Chapter 25

I blinked and three weeks were gone. I had kept my head above water, barely, while squeezing out the time to finish the paper. And now, once again, I found myself waiting for Jeremy.

It was late, at his office, the end of long day, at the end of a punishing week. I was exhausted, having spent the last three nights finishing other papers – papers which I had pushed back to finish his paper and send it to him at the beginning of the week. At least this time the turn around was spectacularly quick.

His door was closed, but I could hear him speaking – speaking rather loudly. And rather angrily. The words were muffled, but it was obvious that now wasn’t a good time. But our meeting was suppose to begin, well actually, should have already begun. So I sat, waiting, trying not to listen while doing the exact opposite. I was a peeping-tom, witnessing something obviously private and personal.

Five minutes later, I heard the crack of a phone being placed down abruptly. Startled, I got my bag and prepared to leave. This was definitely not a good time. As I stood up, the door flew open, and Jeremy stood there, flustered, flushed. And I stared back, paralyzed.

“Oh…oh…you’re here. Is it time already?”

“Yeah…yes, Mr. Becker. But I can, well…I can come back.”

“No…no…please…come in and take a seat. Just give me a moment and I’ll be back”

He left his door open, motioning me inside. And, as I moved through the doorway, he moved out, down the hall, leaving me alone.

I put my bag down, but it felt awkward to sit in his office, by myself. So I stayed standing, taking inventory of the items scattered around. Shelves filled with books, papers in neat stacks, a couple of large file drawers. And there were several photos, scattered in frames, at various places. Except for one frame, lying on the floor, face-down, near my bag. I knelt to pick it up, turned it over instinctively, and found broken glass covering two smiling faces in profile, foreheads touching, hands resting on each others’ cheeks in comfortable intimacy. One question was now answered.

A gruff cough broke the silence, and there was Jeremy standing in the door frame. He looked composed now, though his eyes were focused on the frame in my hand, rather than me. He remained still, just staring at the photo, and as I looked on, I saw something broken, painful, and sad.

I reached out, let him take the frame. In one motion, it was out of my hands and into his desk drawer. And, in seconds, he was sitting at his desk, while I remained standing, transfixed by awkwardness. I sat down and let him take the lead. I wasn’t sure what was appropriate now.

“Um…Sorry…sorry. It’s been a bit of a trying period personally. I apologize that you had to see some of it.”

I just nodded. The air vibrated with his compressed emotions, and it made me jumpy, tense. I waited a moment, and when he said nothing, I ventured in.

“We, well, I can come back. If you need some time alone, Mr. Becker…”

I winced as his eyes shot back at me. Oops.

“…Jeremy. Really. Take some time, and I’ll meet you later.”

He sighed, heavily, then closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He took a couple of elaborate breathes. And then he returned his eyes to me. Some of the anger had disappeared. Something more difficult was pouring in. And though he was looking at me, he wasn’t. He was lost to some other world.

There are times when doing nothing is best. When silence provides the necessary support to help a person move on, move forward. I learned, from the months I silently grieved for my father, that this was one great truth that many never understood. When all I wanted was someone to sit, listen, in silence. So I moved my chair closer to him. And I waited.

Bits and pieces unfolded – jumbled, cracked memories, colored by his feeling of loss, deception and betrayal. Pain from a relationship that couldn’t survive distance, couldn’t survive the personal demons that had, from the beginning, haunted them. In the end, a disaster, a wreck that left raw wounds, violent feelings. And for Jeremy, something worse – a sense of failure.

It was seeing a future disintegrate, dissolve from unstoppable forces out of your control. And, despite your best efforts, your attempts to maintain the vision, the hope, nothing, just the painful death of a dream. The world just doesn’t seem the same. You aren’t the same. The loss, unexpected and unfathomable, is now the reality you face each and every day, the cross you must bear. And, somehow, along the way, you convince yourself that, had you done something differently, made more of an effort, had been there, had made a change, you might have saved the dream.

And, in the hour of Jeremy’s monologue, I found something. Found a part of myself, in his feelings of failure. I had failed to support my family, in crisis. I hadn’t been there, when I could have been. I faced those questions, unanswerable yet ever-present. I knew something of him now.

