Jess rolled her eyes. “You know that’s not gonna happen. Not you starting, but me joining.”
He held his hands up defensively and backed a step away. “Okay, just had to offer.” He lunged forward, stole another kiss, shouted, “Love you!” and headed off to his meeting.
With two hours until her calculus class, Jess headed back toward her dorm and did the polite thing of pulling out her phone so she didn’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone else. A moment of panic when she saw that she had three missed calls was immediately assuaged when she saw who those calls were from: Jimmy Dean.
She deleted the voicemails from him without even listening.
“Repent!” shouted a voice up ahead. The imperative pulled her eyes from her screen as she assumed the shout was intended for her, because they usually were.
But instead, she saw a crowd gathering around the stallion statues in the Quad, blocking the most direct route to her dorm.
“Repent of your homo sins and He will cleanse you!” the voice shouted again.
This sounded like a whole lot of something Jess wanted nothing to do with.
“Hail Satan!” shouted someone from the crowd.
Nope. Time to go.
Jessica could sense religious hostility from a mile away … when she didn’t have her head in her phone. She turned to take the alternate route back to Tower and spotted Judith from orientation sitting on a bench not far off.
Judith smiled and waved and Jess headed over to say hello.
“This your scene?” Judith asked, holding back a smile as she nodded toward the stallions.
If they hadn’t had Dr. Bell’s freshman seminar together once a week, Jessica might not have realized Judith was being entirely flippant.
“Sheesh. No way. What the hell’s going on over there?”
“Apparently this is pretty typical in the free speech area.”
“Wait.”
Judith nodded understandingly. “Yeah, I know.”
“So where does the free speech area end?” If that was what happened inside it, she wanted to make sure to stay out of it always.
Judith shrugged. “Somewhere between that statue and the entrance to every classroom, I assume.” She leaned back and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “You mind?”
“Nope.”
“Want one?”
Jessica considered it then took another look at the simmering dogmatic hostility at the statue and her mind was made up quickly. “No thanks. Maybe later.”
“Probably a good call.” She scooted over on the bench to make room and Jessica sat.
“So who are those people on the stallions?”
“Mennonites? Amish? Performance artists? Who knows?”
“They hate gays?”
Judith took a long drag from her cigarette before responding. “They probably love gays too much, if you get my drift. Nothing sets off bigots quite like being the thing they hate.”
Grinning, Jessica wondered if Judith and Mr. Foster would ever get to meet someday. They might become best friends. Or lovers? There might be a suicide pact involved in there somewhere, too.
“You finish your personal essay for seminar?” Judith asked, changing the subject.
“No. I did one for writing, though.”
“Of course you did. I’ve already had a personal essay assigned in three different classes. Just turn in the one you’ve already done.”
“It wasn’t any good.”
Judith shrugged. “It’s freshman seminar, though. You think Dr. Bell gives a shit? I guarantee you she does not. She strikes me as someone who understands what actually matters in life and what doesn’t. Plus, she’s teaching something like four classes in the business school this semester. Between that and what I can only assume is like three hours in the gym every day, she probably doesn’t even have time to read our personal essays.
“Besides,” she added, “they’re personal essays. Meaning you can’t get it wrong. Because it’s personal.”
“Professor Stewart might disagree.”
“Oh gross, you have him too? Of course he disagrees. He’s an English professor. They all have sticks up their ass because they couldn’t make it as writers.”
Jessica chuckled. “Maybe so.” She stood. “I’m gonna get out of here before someone over there sees me and wants an opinion.”
“Good thinking. See ya in class.”
Jessica headed back to Tower Hall, and as soon as she made it up the dormitory stairs and into her room, she received an email on her phone and checked to find that it was from Mrs. Thomas. She grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the mini fridge, popped it open, and sat down at her desk to read the email on her laptop.
Hi Jess!
Great to hear from you. You know, you can call me Dolores now and no one will get mad at you ;-)
I admit I expected you to be too busy studying to email anyone. Hopefully you’re also finding time to make new friends and branch out a bit. Mooretown isn’t exactly a font of opportunity, but San Marcos is a wonderful town.
I’m sorry to hear about the way Professor Stewart responded to your personal essay. Playing the devil’s advocate a bit, I can see why he might consider it fiction, if he’s an atheist. That doesn’t excuse the rudeness, though, and it definitely doesn’t make you feel less like crap, I’m sure. College campuses are like that, though. Lots of people claiming they’re open-minded so that they don’t actually have to be. The best thing a person can do, I think, is simply to work toward being genuinely open-minded. That’s really why any of us are the way we are, when you think about it. We’re nice because we want to believe others are nice. We’re selfless because we secretly hope others will be more selfless around us (and maybe help us out a little bit as a result).
You asked for my advice, and while I usually like to let people make their own mistakes, I’ve never been very good about that when it comes to you, so here’s my two cents: branch out a bit. You’ve lived in a small town your whole life. You’ve more or less been forced to subscribe to the same beliefs your whole life. Tinker with other beliefs, dabble with new possibilities, talk with people you would normally avoid. It requires courage to do all those things, but considering you’re one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met, it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch. College is a time for growth and change, and yes, that can even hold true for you-know-who’s only daughter. Don’t feel like you have to be the same person and hold the same beliefs forever just to avoid admitting you might have been wrong before.
