Chapter 29

Sometimes you find yourself with a way out before you even know you need one. By securing a job for the fall, I had given myself a finite period of time, where considerations of consequence were irrelevant. It meant living life day by day. It was freedom.

Graduation had come and gone in a series of moments, stills captured by photographs never to be looked at, and a constant stream of farewells. For my family, it was a time to savor, so I allowed them to harangue me for more snapshots than possibly needed, the detailed tours of school halls and classrooms that had little personal meaning. I had no wish to deprive them of their joy, and let the mask of a host take control. But, as my smile grew ever more etched onto my face, I knew that, deep down, I felt little more than a fleeting sense of accomplishment.

It was a small, intimate gathering for my department commencement. My family’s faces stood out, glowing with the expectant pride. They overpowered the lights, overwhelmed me, as I stood there, my name called out with a summary of “me, college student”. Years collapsed into discreet sentences. Me as a paragraph.

Not wanting tears, just a smile, I looked beyond them, around the room, ignoring the one missing member of the audience only to glimpse another. At the back, in the shadows. Or maybe it wasn’t, I couldn’t quite be sure. The profile seemed similar enough, the posture recognizable. But it move away, out the back door, as I made my way offstage.

Two days after my family left, I sat in my apartment, staring mindlessly at my computer screen. I hadn’t left since I had seen my family off. Peace, solitude.

After a few minutes, I gathered myself together. I had to move. My first meeting with Jeremy…Mr.Becker…my new boss, was in an hour. I had reviewed some of his preliminary notes, as well as his proposed time schedule for the summer. But, well, for the first time in my life, I was behind on reading.

Walking to school seemed strange. Funny, since nothing had really changed. But the pomp and ceremony had ushered in a new era, and I felt like a stranger in my own body. It was all a head-trip, but one that left me feeling awkward. I wasn’t a student anymore. I didn’t belong here anymore.

Mr. Becker’s door was open, his back away from me as I entered. I stopped, at the door, as I heard him say goodbye, a bit bluntly, on the phone. Tapping, to notify him of my presence, seemed to startle him, and he turned quickly towards me.

“Am I early?”

“No….no. Right…right on time.”

He smiled thinly, briefly, and moved deliberately to his desk, laying out some papers and two thick folders. Maybe other things had changed as well.

We dug in immediately. Two hours later, I had objectives that would last me well into next week, and a stack of papers, photocopies and books to fill an additional bag. I guess it was a good thing that I took those two days. If this was to set the schedule for the rest of the summer, then a break would be a long way off.

I wanted to ask him about graduation. Part of my kept trying to capture a view, a profile, that would match with what I thought I saw. It felt important to find out, more important not to ask. I know he said he never went, but I kept thinking about what I saw. And if what I saw was correct, then I could start to think about what it might mean. Or why it was important in the first place.

Things had lightened a bit, now that we had covered so much ground, but he was still a bit reserved, distant. Even though he was doing most of the talking, he seemed pre-occupied. He would fade off, every so often. He even stopped mid-sentence several times. I said nothing, and he would catch himself with a short shake, and then start again. I should have interrupted. I had the opportunity. I couldn’t bring myself to try.

I didn’t say much as we wrapped things up. Mr. Becker seemed to be rushing things now. And he was the boss; as much as I resented the change in our interaction, I had to accept that it came with the new roles. Things couldn’t have stayed the same anyways. But, rationalizations in hand still couldn’t stop a small pit of anger.

I packed up my things silently. I wasn’t feeling like small talk, though his mood had improved. The phone rang, broke the rhythmic scrapping of book covers sliding across one another. He picked up immediately, and after a quick hello, his tone regained its blunt edge. He turned his back to me once again and I moved quickly away from his desk. He needed privacy - that much was clear.

As I reached the door, I noticed a graduation program on his bookshelf. Rolled, as thought it had been carried for some time that way. It included a small bookmark at the top, which was handed out at the door of the ceremony. Looks like I wasn’t wrong. I walked out, shutting the door behind me, without looking back. I wondered why he had bothered to break his own rule.

I thought about it, off an on, as I began my job in earnest. I would come back to it, during a break from reading, or when I zoned out. I was obsessed, picking away at a knot with no tail. There could be hundreds of reasons for him to have come. Maybe he was at school for the day, and just wanted to see what the ceremony was like. Maybe, as a new teacher, he was told to come. He could have just changed his mind. Anything, really. But Mr. Becker had seemed so adamant, so firm in his declaration. What would have overcome that? And why did I want it to somehow concern me?

I settled into a nice routine, which, day by day, I found more and more appealing. I called it productive independence. I worked when I wanted, where I wanted. But, with an overriding schedule and set of deadlines, I had markers to work against, motivation to keep focused. I could spend the morning reading at the coffee shop, afternoons at home on my computer. I could reverse it. I could go shopping at ten in the morning or three in the afternoon. I could avoid traffic, on the road, at the gym, at the grocery store. And I could always take a break to watch some television.

