Chapter: Ten.
I arrived at my place to find a note folded over and taped to my front door. It happened to be from a school guidance counselor who had stopped by, and read that I needed to contact her as soon as possible. I followed suit, and she asked that I stop by her office for a meeting and I agreed. She stated that it was imperative that I come prior to class that morning. Despite my hesitation I agreed and told her I would head that way. I then looked over to Comfort's place and saw her still asleep as I continued downstairs to my car. Starting the drive to school, it wasn't long until I arrived at the student parking lot and parked. I walked toward the admissions building and located the counselor's area while feeling a bit nervous. Perhaps I was more anxious than nervous. After locating the counselor's name to the coordinating room, I popped my head into the room and was invited inside.
"Would you mind talking with one of the local professors?" the counselor asked with a country drawl. Unknowing what exactly she was talking about, I simply shrugged my shoulders,
"Sure, I don't see any problem with that," I replied. Absorbing a seat in her small but adequate office, about the size of a jail cell and fittingly painted institutional grey. Minutes passed, but at the time it felt like hours. I felt like I had been trapped in a time warp as the clock on the wall appeared to move at half speed. There was a stony silence until finally a man entered the room. He was dressed in a baby blue, oxford button down collared shirt, with dark comfort slacks. He had a clipboard in hand and smiled as he approached.
"I'm Professor Sheward." Under normal circumstances I don't make it a habit of trusting anyone that wears button-up shirts, watches, or belts. As he extended a handshake, I stood out of respect and shook his hand. He thoroughly examined my appearance and attire, then said,
"Did you have a rough night? You don't look so good." I grinned, knowing that was among the common consensus in so many ways.
"Yeah, sorry, I haven't been sleeping much these days," I replied as he grabbed a seat in the empty chair next to mine. The Professor tipped his chair back and grabbed hold of the door, and then thrust the door closed. As I settled into my seat there was a moment of awkward silence. I sat waiting, speculating, and feeling as if they were planning on telling me something tragic. The counselor peered into her computer, which was positioned in front of her atop her desk,
"Tell me about your attendance," the counselor asked suspiciously while lowering her glasses and turning to look at me. I answered the open question to the best of my ability, with work being my logical excuse. She then proceeded with explaining the school's policies and how professors had obligations to email counselors when they have students act irregular.
"What do you mean, act irregular?" I asked, cloudy with a chance of rain. Under fire, I was hit with an intense craving for coffee as I tried to piece the puzzle together what was happening exactly. The craving for coffee grew more intense. Perhaps it was the power of suggestion since on the desk in front of me sat a sterling silver mug filled with a fresh cup of brew.
I don't know what came over me but without worry of repercussion, I leaned forward and grasped the cup. It felt warm, and I found the curvature of the design pleasant in my hand. I raised the mug to my mouth and took a sip, feeling an explosion of taste in my mouth. I was instantly satisfied and for some reason coffee had never tasted so good.
"Excuse me," the counselor interjected, stunned by what I had done. Wiping my mouth with my forearm, I looked down at the mug grasped in my hand and felt naked at a library. I returned the coffee cup to her desk as a look of shock inhabited her face.
"Well, for example, in your Computer Basics class and your Psychology class, i.e. your lastest two class periods." The counselor picked up on her previous train of thought, unable to dismiss the incident; a distasteful expression grew on her face. All of a sudden I felt hot and started to itch all over as my comfort level changed. A bad feeling by the name of neighbor had moved into the house for rent across the street.
"Okay, I apologize. I have had a lot on my mind, but I assure you everything will get back on track. I promise." I forced a fake smile as my hands shook and I felt my bottom lip beginning to quiver. Goosebumps consumed my body. The professor who was sitting next to me had not said much, but now cleared his throat and angled his body towards me while leaning forward in his chair.
"Fisher, I am a Psychologist by trade, but think of me as a friend." He smiled strangely and continued,
"I have a few questions that I need to ask you." Maintaining loose body language he looked awkwardly into my eyes. Whoa, screech, brakes, crash! He's so disconnected from the pulse; he probably collects stamps, watches the news and plays golf.
"Fire away," I replied as the Professor glanced to the counselor, then back to me. The greyhounds were out of the gate. Despite, I felt some of the questions were not relevant. For example, he asked what my favorite color was, what I had for breakfast, how I spend my days, etc. 'Wow! This guy is a real wealth of knowledge,' I mused. Also, 'how could he think I would feel safe confiding anything at all with him? He probably has more problems than me.' As with those that point the finger, they forget three are pointing back at them. Still, I endured their little game of accepted science and answered the questions with the best of my ability. Once finished, the school counselor asked that I have a seat outside stating that they needed to discuss a few things in private. I obliged and excused myself, grabbing a seat in the commons area.
It was one of those days where it seems like you get stopped at every traffic light, or rocking a fresh pair of white kicks that everyone seems to step on. It felt like everyone that passed was staring at me. I know it wasn't my best day, but come on. We all have those days, but then again, more than most people only think in terms of what's relative, or relevant to them. After waiting a good fifteen minutes, the professor exited the room. I stood up out of my seat and made my approach back toward the office. At this point I tried to transform into a tiger and pounce, but failed in my attempt. I simply smiled, and with a friendly gesture, shook his hand.
"It was nice to meet you Fisher," he said while wearing a plastic grin on his face. He turned to leave as the counselor, standing in the doorway to her office, invited me back in. Upon entry I grabbed one of the empty chairs and sensed a change in her body language.
*
Voice:
"Some Ninety percent of human interaction takes place in the form of body language."
Dimensia Page 24
