Ghosts of Harvard

by Francesca Serritella

  “Not really.” Cady felt bad she hadn’t thought much of Nikos, only Eric. “I mean, she said her grades were better than yours—”

  “Bollocks! She’s not even fully a physics concentrator, she takes half of my courseload. And she’s going to play the woman card? A victim of sexism at the hands of—wait, let me check—a female professor? Honestly, some people have no shame. The bitch wasn’t good enough, and she knows it.”

  His anger surprised Cady, and his rant wasn’t over. He continued, “This is all about the Bauer. She was spying on Eric to get info on his project, prying into his private life, whatever she could, and when he quit, I became her next logical target, didn’t I? I have to tell Mikaela.”

  “Prokop.”

  “Yes. Luckily our projects were submitted last spring, so Lee missed her chance at sabotage. If she copied or undermined me in some way, we won’t know until after the winner is announced. I don’t want to act rashly. If I take it all the way to the Ad Board right before the results and there’s not sufficient evidence, I’ll look like the one undermining the competition.”

  “Are they announcing the winner soon?”

  “This weekend.”

  “Oh, wow.” She couldn’t help but think of her brother’s lost hopes for the award.

  “My parents are coming from London.”

  “Oh, right, it’s Parents’ Weekend.” Cady took a swig of beer.

  “A coincidence. They haven’t come to one of these in four years. For my father to take off work, it has to be worth it. He’ll come to see me win the Bauer.”

  “You’re that confident?”

  “Lee Jennings doesn’t scare me.” Nikos flashed her a grin. “What about you, are you looking forward to seeing your parents?”

  “My dad can’t, my mom probably won’t.”

  “Pennsylvania’s not so far.”

  “They’re going through some stuff, and this place … it’s painful for them.”

  “Of course.” Nikos sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Cadence, that was stupid of me.”

  Cady felt her throat tighten. She was too tired to fight off the emotions today. The best she could do was nod.

  “You know you can talk to me about Eric. I see you hold it all in, but you don’t have to be tough around me. I miss him, often, especially with the Bauer coming up. It’s hard to be excited without him here,” Nikos said, looking into his beer. “On these autumn days like this, before it got too cold, we used to go on late afternoon runs round the river. I’d complain about whatever girl trouble I had at the moment, and he’d dutifully listen and advise. Sometimes Eric would open up on those runs, they seemed to ease his Splashberger’s.”

  “His what?”

  “Oh, just an inside joke we had. I used to kid Eric that he had Asperger’s, but just a splash, ‘Splashberger’s.’ ” Nikos smiled and shook his head. “It was stupid, but it made us laugh.”

  “I like it.” Cady smiled back. It was better than thinking of Eric as schizophrenic or depressed.

  “The best part of our runs was when they were over. Straightaway, we’d go to Felipe’s and get two of the largest burritos they had, loaded with guacamole and sour cream, effectively canceling out the exercise.”

  “Eric and his spicy food.” Cady felt a pang, remembering. “When my mom made tacos, he and my dad would have contests to see who could tolerate the most Tabasco sauce. There were no winners, they’d both end up on the couch with Alka-Seltzer. I think it was just an excuse to get out of clearing the table.”

  “So that’s an old game, eh? And here I thought we invented it!”

  “You guys did that too?”

  Nikos nodded. “He beat me, handily.”

  “I’m really glad he had you.”

  “We made each other better.” Nikos’s eyes glistened.

  Cady was moving her hand toward his when the waitress reappeared to bus their table. When she had finished clearing, bending, and leaning, the moment had passed.

  34

  Cady actually got herself to Wednesday’s pre-exam Psychology lecture, but late, so she couldn’t find Ranjoo, who apparently wasn’t sitting in their old section anymore. Cady was completely screwed for the Psych exam Friday; she had accepted that. She hadn’t bothered to catch up on her reading and make the most of this review lecture. All she could think about was what those numbers in the notebook meant. If she had had any leads, she wouldn’t have come to class.

  Professor Bernstein wore his usual outfit of black pants, black button-down, and black microphone headset wrapped around his bald dome; he looked like a member of the faculty’s secret service.

  “Many of you have expressed anxiety over the essay question; however, this is the one section of the exam where there’s often no right or wrong answer, only stronger and weaker arguments. You will need to cite at least three secondary sources, the textbook doesn’t count, but you may use a conflicting source for a counterargument as well. All relevant information should be addressed, even if it complicates your thesis.”

  “Can you give us an example of a typical essay question?” asked a student nearby.

  “Sure, let’s see.” Bernstein flipped through some papers on the lectern. “Last fall’s essay question dealt with deinstitutionalization. Chapter two covered the history of psychotherapy, including the dark days of early asylums. Though vastly improved today, many mental hospitals still fall far short of the doctor’s ethos: Do No Harm. Discuss the issues associated with institutionalization today, and identify areas needing the most improvement and why.”

  There was a collective groan.

  “Now, now, is it so terrible to ask you to think critically in a science class? Let’s try to answer it right now. What are some of the issues with institutionalization that we’ve discussed in class?”

