Damaged

by Ward, H. M.

  Today it’s eerily silent.

  I walk in and head back to Tadwick’s office. There’s no indication that he’s here; no steaming coffee mug, no glowing computer screen. He must be running late.

  I put my purse in his desk drawer so no one swipes it, and look at the pictures on his desk. Tadwick’s not that old for a professor, maybe forty-five, with thick brown hair and dark eyes. There are two little girls in one frame looking at Tadwick like he’s the world’s best dad. They seem happy, which is so different from my home life, I can’t even imagine it.

  I walk back out of his office and join the others. Someone calls ‘five minute rule’ and we all laugh. I hop onto an empty student worker desk that’s located outside of Dr. Tadwick’s office. The Graduate Assistant or GA, Marshal, is pacing, wearing a hole in the carpet. Being late is something he can’t fathom. Add that to his slightly OCD personality and he looks like a caged lunatic. We’re all going to be late, because something is obviously going on, so it’s not as if this tardy will be his fault. Classes have already begun. It’s 8:05am. All the TA’s and GA’s are supposed to sign in and then head to class, but no one is in the main office. The sign in sheet isn’t out. Nothing’s out. Everything is still locked up like it’s the middle of the night.

  All the teachers are gathered in a conference room at the end of the hall. One of the student’s, Ryan, tried standing outside the door to listen, but eventually he came back saying that he couldn’t hear a thing.

  “Where is everyone?” Marshal asks me in a panicky voice. He’s a tall skinny blonde with a skater’s body; meaning lots of tightly corded muscle, not too big, not too small. He’s easy on the eyes. Unfortunately, he’s way too crazy to consider. Take a high-maintenance girl that’s a total control freak and socially oblivious, and that pretty much sums up Marshal’s personality. Even though he’s a bit hard to put up with, the teachers love him because of his impeccable work. Everything he does is perfect.

  “They’re in the conference room,” I say, picking at my nail. An uneasy feeling is swimming in my gut. I can’t imagine what would make them blow off the workers and their classes this way.

  Marshal huffs, “Discussing what? Class already started. You know all the 101 classes are going to call five minutes and leave.”

  I nod. “True, but Tadwick’s harsh. He’s shown up twenty minutes late before and marked everyone absent.” Since he only allows two misses, that screwed over half of the class. “The man’s a legend, in terms of avoiding his wrath, anyway. I doubt they’ll leave.”

  Marshal and I are assigned to the same professor. He takes care of the upper-level classes and I do the 101 classes. Since the sound of my nervous nail picking is making Marshal glare at me, I switch and rub at a piece of lint on my sweater. He sighs and shakes his head. It’s not my fault that I respond to tension by fidgeting. Besides, I didn’t sleep too good last night, and I refuse to have two craptacular days in a row.

  I fixed a smile on my face this morning, and it’s not leaving my face, no matter what happens.

  I swing my legs and lean forward on the desk, planting a hand on either side of my hips. A second later, Tia staggers in and flops onto a couch on the other side of the room. All of her things fall on the floor next to her and she moans.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Marshal asks, glancing back at Tia. “I hope she’s not sick. She can’t be here if she’s sick.” His voice raises half an octave as he speaks.

  “Calm down, lunatic. She won the Abs of Steel workout last night.” He blinks at me, not understanding.

  Tia interjects, “My abs weren’t up to it. Fucking Pilates class. It feels like someone used my guts for a punching bag.” She groans and rolls onto her side.

  Suddenly, Marshal turns toward me. “I think that story about Tadwick failing half the class is just a rumor.” He taps his fingers to his lips and says, “But still, a good rumor has been known to strike fear into freshmen. Maybe they’ll stay.”

  “They’ll stay,” Tia says, from across the room. I don’t why she laid down. She won’t be able to sit back up. Tia’s hand waves in the air as she speaks. “My class, on the other hand, is probably already gone. They don’t wait two seconds for Strictland.”

  Marshal glances at her and waves her off. “That’s because Strictland’s a pushover.”

