by Hunter Rose
“Is everything with that going to be okay?” Isaiah asks.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I tell him.
26
Talon
I walk into the classroom and notice the room is fairly empty. I figure it will be easy enough to find a seat where I can be most comfortable. I unshoulder my backpack and take aim at a prime spot near a back corner. As I head there, a familiar scent wafts toward me, and I stop dead in my tracks. I snap my head around, and my eyes settle on Wren. She’s noticed me already and is staring, open mouthed at me. She realizes I am staring back at her, and her jaw snaps shut. She turns her face to the front of the room, her eyes burning holes into the dry-erase board.
A short, bearded man wanders into the room as I sit down, and he places a few books on his desk. Looking at the room of mostly empty chairs, he sighs and then clears his throat. The ten or so students quiet their whispers and start to pay attention, but Wren won’t even shift her eyes in my direction. They stay firmly fixed on the board at the front of the classroom.
“Hello class,” the bearded man says in a voice far too young for his body. “I am Professor Blackwith, and we will be discussing Philosophy Through History this semester. I am so pleased to see you all here.”
I look around the room to make sure I am seeing things correctly. No more than ten students scattered among fifty or so chairs, but he seems delighted by the turnout. I catch Wren stealing a glance in my direction by shifting her eyes, and I sit back in my chair. She was going to pretend not to see me here, but I don’t think I am going to let that plan work.
“Now, we will begin by discussing the very concept of history itself. We often take for granted the enormity of material we have about the human condition and how it got to now, but what is most interesting is this information is relatively new. For thousands of years, only very few societies kept more than the most basic records of their society, and history found a way of repeating itself in the manner of wars, famine, plagues, and the like. So, our first question is, do humans actually learn from their history?”
“No,” I say, and the room grows silent. Professor Blackwith stops just as he begins to write the first words of the question on the whiteboard, and he turns slowly toward me.
“Beg pardon?” he asks.
“No. Humans don’t learn from their history. Not until it’s often way too late, or a bunch of people have died or are sick or alone.” I turn my head to Wren, who has her eyes closed and her head cocked as if she can’t believe I am daring to speak. I decide to speak directly to her. “They just keep making the same mistakes over and over. Because it’s easier.”
“An interesting point, Mister…?” the professor asks, his voice trailing.
“Talon. Talon Vance.” Wren speaks my name with the venom of a snake. She nearly spits the consonants out. “He’s going to be your class cynic for the sake of sounding smarter than everyone else.”
“Because I am,” I smirk, which gets Wren to spin in her seat and glare at me.
“You’re wrong. People learn from history quite well. All throughout history, there are countless examples of people surviving, even thriving, by getting rid of the rich and pompous,” she says, her eyes not leaving mine.
“Ah, this brings up the moral quandary of the Russian Revolution, to begin our complicated history of Tsar Nicholas the Second and the Romanovs…” the professor cuts in.
“And then they created a Communist state that failed. Getting rid of the rich meant nothing because they just replaced who the rich were. Instead of royalty, you had oligarchs, and the whole process started over again,” I interrupt. “They learned nothing about power and money and the mistakes of trying to please too many masters.”
“At least they tried to end the suffering of the people,” Wren says, her voice mocking and her arms clasping over her chest. I can see her face flushing and can feel myself getting heated too. Part of me wants to tell her what a naive fleck of historic dust she is in the grand scheme of life, and the other part of me wants to do things I have to force down and not think about. My leg begins to lightly bounce under the desk as I grapple with the two concepts.
“How, by killing them? By starving them for sixty years and then collapsing in on itself?”
“Just because their economic policy failed doesn’t mean the society failed,” she argues.
“That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard, Wren. The economic policy failing absolutely means the society failed because the society led a revolution to create that economic policy in the first place. The people meant nothing. Because they learned nothing. Because history repeats itself no matter how many ways we write it down. You should know all about that by now.”
There is silence in the room again as the professor looks from me to Wren and back again. When Wren doesn’t respond, he breathes out loudly and strokes his beard.
“Well, obviously we have some very spirited debates in store for our class. That said, I think it would be wise to let our emotions cool for a while and move on to our first project of the new semester,” the professor says. “What I would like you all to do is find a partner and prepare a presentation arguing your case. Basing your evidence on at least two historical moments, preferably local, I want you to as a team decide if history has influence over current life, or if history is doomed to repeat itself no matter if it is written down. You may choose your partner now if you wish.”