  Hands shot up. As Bernstein called on some, Cady halfheartedly jotted down their answers: “over-crowding,” “over-medicating,” “misdiagnosis.” She felt so dreadfully behind in this class. At least, if they were discussing the topic now, the institutionalism source readings were likely among the few that would not be covered on the test, leaving her only everything else to review.

  Professor Bernstein called on a young man in glasses sitting just four rows ahead of her. He stood up to ask his question and spoke in a clear, confident manner, projecting as an actor would. Cady rolled her eyes inwardly—another know-it-all.

  “My name is David, and my comment is this: No one should be abused in a mental hospital, but it shouldn’t be a paid vacation on the taxpayer’s dime either. I think we’ve gotten too PC at the expense of common sense. Mental health is a public safety issue. Institutions don’t only provide treatment, they also protect the rest of society from psychotic people. If keeping others safe means bending some individual rights, I think that’s justified.”

  Professor Bernstein answered him from the stage. “That’s a real issue, David, and in the case of one posing immediate danger to himself or others, what’s called an involuntary commitment is possible. In my home state of California, it’s known as a 5150 hold that allows an individual to be held against their will for seventy-two hours. But taking away someone’s personal liberty can’t be taken lightly. And we must be vigilant not to allow the stigmatization of mental illness to override constitutional rights. Another—”

  “Although we already restrict the Constitution when common sense calls for it,” David interrupted. “Like how we restrict the mentally ill’s right to buy guns.”

  “In some cases, in some states, yes. But it would be a mistake to conflate mental health issues with a propensity for criminality. The statistics don’t support that, and it’s not in keeping with our values.”

  Before Professor Bernstein could call on someone else, David called out, “But what about schizophrenia?”

  Cady stiffened in her seat.

 
“A lot of paranoid schizophrenics go on to become murderers. The Son of Sam thought he was following orders to kill people given to him by the neighbor’s dog. Mark David Chapman thought he was Holden Caulfield or going to impress Jodie Foster.”

  Cady looked at Professor Bernstein, who calmly readjusted the microphone at his mouth. “True, but those were sensationalized examples of mental illness in our culture. It’s worth noting that there was significant evidence that those particular criminals’ symptoms of schizophrenia were falsified for an insanity defense.”

  David scoffed. “Doesn’t everyone who kills another person have to be insane in some way? Some mentally ill people are a danger to the outside world. Those individuals should be committed, or ‘put away’ before they harm someone, whether they like it or not. They’re ticking time bombs.”

  “They’re people!” The words burst from Cady’s mouth without warning. Everyone around her turned to stare, making Cady want to sink into her seat and never come out.

  Unfortunately, Professor Bernstein was intrigued. “Could you stand up, repeat what you said, and say your name, please?”

  Cady rose and instantly felt dizzy from the eyes on her, the room seemed to wrap around her as if she were viewing the world through a fish-eye lens. They were all waiting for her to answer, so Cady commanded her disobedient mouth to speak. “My name is Cadence. And—” She caught sight of Ranjoo sitting down to the right, whispering to a friend, probably saying, That’s my crazy roommate. “—I said that they’re people.”

  “They’re not normal people,” David snapped, without missing a beat. “And they’re not normal medical patients. They’re dangerous. If that means fewer personal liberties in order to protect others’ rights to safety and life, that’s a fair trade.”

  David’s physical proximity to her, his tone, the topic’s resonance—it felt to Cady like a personal attack, and she found herself unable to temper the emotion in her voice. “But what does that do to them? Being held against their will, how damaging is that? They deserve their rights, they deserve empathy. These people are victims.”

  The argument echoed one Cady had had in the past, a time when she had failed to be so vocal, a failure she had done everything to forget. Cady made herself stay focused on the arrogant man in front of her, her anger temporarily protecting her. She succeeded in holding off that dreadful memory, but she could sense it closing in on her. It sounded like the drumbeat of a faraway army, and she was outmanned.

  “Until they victimize someone else.” David turned from Cady back to Professor Bernstein onstage. “I mean, there was that story last year about a young woman who was an aide in a mental hospital and was murdered by a deranged patient with a long record of lashing out. We’re not even protecting mental health workers. If the worst these patients do is kill themselves, we’re lucky.”

  The heat in Cady’s face rose to her eyeballs, she could feel them welling up with tears, but she couldn’t let herself cry, not with an entire lecture hall full of people looking at her. They would see her reaction was too strong, they’d wonder what was her connection to the topic, they would all guess. And to think, if they only knew the truth.

  David was looking at her again, along with the rows and rows of classmates, anticipating her response. Instead, she sank into her seat and shut down.

  Bernstein stepped in and took over. “All right, so obviously there are two sides to be argued, and it’s easy to get heated. In your essay questions, the important thing is to remain analytical and support whatever argument you make with texts or case studies we’ve discussed in class. Moving to chapter three …”

  Cady kept her head down but didn’t take any notes for the rest of the class. When the ninety minutes were finally up, the students surrounding her sprang to chatty activity. Cady relied on the others’ collective motion to shepherd her out of the lecture hall.