And if you get a little courageous momentum, just go talk with Professor Stewart during his office hours. Professors love that, and he’ll be much more likely to listen to your story and possibly bump your grade.
On this end, everything’s going well. Sandra’s enjoying Tech, I suppose, because I don’t really hear from her, which is more or less what I expected. I wrote Mr. Foster a strong letter of recommendation and now he’s working in Austin, where I suspect he’s a much better fit for school culture. I haven’t spoken to him, but a few of the other teachers have and say he’s quite happy where he is. Or as happy as Mr. Foster can be.
I have to say, Mooremont isn’t the same without you. And I mean that. I know you didn’t exactly graduate full of love for this place, but I hope someday you’ll realize that your being here improved the school as a whole tremendously.
All my best,
Dolores
P. S. Let me know how it goes with Prof. Stewart!
The emotion of hearing from Mrs. Thomas—er, Dolores—came as somewhat of a surprise to Jessica, as she felt said emotion acutely just below the sternum in for form of very strong finger jabbing her. Did she miss home? Surely not. Not Mooretown.
More like Boretown.
She was immediately embarrassed for even thinking that and decided never to say it aloud.
But some of Dolo—screw it, she would always be Mrs. Thomas. Some of Mrs. Thomas’s advice had cut through the nostalgia and reached
Jessica’s brain. She supposed she never had explored views other than her own, but that seemed more due to the fact that there was no point in believing anything that fell outside of 1) God exists and 2) He was her Father. Maybe she could tinker with it a bit. If nothing else, it might prove a fun mental exercise to keep her mind off of not having friends.
God does not exist. She was relieved to know that, while she could never manage to say those words, she still had the ability to think them. How had she not realized that before?
Well, because she’d never tried it.
Okay, so maybe Mrs. Thomas was onto something.
So she shut her eyes and tried it again, this time imagining a world where everything was ruled by happenstance in an eons-long progression from a spontaneous BANG at the center of the universe.
The thought wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Strange, yes, but not unpleasant.
In a world with no God, things just happened. There was no intrinsic value to them. They were whatever they were.
And then in the not-so-distant past, humans came along and thought they were real hot shit, assigning meaning to everything and complicating existence tremendously. But before that, everything just lived then died—no sweat! No questioning the purpose of one’s own existence. No pressure to save the United States. No pressure to do anything but drink and eat and screw. And before life, even those things were unnecessary. Everything just floated around, a super chill passenger through time.
I’M GOING TO STOP YOU THERE. THINGS WERE DEFINITELY NOT CHILL BEFORE I CREATED LIFE. THE UNIVERSE WAS NOTHING BUT VIOLENCE. IT IS STILL MOSTLY VIOLENCE. YOU SHOULD SEE THIS ONE GALAXY THAT’S BEEN LITERALLY SPINNING OUT OF CONTROL. THREE HUNDRED BILLION OUTLYING GALAXIES EATEN UP SO FAR. I MEAN, SHEESH! TALK ABOUT A CLUSTER.
Okay, you win. You’re real.
Jessica opened her eyes, breathed deep, and stood up from her desk.
Real annoying.
I can do this. I’m courageous. Professor Stewart will see things from my point of view. He will believe me.
Jessica had read about affirmations earlier that morning in preparation for a confrontation that she had dreaded for the past forty-eight hours. But she had to have it. She couldn’t let down Mrs. Thomas, who, for whatever reason, was under the delusion that Jessica was courageous.
But no matter how many times she repeated the affirmations to herself while staring at her reflection in the women’s room mirror of the English building, Jessica didn’t feel any braver or more prepared to handle herself.
IT’S BECAUSE YOU DON’T BELIEVE IT.
Stop. You and your existence is the reason I’m in this situation to begin with.
I AGREE … BECAUSE I CREATED YOU. BUT BY ALL MEANS, NEVER THANK ME FOR THAT.
Stop playing the martyr. Besides, I thought we were clear about you never dropping by my brain while I’m in the restroom.
YOU ARE WASHING YOUR HANDS. ARE YOU EMBARRASSED ABOUT THAT?
Now I’m washing my hands, but I could have been on the crapper.
EXCEPT I KNEW YOU WERE WASHING YOUR HANDS BECAUSE I WAS WATCHING YOU ON THE TOILET AND WAITED UNTIL YOU WERE FINISHED BEFORE MAKING MY PRESENCE KNOWN.
O-kay. You clearly don’t get my rationale behind the bathroom thing. Whatever, we can talk about this later. I have more important things to deal with right now.
She dried her hands and headed for Professor Stewart’s office.
When she peeked her head through the open door, she half expected to see Mr. Foster sitting there, headphones pumping out soothing nature sounds, maybe a Styrofoam cup of ramen at the edge of his desk with two chopsticks poking up from it like old television antennae. The irrational hope buoyed her spirits for only a moment before Professor Stewart’s stupid plump face and stupid round body tore through the memory. He looked up at her.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi, Professor. I, uh, I’m in your creative writing class, and I just wanted to talk to you about my personal essay.”