The professor stands up and moves around the desk to sit in the chair, leaning back and smiling delightedly at the class. The debate Wren and I had was more about the two of us than the subject matter, but Blackwith seemed pleased to have any debate at all in his classroom. His elbow patches stretch as he rests his hands, folded, on the top of his head, and watches the class pair off.
I don’t bother to move. Either someone will make their way toward me as they always do, or I will do the project alone. There is one person I would even entertain the thought of pairing up with, and after a moment of thinking about it, I change my mind about letting someone come to me. I stand up and walk over to where Wren sits.
“We’re partners,” I say, interrupting her conversation with the girl sitting in the seat behind her.
“Excuse me?” she sputters, turning back to face me. My stomach clenches as I see the blood rush up her chest from the drooping neckline of her shirt. The faintest bit of soft, pale cleavage is visible, and I have to force myself to look her in the eyes.
“We’re partners. For the project. I have an idea…”
“I already have a partner,” she says, and I stop. She motions to the girl behind her, who does a little embarrassed half-wave.
“Hi, I’m-” she begins.
“You’re kidding,” I deadpan to Wren, and the girl behind her withers. “Come on, let’s go to lunch and we can talk about what we want to do.”
There is a tense moment as I stare at Wren, and she stares back, and then she turns to the girl behind her, putting on a big fake smile and ignoring me.
“I’ll meet you at the library, then. Seven?”
“Y-yes,” the girl says, her eyes darting from me to her and back again. “Seven, seven-fifteen.”
A grumbling sound escapes my chest, and I turn to walk away, grabbing my bag and walking out of the door without looking back. I don’t care what she thinks is going to happen. She is going to be my partner whether she likes it or not.
27
Wren
I glance at my watch as I open the library doors and walk inside. Seven on the dot. I look up, scanning the first floor for a sign of Jodie, the girl who is supposed to be my partner. Her bright, wide smile and curly hair should be beaming back at me any second. I walk deeper into the main lobby area, checking all of the computers nearby and peeking between rows of shelves. When Jodie doesn’t show herself, I decide to head upstairs.
As I reach the second floor and do a quick scan, my eyes fall on Talon. He is sitting in a chair, a sketchbook in his lap and a book o
pen in front of him. It looks like he is sketching something in the book. Deciding to avoid him, and the rush of warmth that suddenly filled me when I saw him, I go around behind the shelves and keep looking for Jodie.
Ten minutes of aimlessly wandering the second floor of the library and kicking myself that we didn’t exchange phone numbers or social media handles, and I am ready to sit and wait for her to come to me. The only problem is Talon is still sitting on the opposite chair from where I want to sit and wait. He sits the book in his lap down and closes his sketchbook before looking around as if he is looking for someone. Finally, he looks at his watch, abruptly stands and heads away, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. Hoping he is gone down the stairs, I sneak over to the chair and take it. I try not to think about the comfort of his warmth in the fabric. Just as I sit down and lean back, a voice next to my ear whispers at me.
“You’re late.”
I spin around in the chair to see Talon, book under his arm and pencil behind his ear. He comes around to be in front of me and looks down with a grin on his face.
“I’m not late, Jodie is. If I knew her last name, I would look her up on-”
“Don’t bother,” Talon interrupted. “She’s not coming.”
“Why?”
“Because she isn’t your partner anymore.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, exasperated.
“I went to the professor and had us switched. I am your partner now.”
“What?” I sputter, my voice rising to a level high enough to get dirty looks from a librarian across the room. “What about Jodie?”
“She’s fine. Don’t worry about it. So, I have this idea,” he begins, as if none of this was happening.
“No. No, you don’t just get to do that. You don’t just get to manipulate me like because it suits you. How dare you?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t manipulate anyone. I just want the best grade possible, and you are the only person in the class remotely on my level.”
“You are something else; you know that?” I ask. I am so unbelievably angry at him right now, and yet there is a part of me excited to be this close to him, and to be this close to him long enough to do a project. I need to push it out of my mind. It only complicates things.
“I know,” he says, a sly smile crossing his face.