He had exhausted himself. We now sat there, together, thinking, each of our own regrets. And in that moment, I remembered my dad. Regrets. Live with no regrets.

“Jeremy…I, well, don’t have much relationship experience. Well, let’s say no relationship experience. But I figure this much, if you can look back and see moments to cherish, moments that have let you feel what it’s like to cared for, depended on…loved… then it was worth it. Worth it to know what you want, what you deserve...”

It was late, and I needed to go. I gathered my bag as I spoke, but never let my eyes stray from his. He looked back, his features softening.

“That way, you can move on, without regrets.”

He stood up now, followed me as I moved towards his door. He place a hand on my shoulder, and I paused, looked back. He held out his hand, and I took it mine, shaking it firmly.

“Um…I’m sorry. I’ve kept you. But…well…thank you.”

I smiled at him. He was smiling back, pain draining away.

“No, please don’t. Let’s just say I can understand the need for a listening ear....”

With that, I left him to some necessary time alone.

Intermission 2

I apologize for the lack of new material here...life seems to grab hold of you at times and takes everything you have. I promised to post soon...until then, please take a look back to the beginning and let me know what you think of this story's evolution.

Chapter 24

It was a week before midterms and my desk was now piled with more notes, papers, and books that I cared to think about. I had expected an easy final semester. Lo and behold, I was being slowly but steadily devoured by obligations, responsibilities, day-to-day deadlines that kept me unendingly preoccupied. Preoccupied and distracted from the larger concerns that still lingered, waiting for resolution.

I found one large loose end sitting underneath a stack of rubber-banded research notes. My paper from Mr. Becker’s class. It was the draft that Kathy had been kind enough to mark up. I had left it there, untouched, since she had returned it, since I had overheard her with Mr. Becker. It was what, now, two…no, three weeks. It was another potential failure, another goal about to fall to the way-side.

My visit home put things into perspective. I was resolved to put certain flights of fancy away. It was, as I saw it, only right. It was the only way to grow up and move on. The luxury of time was over; decisions had been made, and it was time to accept them and move on – move on and not look back.

Whether I wanted it or not, I felt a duty to my parents. Pursuing avenues that might leave me in the shadow of their disappointment was not something I had the strength to endure. And it came down to ambition. The life I now fantasized about, the one that had me living in a world of research, of books, of teaching, had little to do with ambition, of success, of distinction. It had everything to do with my desire to find a place in the world that I understood, could dissect and analyze – one that I could come to grips with.

This lack of ambition would be the hardest point for my parents to understand. In their world of success and achievement, excellence had been the only acceptable standard. And I did it, had pushed myself to reach their standards. But it had been only for them. I looked at everything I had accomplished and saw that it had all been for them. I would have settled with less, but knowing they couldn’t, I had no choice. And I was tired. And I wanted to stop.

I stared at the paper, asking myself if this was a bit more of the same. Would completing this fulfill my own desires, or just satisfy what I thought others desired from me? Right now, I couldn’t decide.

Clicking on my computer, I went to check my email, more out of habit then anything else. And it helped to distract me some more.

More then a distraction presented itself as I scanned my inbox. Mr. Becker’s name stood out in seconds, and I hesitated, deciding whether or not it was a fortuitous find. And I opened it.

+++,

I’m sorry that I’ve taken a rather long period of time to review your paper. But, I have had the chance to closely read your latest draft and would like to sit down with you to go over a few items. I have some time this weekend, if you are available. And, since I’ve seen you at the coffee shop on Scene Street, why don’t we meet there? It will get me out of my office, which I’ve seen a bit too much of over the last couple of weeks. Let me know what is convenient.

Jeremy

Well, it seemed best to at least meet with him. Mr. Becker wouldn’t have to know whether or not I finally submitted it for publication or the results if I did follow through. Meeting him, getting his final feedback, would at least bring this project to a conclusion.

So I emailed him back, agreed to meet him on Saturday for a review of his comments, and put it towards the back of my priorities.