He narrowed his squinty blue eyes at her and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Do you by any chance have it with you? I have four hundred students this semester, so I’m afraid I’m unable to memorize each student’s work.”
“Uh, yeah.” She pulled it hurriedly from her backpack, catching the edge on the zipper and tearing an inch-long rip from the side. She grimaced but tried not to curse, then flattened the paper out and handed it to the adjunct.
He didn’t look particularly old—perhaps midforties—but he held the paper out at arm’s length to view it before pulling reading glasses from his pocket and slipping those on. Then he was silent as he looked it over.
And he continued to be silent.
He sure was taking his time.
Jessica wasn’t sure what she should do. Should she take a seat at the chair opposite him? It seemed like the natural thing, but it also could be something that pushed the professor’s buttons.
He was still silent.
She reached for the chair to pull it out and he cleared his throat and looked up at her, so she let her arm drop again to her side.
“See,” he said, removing his glasses from his face. “This is the problem. And I don’t blame you for this, trust me. Texas public schools aren’t what they used to be. Or ever should have been, really. Meaning they’re shit. And for that reason, I don’t blame you for misunderstanding the assignment, because you were likely not taught what a personal essay actually consists of. I thought I’d made it clear by my comments, but I guess not. A personal essay should be fact. What you’ve presented me with in this essay is fiction.”
He pressed his lips together and she wasn’t sure if it was a smile, a frown, or a grimace. What was she supposed to say?
“Still confused?” he asked after a long silence. “Okay,” he set his glasses back on his nose. “Let’s start here.” He scanned the essay. “So football. That’s what this essay is about, right?”
Jessica nodded.
“Did you really play high school football?”
“Yes.”
“Okay!” he said encouragingly. “There we go. That part is fact. Now …” He looked back at the paper again. “Did you really win state three years in a row?”
Had this guy lived under a rock? Who in Texas didn’t know about the Mooremont Mexicans’ threepeat?
“Yes …” she said cautiously.
“Again, great! Congrats, by the way. I understand that’s a big deal down here.”
She didn’t like the way he said down here but mentioning it wouldn’t be in the best interest of her case.
“You know, when I first moved here, I wouldn’t have accepted a personal essay on sacrifice to include anything about football, but I’ve since adapted my standards—lowered them, some might say. But one thing that’s just never going to fly in a personal essay is miracles. For one, Deus ex machina is just lazy storytelling, but it also completely ignores things like personal responsibility and luck, instead assuming that you’re each ‘blessed’ in one way or another; implying, of course that you’re more favorable to your imagined God than those who enter this world knee-deep in poverty and can never tug free of its grip, dying alone, cold and hungry, on the front steps of a church.”
“I don’t think I’m blessed.” If only Professor Stewart knew the extent of it, he’d realized she was closer to cursed.
He did a poor, dramatic job of suppressing a smile, tilting his head slightly left. “Of course you don’t. You just think you’re the daughter of God.”
“I took a risk and put myself out there in the essay like you said we—”
“No, you didn’t.” His tone cut. “You’re not even close to putting yourself out there while you hide behind religion, shielding yourself from the apathetic tragedy of the world. And you’ll never understand it until you decide to strip yourself of your emotional crutches and fantasies and privileges and then see if you can hop out of bed in the morning, a smile on your face as you blissfully straighten your hair and wonde
r what beauty the day will hold just for you.”
She gasped without meaning to and had to resist the urge to stomp her foot, opting instead to ball her hands into fists by her side. “I don’t wake up like that! I don’t think that!” If only he knew how hard she’d struggled to pull herself from her lumpy, jabby mattress each morning and slog over to the dining hall to sit by herself in the darkest corner she could find. How dare he assume she didn’t understand hardship. Sure, she could afford to eat, but so could he, obviously. Who was he to judge her?
“Okay, so that’s not the direction you take it? Fine. Maybe you wake up, think about all the sad, poor children in distant lands and wonder which charity for those poor, spiritually bereft heathens to throw your daddy’s money at.”
Crack!
The glass lamp on his desk exploded and Jessica didn’t even flinch. Professor Stewart sure did, though, before quickly regaining his composure and turning his eyes away from the sound and back onto Jessica. He inspected her for a moment, his puffy lower eyelids crowding upward as his nostrils flared almost imperceptibly.
Jessica spoke slowly so she could control the words coming from her mouth. “I don’t wake up like that either.”
Professor Stewart chuckled softly and humorlessly. “Nice party trick. Not sure how you did it, but it’s well done. Unfortunately only the inarticulate resort to violence, so.” He raised his eyebrows at her to let her fill in the rest. “You can leave now.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She spun around, not bothering to snatch the paper back from him, and stormed out of the office, feeling violently misunderstood and hoping he didn’t ask her at some later date to reimburse him for the lamp.
How did this world house so many insufferable people? He was like what Greg would be if left alone to ferment. How did someone as bitter and unlovable as Professor Stewart get to be in a position of power?
He’d called her smiting a party trick.
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