I sent Mr. Becker an update at the end of the week. We hadn’t discussed a new meeting time, and with everything he had set up, I could probably go the entire summer without seeing him again. Just update him, send him his required information per the timeline he had set. It was like being on autopilot, without feeling like a cog in a machine. I could dig this.

I wandered out for an evening stretch. The day had been spent on my couch, reading several different papers saying pretty much the same thing. It all melted together, and my notes would likely reflect it. I figured, an hour or so away, and I could get back to sorting out who really said what.

No doubt as to where I would end up, I made my way leisurely. It was a warm night, but surprisingly crisp for an east coast summer night. Humidity had yet to emerge from its slumber and wrap the air in its heavy arms. There would be few more nights like this one, and I wanted to make sure I took advantage.

The sidewalks were packed, people lounging, eating, walking, laughing. Groups, couples, families filling the air with vibrancy. I walked through them, by them, around them. Never apart of them, like a ghost, an apparition observing unobserved. No caught glances, no waves to neighbors or friends. Because, even after the years I had spent around, I was still a nomad, still a visitor passing through.

Making it to the coffee shop, I grabbed something chilled and creamy, and magazine in hand, dove for the open sidewalk table that appeared before me. Luck was on my side, and I watched the sun hit the evening horizon as I settled into my chair. After a few minutes of people watching, I sank into an article with sweet oblivion.

“It seems like you have the only open seat left. Mind if I join you?”

Inwardly I sighed as my pulse quickened. I had played it low-key all week to give Mr. Becker…Jeremy…whatever…the space to take care of something with obvious personal significance. And to reset the definitions of our collegial relationship. Somewhere it had gotten a bit too personal, a bit too important. Already feeling a bit hurt at his, most likely unintentional, slight predicted a more difficult future if I didn’t distance myself immediately.

“I couldn’t say no, if it’s the only seat left.”

I moved my drink closer to me, making room for his cup of coffee and a small folder of papers he carried with him. I returned to my article while he settled in to his chair. If he wanted to talk, he could start. If he wanted some peace, then we could pretend we were strangers. Either one would suit me right now.

The evening set in, the pace of the sidewalk slowing as the street lights made their presence known. Half an hour after he had joined me, Mr. Becker spoke up.

“Is this how you get so much of your work done?”

I looked at him questioningly.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing seems to interrupt you when you are focused on something. You’ve sat in the same position since I’ve been here, and the only motion you’ve made is when you turn a page. It’s rather, well, impressive to watch.”

“It’s all because of training.”

Now he looked at me questioningly.

“When I was younger, my sister’s room was next to mine. And, I don’t think there was a day when she was in high school where she didn’t have at least one or two friends in there with her. They spent a majority of the time making mixed tapes for their friends, or for an upcoming assembly or dance, or just because they were obsessed with customizing what they listened to. Anyways, from the moment my sister came home until the moment she left, there was music, and noise, and laughter and talking. You learn pretty quickly how to tune it all out, let it all become white noise. It came in handy when I was a freshman.”

He smiled as I put my magazine down. I noticed that none of his papers had been touched. But his coffee was gone. I wondered if had been watching me the entire time. Or if, like me, he had let the world disappear around him.

“I always found it hard to completely cut myself off from what was around me. I think that’s why I find my office so important to me. I can physically shut myself off and focus on work. Except that I hate being there for long periods of time.”

“A bit of a conundrum there, then.”

“Yeah. I guess, at times it is. That’s why I usually need schedules and outlines. They give me the parameters to stay on task. They may be arbitrary, but they are certainly effective. Without them, I get a bit stir-crazy.”

“I understand. I drove my mom nuts with my need to stick to a schedule, even if I had made it up myself. She always had to remind me that things can be flexible. She would even, at times, get me off track, just to show me that things wouldn’t implode.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I forget that myself. That you can’t always keep to the way you think things should be. It got me into a lot of arguments….”

Mr. Becker’s voice trailed off with his last words, and I realized he was referring to something other than a work schedule. It was so tempting to push the direction of our conversation through the opening he had just created. But I resisted. All part of that distance I meant to impose.

He looked up at me, as I remained silent. I saw it, at the edges of his eyes, sadness held back by every ounce of will he had.

“Sometimes we need to compromise. And sometimes, compromise makes things go to hell.”

He chuckled a little at that. He needed compassion mixed with levity. I mean, I couldn’t just ignore that he was facing something difficult. Any colleague would do the same.

“And whatever the argument may have been, it is never just one person’s fault. Never just one person’s responsibility. At least, that’s what I was always told after getting grounded for one thing or another. Which, by the way, always seemed to me a tad hypocritical, since I had to suffer the consequences of something that was, according to that logic, not really my fault.”

That helped. He grinned broadly at me, laughing, his eyes now glowing.

“I guess someone has to be the martyr, right?”