I arrived to the coffee shop early on Saturday, hoping to squeeze in a little personal time before meeting with Mr. Becker. I was still unsure of what I wanted to do with the paper, less sure of my feelings towards Mr. Becker. Disappointment still lingered, and as the project had drawn itself out, I began to resent it like the other obligations that filled my seemingly shrinking plate.

I wasn’t nervous, or at least as nervous as I thought I would be. I should have been, but knowing his disappointment in my decision concerning graduate school, there wasn’t much more I could do to ruin his opinion of me. Hell, I had just about convinced myself that I didn’t care what his opinion might be. Well, that’s what I reminded myself when I saw him approach.

He smiled warmly as he pulled up a chair, and settled himself down. I said hello, and waited quietly. I would let him have his say, keep quiet and accept his comments humbly, then make some excuse to get out of there. But things went differently.

“Well, I have to apologize, once again, for taking so long to get back to you. I can only imagine what you might have been thinking.”

“Umm….Mr. Becker…It’s fine. I expected you to be busy….it’s really alright.” Well, no it wasn’t. But I could try and lie.

“Hmm…well, it wasn’t. And before we go any further, you can stop calling me Mr. Becker. You are not in one of my classes, and like I said before, you never needed to address me like that…now…where was I…right, I was apologizing.

I think…well…I should explain myself a bit. You have special interest to me…well, let me rephrase…your work aligns with much of my own research, so…so I’ve found it more compelling. And it made me worry that my own interests were coloring my evaluation of your work. I guess…I was worried that, somehow I was more receptive to your work simply because I was interested in the area of research. So…I, hmm…thought it best for others to review it first. And I wanted to make sure that, after some time away, I found your work as excellent as I first thought.”

I waited, not knowing how to enter the conversation. Mr. Becker…Jeremy…was speaking in a, confessional might be the best word, manner, as though he were still working through his own thoughts as he spoke. If I said a word, I’d interrupt, break his train of thought. Then we’d never get to the point, which I myself was still trying to figure out.

“Re-reading it, now, assures me that my initial evaluation was correct. And, again, I am struck by well you explain yourself, your argument, your ideas. This, well…this seems like a horribly backwards way of saying that you’re a good writer, a good researcher. And, without too much effort, you can have this paper ready to submit.”

He stopped, looking at me expectantly. Silence fell, as I worked through his monologue.

I was hung up on how he began, and the possibility of a Freudian slip. But, everything else has made sense, and I couldn’t ask him to go back to that first sentence without making the conversation more awkward. He coughed, and brought me back. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and I enjoyed it for a second. Then I reminded myself of the game plan to get out fast.

“I…uhhh…you, well, don’t need to worry, Mr. Becker…”

I saw him object to the title, so I acquiesced.

“…Jeremy. I, well, I appreciate you taking the time. After all, well…hmm…you’re helping me out on your own time, so I don’t really see why you need to apologize.”

Jeremy seemed to relax a bit. It was time to get to it.

“So, what comments do you have?”

Jeremy shuffled around in his bag, and out it came, my last connection to him, which I would soon have in hand. He flipped to the last page, once again filled with barely legible scrawl that I found too familiar. And with my opening, he dove in, much more comfortable with the subject matter at hand. And as he spoke, the admiration I had felt - the awe - seeped back, slowly masking the other feelings I had worked so hard to solidify.

I mostly listened, somewhat in a trance, as he took me through my paper, note by note. And for a moment, I was back to the first time I met with him, noticing tiny details, the way his fingers skimmed the sentences as he read, the slight smile that touched the corners of his lips. But this time, when he looked up, I didn’t look away.

“Is everything alright?’

“Yeah…yes. Everything’s fine. Why?”

“Well, you seemed…well, you looked, a bit…well far away.”

“Oh…sorry, I was…was just…thinking about how…to rearrange some deadlines, so I can address your comments. And, well, estimating….well, guessing, about when I might be able to get everything ready to send off.”

“You must have a pretty full schedule, if you need that much concentration to sort it out.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you were staring at me for a good minute or so.”

And I felt a hot flush of embarrassment.

“Oh…oh really? Well…yeah…it’s, it’s been busy. Things pile up, and suddenly you realize you have three things due on the same day, and the two weeks you planned to catch up are already gone. It’s been that kind of semester.”