  Someone clears her throat from the doorway behind Marshal. “Am I? I wasn’t aware of that.” Dr. Strictland walks into the center of the room. It’s the central space between all the offices. She glances at Marshal. “I’ll go harder on the class this semester and tell them to thank you for it, Marshal.”

  Marshal’s eyeballs are going to pop out of his head. The corner of Strictland’s mouth tugs up. She likes teasing him. Marshal has an issue with understanding sarcasm. Strictland gives him a look and says, “As if I’d do such a thing? Really Marshal. Learn to tell when someone is pulling your leg.”

  Dr. Cyianna Strictland is the head of the department. She’s an older woman, with copper-colored skin and streaks of gray peppered through her auburn hair. She usually wears a vivid pant suit, but today she’s wearing solid black, which is very out of character. Strictland waves her hand to cut off Marshal’s groveling pleas. The look in her eye makes my stomach drop. Something bad has happened.

  Continuing, Strictland folds her hands in front of her and says, “There are more important things to discuss. I’m afraid that I have some bad news. As you may know, Dr. Tadwick’s classes have been twice a week since last year when he had a heart attack. He made a stunning recovery and was about to start back full time, however—” she presses her palms together and looks around the room at us, “Things didn’t go as planned. Dr. Tadwick passed away over the weekend.”

  My jaw drops open along with everyone else’s. Tadwick joked about his heart attack when he came back to work. He was so full of life, so young compared to the other profs. He had a new outlook on life and was ready to make a dent in the world. Most of the professors here could pass for twice his age. In comparison, Tadwick’s the young teacher. He was the teacher everyone hoped to get.

  Shocked gasps fill the room. I see my horror mirrored in the faces around me. We all liked him. Strictland gives us a moment and then speaks gently, “I know, I know. It was sudden. Everyone thought he would…” Strictland’s voice is strained. She tries to keep the emotion off her face, but she can’t. “He was a trusted colleague and a good friend.

  “In light of what happened, we have had to find a quick replacement so that the students in Dr. Tadwick’s classes could complete their courses. The university has hired a new teacher, one of my previous students, to temporarily to teach his classes.

  “Sidney and Marshal, you can meet him in a moment. He’s gone to the classroom to inform the students of the change. I’m not certain if he plans to hold class today or let the students leave. We left that decision up to him.” Marshal and I nod.

  I can’t believe Tadwick’s dead. A wave of shock hits me and doesn’t let go. His poor little girls. My heart clenches inside my chest. I met them a few times. The last time I saw them, they came up here with their mother to bring Tadwick dinner. It was a big surprise. Now he’s gone. There’ll be a hole in that family that won’t mend. My eyes sting, but tears don’t fall. I’ve spent too much of my life crying. They won’t fall unless I let them, and I can’t. Not here. Not now.

  Strictland eyes me, as though she can see my thoughts on my face. “The funeral is this afternoon, if you would like to attend and pay your respects.” Strictland gives the location along with some other directions before turning to me and saying, “Please help the classes transition. Some of the students may be very upset. Dr. Tadwick was a promising young teacher. No one expected this.”

  I know the students will be upset, especially in Marshal’s classes. The upper-level classes are small. Everyone knows everyone else. My 100 level classes are large with hundreds of students. Most of them didn’t know Tadwick very well. I have no idea how they�
�ll take it. Stunned, I nod and turn to leave. My class is downstairs right now and the new guy is probably being eaten alive.

  I feel that hollow place at the center of my chest as I walk down the stairs and think about Tadwick. My emotions are such a jumbled mess. Add in the incident from last night and I can feel my grip on my emotions slipping away. I keep getting blindsided. Images flash through my mind, filled with Tadwick’s smile, his voice, his lessons—things he taught me that won’t ever be forgotten. For the vibrancy of his life to be snuffed out, it just seems so pointless. It’s not fair. I feel the weight inside my chest sink into my stomach and think I might puke. I can’t do anything except think that Tadwick’s still alive, wearing his patchwork coat with the big ugly buttons. I picture him at the lectern, and know that I won’t see him there ever again.

