“That’s all for today.Make sure to grab a hard copy of the syllabus on your way out if you don’t already have one, and don’t forget to complete this week’s reading before our next class.” I disconnect my laptop from the lecture hall media before shutting it down and gathering my things into my messenger bag.Not bad for my first time teaching in a decade.
Teaching is home for me. Until this morning I didn’t realize just how displaced I’ve felt since I left school. Maybe displaced isn’t the right word. I’ve just focused so much of my energy on other people for so long. Now that I’m doing something for myself, it feels like I’m breathing new air, seeing brighter colors.
I don’t regret leaving school to raise Sunny. I don’t regret moving home, working at the bookstore, or living with my parents. I needed time after Belle died — not just to adjust to motherhood, but also to grieve my best friend.
Sliding my messenger bag over my shoulder, I turn to walk toward the door when I see Brody sitting in the front row near the podium. He has an athletic build, which I find strange for an English major. Today he’s wearing a light blue button down with the sleevesrolled up his forearms and khaki pants that hug his muscular thighs. Brody really is a good looking guy. He’s also twenty-five, so just … no. If ever the day comes that I meet a man I want to spend the rest of my life with, I highly doubt he will be younger than I am. I had to grow up at warp speed when I became a mother overnight, and considering men tend to mature much slower than women, I doubt I’ll meet a younger man I’d want as my life partner.
Brody’s sporting a half smile and he quickly scans my body before he meets my eyes. “Hey.”Does he really think I didn’t notice him checking me out?
“Hey. I didn’t hear you come in.” I hope I sound friendly and not flirty. I really don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea.
“Yeah, your students were filing out when I slipped in so you probably couldn’t hear me over the commotion. Ready for your tour?” He stands from the seat and gestures for me to walk ahead of him.
“Sure. Sounds good. I thought this morning we planned to meet by the gazebo?” I ask innocently as I pass by him on the way to the door.
“I know we did, but I remembered you mentioned teaching this class before our tour and I decided to fetch you here instead.” I can’t see his face, but I’m positive his tone is flirtatious. Also, did he just say ‘fetch’? Am I a pail of water? Who uses the word ‘fetch’ outside of talking to a dog? Bro, you are definitely not going to make ‘fetch’ happen.Regina, you’d be so proud of me right now.
We exit the room and turn down the hallway toward the exit. I am stuck in my head right now, assessing his flirtatious tone and strange word choice, so we walk in uncomfortable silence. I think he’s waiting for me to say something. I turn and look up at him and he’s already looking at me.
“So, uh, where do we begin?” I ask, adjusting my bag strap and plastering on a fake smile like I’m not an awkward turtle.
For the next hour Brody guides me around campus, pointing out the different department and classroom buildings, the library, the small plaza that includes a Barnes & Noble, the campus coffee shop,and a few eateries. The campus truly is beautiful. It’s not as old as Grant, so it lacks the detailed late-nineteenth century architecture I love so much. Middle Peak is full of sharp angles and glass — super sleek, super modern. Even if I was unfamiliar with MPU’s emphasis on the arts, I’d no doubt feel their importance from the twenty or so sculptures erected in various places around campus. I love that no two sculptures are alike — of the few I’ve seen so far, the one that most takes my breath away is a tribute to the Ludlow Massacre of 1914. The sculpture depicts a coal miner, hunched over with exhaustion, being held by a young child dressed in contemporary clothing.
“Wow,” I breathe, staring in awe at the sculpture. “I’ve never seen so much pain and gratitude captured in one piece of art.”
“It really is spectacular,” Brody comments. “Did you know the Ludlow Massacre was the catalyst for child labor laws and the eight-hour workday limitation?”
I look up at Brody, perplexed. “No, I didn’t. That’s really interesting, though. I haven’t given it much thought, but I probably would have guessed factory workers on the east coast would have fought to implement them.”
“Nope. It was coal miners in Ludlow.” Brody looks over at me with a pensive expression on his face. “I wonder if anyone outside Colorado ever learns about that in American history?”
“No idea,” I shrug. “I’ve only ever lived here and I think we learned about Ludlow in middle school.”
“Here?” he asks, “I thought you said you were new to the area?”
“Here, as in, Colorado. I grew up about four hours from here. Small town.”
“Gotcha,” he nods. “I’m from Colorado Springs. Spent my whole life there until I moved here for college; then decided to stay for grad school.”
“Cool.” I have no idea what to say from here. Why can’t I be better at carrying a conversation?It’s not difficult with Dexter.Shut up, brain!
Awkward silence settles between us as we continue walkingaround campus until I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time.
“Shoot. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I gotta run.” I look up at Brody apologetically. “I have to meet someone in ten minutes across campus and I don’t want to be late.”
Brody looks confused. “Meet someone? I thought we were supposed to have lunch at Nico’s after the tour?” Ah, shit. I knew I forgot something. I saw the email from Deborah about meeting with Dexter — no, Dr. Belanger — yesterday and said yes without even thinking about lunch with Brody. Then, once I realized I was double booked, I made a mental note to tell Brody this morning in class. That mental note apparently flew right out of my brain as soon as it entered.
“I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you earlier.” I hope he can see the sincerity in my eyes. “I’m grading for a few different professors this semester and one of them needs to meet with me at 11:30 today.”
Brody relaxes and looks relieved that I’m not ditching him just to get out of spending time with him. Then, he gives me a soft smile and pivots toward east campus where the Languages and Literature offices are located. “No problem. I’ll walk you. We can grab lunch another day. Which profs are you grading for?”
“Matthews, Miller, and Belanger.” Brody’s eyebrows raise. “Damn, woman. That’s a load, yeah?”
I laugh. “It is, but it’s not too bad so far. I only have to teach for Matthews — the other two just needed a grader.”
Brody still looks concerned at my workload rather than appeased. “Seems like working for Matthews would be a fulltime job in itself. I can’t imagine adding two more profs on top of that. And Belanger — doesn’t he teach French? That can’t be easy. Don’t let them take advantage of you, okay? You don’t want to burn out in your first semester.”
His concern is sweet, but also unnecessary. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but I promise I have everything under control. I’m only taking one class this semester so I could pace myself while readjusting to grad school. I don’t have much of a social life, so it’snot like I’ll be neglecting any friends with the extra work. Besides, Miller only teaches online courses and most of her stuff is automated. And Belanger only teaches a few classes so it’s not really a burden.”