Jeremy chuckled, smiled.

“I understand. It must be rather hectic, perhaps more so, since this is your last semester. I remember being overwhelmed at that point. I was trying to sort out all my work while planning my life after graduation.”

“If I get time for planning, that would be amazing. Right now I just need to keep on top of what I have. If I can do that for the next couple of weeks, then things will get easier – and I can probably get to this paper. “

“Well, while I don’t want this to add undue stress, the next submission deadline is in a month from now, if you think it is possible. If not, the next one is at the end of the summer. At least for the journals I considered appropriate. But, like I said, this shouldn’t add more stress to your life. This is, or was supposed to be, something for you.”

It would be the perfect time to tell him that it wasn’t something for me – that I had been doing this, in part, for him, in part, to prove to myself that I could, if I wanted to, succeed in this arena. I could tell him that I was considering nothing more than taking his comments and filing them away, along with all my other school work. But I couldn’t do it. Not with him sitting across from me, smiling expectantly, cheering me on. He had invested something of himself into my work, and it felt cruel to undermine his efforts with such an admission. And so I heard myself amiably setting next month as my deadline, with the promise to meet with him again, for a final once over.

Things were done, and I began to pack my things. Mr. Becker…Jeremy…sat across from me, but made no motions to leave. Feeling a bit awkward, I slowed myself down and asked if he was enjoying his second semester. After all, he had taken time out of his own schedule to assist me – I should at least take the time to engage him in some polite conversation.

“You know…it’s been good. Busy. I am working on my own book right now, and it requires a lot of research. It will probably get worse by the summer, when my research assistant leaves. But, by then, classes will be out, so hopefully it won’t be as horrible as I anticipate.”

“A book? That is great…must be exciting…to be working on a project like that…”

“It is, though at times, overwhelming. But I enjoy the research, the reading. So, usually, it doesn’t seem like work. But, like yourself, deadlines have been piling up, so that has been, unfortunately, taking up less of my time.”

“Well, I imagine your research assistant is a great help then.”

“She is…has been. But she’s leaving right after the end of this term, so that’s when it will get really rough. I have some funding to hire a new assistant, but getting them acquainted with the material would take too much time. Most of the research needs to be compiled by the end of the summer, which allows be to get to writing.”

“Well…it…it shouldn’t be hard to find students for the summer. After all, you…you had plenty of students from our class which…which I am sure…would gladly assist.”

“Well…actually, I had someone in mind.”

“Well…that’s good, then, right? That…that means…well…you can get them started soon…have them ready to go by the end of term.”

“That was my thought…”

I was struggling to continue. And I was pretty sure I was getting myself into something. I had been toying with my coffee cup, and at Jeremy’s pause, I looked up. And he was looking at me, questioningly. And I could see where he was heading. But I wanted to see if I was right, so I stayed quiet.

“Well…ummm…see, I was wondering if you might be available?”

“Me? Work for you?”

“It seems like a good fit, doesn’t it? You’ve already done a lot of research in the area, are familiar with some of the standard texts. You could pretty much dive right in. That is, of course, if it wouldn’t conflict with any other plans you might have.”

I thought about it. My internship wouldn’t begin until September. I had thought of moving home before heading to New York, working to save some additional money. And this seemed like a perfect job. But I didn’t want to commit…at least yet. I needed some time, and this seemed a bit too tantalizing. Like staring at the apple of Eden.

My hesitation seemed to disquiet Jeremy, and he shifted. I didn’t want him to misunderstand.

“I…I…well…I’m really interested, actually. But, like I said…I haven’t had a chance to even think about things past the next couple of weeks. Do you…well…do you think I could give you an answer later? Take some time to see if I can make it work?”

Jeremy seemed relieved, enlivened that I was considering his offer. And so he agreed.

“Of course…please. Take some time. But, I’d…well…I’d really enjoy having you around…I mean, to assist me. Let me know in a couple of weeks if you can do it.”

I thanked him and said goodbye. And now, instead of leaving a commitment behind, I realized, I may have made several more.