  There are some people who take the time to teach others. And, at the time, it seems silly. At the time, I thought I knew everything, but Tadwick had a gentle way about him. Life is a journey, he would say. No one knows everything, and the best part is that you don’t have to. He meant that I didn’t have to figure everything out to live my life.

  There’s a difference between wisdom and knowledge. Tadwick was wise. My throat is in knots as I approach the classroom door. Normally, I would enter from the side and go sit in the first row, but not today.

  The lump in my throat has grown so large, so impossible to swallow. I stand in front of the main doors to the classroom, and stare at the silver pulls without moving. I say a little prayer for Tadwick, inside my head, for his family, before I go inside. I don’t really believe anything, but I can’t help it. It seems like the right thing to do.

  When I pull open the classroom door, I see the endless rows of seats. They are still full. I guess new guy is continuing class without a break. A student is talking, answering a question from Antigone, the assignment for today.

  Glancing down to the front of the room, I see the new teacher’s black suit and don’t bother to look at his face. I walk down the stairs slowly. No one looks at me. They all know I’m the TA. I stare at my feet as I walk down the staircase toward the front of the massive room. I feel as if I’m in a bubble. The sounds around me blur, but about half way down the stairs my attention snaps to the front of the room. The hairs on my neck prickle and I feel eyes on me.

  Slowly I lift my gaze to see who’s looking at me. They lock on the man at the front of the room. He stares at me for a moment, and I shudder. Every inch of my body is in overload. I feel my brain breaking and falling apart inside my head.

  This can’t be happening, not to me, not now.

  I stop and stare.

  It’s Peter.

  CHAPTER 5

  Every inch of my skin is covered in goose bumps. A shiver of ice runs down my spine and mingles with the lust still brimming inside of me from last night. Standing frozen on the stairs, I gape at him. Peter looks up at me with those gorgeous eyes. His mouth is paused midsentence as he stares back with his head titled to the side. Peter blinks at me, as if I’ll fade away—like this is a bad dream and a single blink will set me free.

  I have no idea what he’s thinking. The expression on his face is so annoyingly neutral. Horror slowly drips through me like acid, burning away every other emotion. Although I can’t feel them at the moment, I know they are still there, pushed back behind the floodgate that’s ready to burst open.

  Realization comes to me as I take in his clothing –that polished suit that fits his beautiful body perfectly. He’s standing in front of the lectern. He is (or was) answering the student. Awh, damn.

  Peter’s the replacement professor.

  Peter’s a teacher.

  Peter’s my boss.

  My heart feels brittle, like glass, like I’ll shatter if I breathe. There’s too much pressure even though nothing is touching me. I feel its force crushing against my body, against my battered soul. Too many things have gone wrong today. I feel the fracture lines splinter me into pieces.

  I react. I don’t mean to, but I do. Gasping, I cover my mouth and press my lips together so tightly that they hurt. Part of my mind is telling my legs to move, be quiet, and go sit down, but I can’t. I’m frozen on the stairs and falling apart. Peter watches me with those striking eyes. He doesn’t look away from me. He stands frozen, as if I’m the biggest shock he could have expected.

  The student who was talking before, Lily, speaks up. I see her hand go up out of the corner of my eye. She asks, “Excuse me, Dr. Granz?”

  Peter flinches and his head turns back toward Lily. There’s a full smile on his face, as if nothing’s happened. Like I don’t matter. The students around me glance at my frozen form, still standing on the stair case. Peter’s rich voice fills the room. It echoes through the speaker so clearly that I can’t stand it. My legs are telling me to haul ass out of there, but I can’t.

  I drop my hand from my face and walk down to my normal seat at the front of the room. Peter doesn’t look at me again. The rest of the class continues and I do my job, taking attendance and posting his questions to the interactive computer thingy the school purchased last year. The students use an iTouch to respond, and the teacher can see their answers. It helps the teacher and the students, but most of the teachers can’t use it, which is why each class has a TA or GA to help.