  Professor Bernstein’s miked voice sounded over the crowd: “Would those students who missed last lecture’s practice quiz please see me down here before you leave? Thank you, have a good day.”

  Cady cursed under her breath. She thought about skipping out anyway, but if she had already missed a quiz on the record, she didn’t want to make things worse. She turned against the current of exiting students and plodded down the wide auditorium steps.

  Professor Bernstein was talking to a male student when she came down. He patted the boy on the back and said, “All right, good luck on Friday,” then turned to Cady. “You’re Cadence Archer, correct?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry I missed the quiz, I was really sick that day. I’m going to make up for it on the exam and the rest of the semester.”

  “I actually don’t care about the practice quiz. I called you down because I’m interested in how you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I’m feeling much better, thanks.”

  “Not about being sick.” Professor Bernstein slid his headset off with a concerned frown. “You seemed upset today in class.”

  “Oh, I just …” Cady shrugged. “I’m fine. I just strongly disagreed with his characterization of the issue.”

  “No kidding. That kid was a jerk.”

  His unexpected candor made her laugh.

  “Do you have a class now?” he asked.

  “Uh, no. I was just going to get lunch.”

  “My office hours start now. Why don’t you join me for lunch in my office, we can talk about what you missed and other things.”

  Professor Bernstein’s office was on the fourteenth floor of William James Hall, the tallest building on campus and a short walk from the Science Center. His office was nice, more contemporary than some she had seen in the older buildings in the Yard. Brushed-chrome bookshelves were mounted to the wall behind his broad ashwood desk. The desk was clean with a slim silver Apple computer on one end. A large picture window offered a spectacular panoramic view of Harvard’s campus. From this height, it looked quiet and static, like a photo in a brochure. A storybook New England town, with red brick Memorial Hall looming large beside slate roofs crowned with copper cupolas, the marble pillars of Widener beyond, and Memorial Church’s white spire poking through browning fall foliage like a crocus—beauty sprung from death.

  “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to one of two cubic armchairs. They were more comfortable than they looked; Cady sank into the gray cushion, and Professor Bernstein sat opposite her. “I know that a lecture class as large as ours can feel impersonal. But I care about my students, and I imagine this might be an especially hard time for you after your brother’s passing.”

  Cady felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t know you knew about that.”

  “When a student takes his life, the entire campus feels that loss, and as a psychology professor, I take special notice. So when I saw your last name at the top of my class roster, I checked to see if there was a relation.”

  Cady looked down at her hands, wondering how many of her other professors had done the same.

  “Today’s class discussion seemed particularly tough for you.”

  “It brought up some stuff.” The drumbeat in her temples intensified. “It’s just hard to discuss something academically when you’ve been there personally.”

  “Absolutely. But I think your academic interest in the topic, despite or because of your history, is perfectly natural and healthy. Many people are drawn to the subject of psychology in order to understand themselves or their family’s issues. I was.”

  Cady looked up.

  Professor Bernstein’s brow creased below his shiny dome. “My mother attempted suicide twice. Once when I was nine, and again when I was twelve. After the second attempt, she spent a year in an inpatient program and finally got some good help. So the power of psychotherapy made an impression on me. Initially I wanted to be a clinical psychologist, I thought I wanted to help people. Although you don’t have to be Sigmund Freud to figure out that the only per
son I wanted to help was my mother.” Professor Bernstein smiled. “On some level I wasn’t entirely in touch with, it bothered me that I wasn’t the one to save her. The idea that she had to go away from me to get better. The little-kid logic that everything has to do with you. But as I learned more, got some therapy of my own, gained more personal insight, I learned to let go of the rescue fantasy and move on, do what made me happy, which was teach. But it took time.”

  “I feel like I didn’t get enough time,” Cady began, unsure of how much to share, but talking about Eric always made her feel better, like a pressure valve releasing. “Before college, he was happy, quirky, super-smart—he was the best. And then … everything fell apart. I hardly had a chance to process his schizophrenia diagnosis before he was gone.”

  Professor Bernstein shook his head. “Suicide is unfortunately common among college students, it’s not a problem exclusive to Harvard. Some studies show as much as twenty percent of undergrads consider it at some point during their college careers. It’s supposed to be a time when you’re about to embark on your adult life, but for many young people, that springboard looks more like a precipice.”

  Cady looked out the window. Eric had jumped from his window in Leverett Tower, which wasn’t as high as this, but high enough. Was he scared looking down, or did he look out at the river? But Eric had jumped at night, maybe he couldn’t see anything at all. Maybe he closed his eyes.

  “Cadence, are you all right?”

  “Sorry,” she said, blinking away the sky’s brightness. “I can’t stop thinking about how he got to that place, how did he get that desperate? What was it that pushed him over the edge?”

  “Well, schizophrenia adds another whole layer of difficulty. And we will cover that illness more broadly later in the semester, and if it’s hard on you, or if you ever have questions you’re not comfortable asking in section, I hope you’ll ask me here.”

  Why wait, Cady thought? “I have this notebook of his, and I’m trying to make sense of it, but I can’t yet.”