. Hopefully, she had not destroyed her clothing, the way she had sabotaged so many dresses with haphazardly wiped chalk and random coffee spills. She knew her persona on campus had gone from “scatterbrained” to “brilliant but manic”. One of the benefits of being fifty-three.
I remember now. I fell asleep in The Cloisters here at Bryn Mawr. The pain medication the doctor prescribed makes me sleepy. Albert would stick out his tongue at the sight of Emmy Noether, waking up like a drunkard on the grass...