  Over the course of the hour, I’ve gone numb. I can’t handle this. Too much has happened too fast. It’s bad enough being here, in Tadwick’s room, knowing I’ll never see him again. Add to that the Peter complication and I can’t do it. I can’t handle seeing him every day, having him tell me what to do, sitting with him for hours and grading papers. My stomach twists and turns, growing more acidic by the second. I feel so sick. By the end of class, I’ve shrunk back into my chair so that my head barely hits the top of the seat.

  Peter dismisses the class. He turns and looks at the lectern for a moment, while I gather my things to leave. As I stand and start walking up the stairs, I hear my name. “Sidney Colleli, please come see me before you go.” I hear the rustling of paper behind me as Peter picks up his notes.

  Turning slowly, I look back at him. The lump in my throat is now the size of my head. I can’t swallow. I’m coming apart at the seams. I can feel it. Talking to him is a very bad idea, but there are a few students lingering. I can’t blow him off.

  As it is, people noticed something was weird when I saw Peter. Dating a prof is against university policy, so is dating the boss. Peter is both. We’ll both get fired if anyone knows what happened between us. There is no room for stuff of this sort in academia. The rules were made crystal clear when we signed on the line to be a TA. At the time, the thought of sleeping with a prof sounded gross, but now—shit, shit, shit. My brain is in panic mode. I try to lock it down as I walk toward Peter.

  I grin at him, as if he has no effect on me, and fold my arms over my chest. “So, Doctor Granz, is it?”

  Peter looks at me from under his brow. He stacks papers and shoves them into his satchel. “Yes, I completed my doctoral work last semester. The title is new. It takes some getting used to.”

  I nod. “Mmm, I suppose that’s why you forgot to mention it.”

  Peter gives me a look that says I shouldn’t be talking about this now. His eyes burn a hole into mine, like he’s daring me to blurt it out. I break the death-stare first and look away. I don’t have it in me right now. Peter clears his throat and says, “Please meet me in my office at 3:00pm. There are some things we need to go over right away.” He grabs another stack of papers from his bag as he speaks. He pulls them out and puts them on the podium.

  I don’t answer him at first. I just look at my shoes, my tired old All Stars. Then, my gaze drifts to his black dress shoe. It’s a saddle shoe, vintage, and one of my favorite styles. It reminds me of dancing and laughing, things that seem so foreign at the moment.

  I open my mouth as if I’m going to say something and decide that it’s not worth it. I need this job. I worked my ass off to get here and I
’m not letting Peter mess it up. I nod and turn away. I don’t look back at him. I walk up the stairs.

  A plan forms in my head. I need to put space between us. I need to get a different professor to work for. I need to find Strictland and ask her to assign me to someone else.

  As I reach the upper landing, I see Marshal walk through the door. He gives me a look and tilts his head at Peter. “So, how is he?”

  I glance back, watching him write on the dry-erase board with his back to me. When I turn to Marshal, I snap, “Why would I know?”

  Marshal gives me a weird look. I push past him, banging into his shoulder because he doesn’t move and I don’t want to stay around to chat.

  I need to find Strictland. Now.

  _____

  When I reach the offices, things appear to be back to normal. Student workers are at their desks, professors are hurrying through the space—coffee in one hand, papers in the other—on their way to teach.

  I walk over to Tadwick’s office and stand in the open door way. I spent hours in there. Leaning my head to the side, I rest it against the doorjamb. My eyes scan the room looking at all Tadwick’s books, his favorite poems and literature. My gaze drifts to his pictures and some small clay thing that looks like a squashed cat. One of his girls made that for him. I remember him bringing it in and proudly showing off his future artist. He was beaming that day.

  Blinking rapidly, I try to fight off the stinging that’s building behind my eyes. Life is short. I know that, but I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe I won’t see him again. It feels unreal. My mind wrestles with it and doesn’t want to accept that it’s a fact—Dr. Tadwick is dead.