Chapter 15

A challenge had been made, and I was determined to rise to it. I sank myself into research, filling my room with the additional material recommended by Mr. Becker. Note cards were spread in neat piles on the floor, sorted and dated and arranged in chronological order. I was hitting my stride, and the working rhythm kept me focused; focused and ambivalent to the world, and more importantly the people, around me.

With the goal laid out, the gears of my mind were greased with a sense of purpose. It felt good to write with clarity, with direction. It made the research easy, the writing fluid. I felt, somehow, closer to the person I was two years ago, when I had taken joy in both the work and the process of accomplishing it.

The remaining three weeks of the semester were a blur of Microsoft documents, color-coded notecards and red inked drafts. Wrapped up the momentum of an ending term, it was easy to forget the other, more abstract obstacles that lay off in the horizon.

You can imagine the relief – the night I handed in my paper. Two months of aggravation, stress, and self-doubt were officially at an end. No matter the outcome, at least the task itself was over. Stapled and wrapped in one of those ubiquitous report covers, it just needed delivery.

My period of rejoicing was intense but short. Giddy as I set off towards school, the euphoria of completion died down by the time I arrived at Mr. Becker’s office; my walk allowed me time for introspection, which was always a fast way to kill any joy. My mind kept coming back to a single question: What was this so important? The time spent, the effort expended – all for some 40 pieces of white paper filled with double spaced, 12 pt, times roman text. What was the big deal?

I struggled with this; it is hard to evaluate the significance of this type of work. Unlike other majors, where the results might have some tangible product to hold and admire, the work in my hand might, in its final appraisal, might be reviewed as nothing more than kindling for a camp fire. I couldn’t worry about that now. Now, I could worry about other things.

Emily’s, let’s say, keen insights into my behavior, had gnawed at me every since she stopped by my place. Emily had stated the obvious, but I am not sure if the explanation was quite as simple. For the most part, I could rationalize everything over the past couple of months, create arguments that had everyone, including myself, believing to be true. But, even when you want it to be true – even when you are telling yourself that it is true, there is a hollowness in the argument that reminds you that it isn’t – that more is required to fully satisfy the question.

I was getting close to the English Department offices. Late as it was, the hallways were dim and quiet. The paper was really due at the end of the day tomorrow, but I wanted it out of my hands as soon as possible. As I approached the office corridor, I was suddenly wondered if he might be there. A split second of panic struck me; I looked at the base of the door, looking for a spread of light which might indicate he was there. Nothing. I was in luck…I slipped my paper into through the slot in the door and left.

I made my way outside quickly, and checked my watch to make sure I wasn’t running late. I was meeting Emily for a mini-celebration of sorts. I completed my final research paper, she had just been promoted. Not really equal reasons for indulging in some late night food, but good enough for each of us to make time on a weekday night. It was a small dessert bar I had found my sophomore year, and was the place I returned to often, when I wanted a pick-me-up for when I was down, or a reward for anything event that made me feel like my world was headed in the right direction.

I arrived early and spotted an open booth. After picking up a paper I went to wait, anticipating at least a twenty minute wait. Emily was always punctual in her tardiness; whatever time you set, you could always count on here to be exactly 10 minutes behind. Five minutes later a shadow fell across the table, startling me. Looking up, I found Mr. Becker standing next to me.

“Aren’t you suppose to be frantically finishing your paper for my class?”

I sat stunned for a second. That same sense of awkwardness rushed through me, leaving me flustered.

“I…ah…I’m, well, done.” What else was there to say?

I was more unnerved as he moved to sit down. A silence settled. Emily would be here soon, which would then require some explanation, and Mr. Becker wasn’t making any move to explain why he had chosen to stay around. Another minute passed.

“I’ve…well…been meaning to speak with you.”

It sounded ominous. Not that there was anything in my actions over the past weeks that might have merited concern; I had, since receiving his email, been the ideal student: quiet, reserved, without being completely reticent. I attended every class, answered questions here and there to maintain a certain level of participation, and had now handed in the final assignment early.

Not sure where he was headed, I waited. Mr. Becker tapped his fingers for a second, glanced away, and then looked back at me, somewhat nervously. This was ridiculous; I had to break the silence or else find a new seat.

“You needed to speak with me…” I prodded. “Is something wrong?”

He sighed. “Not wrong…” and trailed off. It was the first time I had seen Mr. Becker so, well, out of sorts. In the past, he took the lead, directed the tone, speed and topic of conversation. Now he struggled. I guess it was up to me.

“Well, I…I should really thank you Mr. Becker. I’ve been so…so busy finishing finals that I never said anything…but…well…I really appreciated your advice and encouragement.”

That seemed to stun him a bit. He smiled back and relaxed.

“That’s really nice to hear. And I am glad I could offer you some guidance…” He paused. “I wasn’t sure if I was, well, rather…Well I guess I should ask if I demanded too much…”

Huh? “Umm…what would you mean by that, Mr. Becker.”

“Well…first, just call me Jeremy. You never had to call me Mr. Becker. You just didn’t seem to follow the other students. But, well, I wanted to clarify that, when we were reviewing your draft, I felt I needed to push you. I felt that, as your professor, it was my responsibility to help you reach the potential of your work. I thought you might be stuck, so I was hoping to get you unstuck…I certainly didn’t mean to say something that might offend you.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I was torn between the compliment and his observation of my actions that day at the coffee shop. I felt vain for enjoying his words, humiliated that I could be so easily read, and conscious of the fact that he was likely reading everything I was feeling at the moment.

“No…no…I probably, um, need the push. I really appreciated it. I just hope what you read tomorrow meets with your expectations.”

Mr. Becker shifted forward a bit, as the background noise began to inch upwards.

“Good. I wanted to make sure, since you seemed to draw back from class towards the end.”

He noticed. Damn.

“Um…well…it got really busy at the end…and….” That sounded stupid. “But, that’s not a good excuse.”

“No…that’s fine. Like I said, I was concerned I may have pushed too far, which is why I was unsure if I should come by and speak with you right now. I don’t generally feel like I force my students to pursue things. I may have with you.”

I shook my head.

“Well, that’s good. I’d hate to think I pushed away one of the most interesting students I’ve had the pleasure of teaching…”

I stopped. Froze. What did that mean? I looked at Mr. Becker; I saw Emily walking up behind him.

“Hey you…ten minutes late as always…” She stopped when Mr. Becker came into view.

“Hey…uh…uh…Emily, this is my professor, Mr. Becker. “

Mr. Becker rose, shook Emily’s hand, and stepped out of the booth.

“Let me get out of your way.” He turned to me. “I’m glad I caught you. I, um, look forward to reading your paper. I’ll…well…I’ll see you around.”

Sidestepping by Emily, he rather awkwardly left. As Emily sat down, I stared after him, dumbfounded. Emily looked at me.

“Something just happened. You want to tell me what’s up?”