“I can’t believe you did this behind my back,” I fume, the frustration having reduced from a boil to a simmer. “When Isaiah did this exact thing, you got so upset.”
“Do not compare me with Isaiah,” he fires back, his voice dropping low at the mention and his demeanor changing from cool and in control to disgust and frustration. His body suddenly stiffens, and his fist clenches. He drops the sketchpad and his jacket to the ground. I know I hit a nerve.
“What? It’s true. Both of you manipulated a situation that forced us together. It’s manipulative and controlling. And rude.”
“No, what Isaiah did was screwing with your life. What he did was try to make you move to Boston, so you couldn’t have your own life, and when you didn’t, he followed you around like a stalker. All I did was ask a professor to change my project partner so we can both get a good grade.”
“And it has nothing to do with being around me, alone?” I ask. It’s a loaded question, but he answers it immediately.
“I didn’t say that,” he responds.
I am trying not to let those words sink in the way he intends them to, and I am failing miserably.
“I am still not okay with this,” I half-lie. Part of me is very, very okay with this, and I know it.
“Look, if we don’t get an A on this, and you don’t have a good time working on it, then I will never be your partner again. You can have Jodie for every project from now until the end of time.”
I take a second to think it over. Finally, I nod at him. “Okay. What’s your big idea?”
“Richmond. The city itself and how it never really changed. I’ve studied this city for years, and it has always fascinated me how the city essentially is the same as it always was after it was rebuilt following the Civil War. It’s like a time capsule. There are a couple of places we can go and explore the history of the city and what everyone learned or didn’t learn. Why didn’t it become a big epicenter like Atlanta? What the impact of all the Confederate monuments are on the city and its citizens. All that stuff.”
I have to admit it’s a pretty interesting idea. Especially considering it will mean going to a bunch of the historical places in Richmond I have been meaning to go to but failing to explore.
“I don’t know,” I begin.
“Meet me at the pizza place on Broad tomorrow at eleven, and we will start exploring?”
“What if I say no?” I ask.
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you won’t.” The confidence in which he says it is almost enough to convince me on its own. Not that I need a whole lot of convincing.
I stare at him for a moment, mind churning with an undeniable desire to be near him, even if it is just for a project, and knowing I shouldn’t. I bite my bottom lip absently as I think about it, and I see him run his tongue over his bottom lip. I bite my lip so hard I am fairly certain I draw blood.
“Okay. Eleven.”
“Don’t be late,” he teases.
“I wasn’t late. I was here; I was just…”
“Avoiding me?”
“Y-yeah.” I didn’t mean to just blurt out the admission, but now it’s out in the world. He knows.
“I know. I saw you. You are terrible at hiding.”
“What?” I nearly shout and catch another death stare from the librarian. “What?” I repeat in more of a whisper this time.
“You went into those shelves over there, then wandered off behind me, thinking I couldn’t see you.”
“How do you know that?” I ask.
He points directly across from me and where I sit in the chair. There is a huge, very clear mirror on the wall. He walks behind me and stands where I was and waves. Not only can I see him, but I can see his entire body too. Including his arms, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and…
I stop myself.
“Well, okay, so I won’t ever be a spy,” I say, desperate to talk about anything other than the thoughts currently occupying my mind.
“Not for long, you wouldn’t.”
“Eleven?”
“Eleven.”
Talon grabs his jacket off the floor and tosses it on, flashing a smile at me before turning and walking down the stairs and out of the library. I decide it might be best to sit here for a little while and relax, maybe read a book, or do something, anything, other than running after Talon.
28
Wren
“I can’t believe it took us this long to come up with this idea,” I say. “But it’s perfect. I guarantee you no one else in the class going to have anything anywhere near like this.”
“I certainly hope not,” Talon says. “This project is most of our grade, and we’re going to be working on it for the next few months, so it better be worth it.”
I make a face at him. “You seriously know how to take all the fun out of a situation, don’t you? I’m really excited about this. It’s going to be amazing getting to explore all these places and things I’ve read about so much.”
“It is,” he agrees. “I’m excited about it, too.”
I look over at him again, letting my eyes trace up and down his face, trying to find any changes in his expression I might have missed.
“You do a fantastic job showing it,” I comment. “If this is your excited face, I am absolutely on pins and needles waiting to see your reaction when this gets us an A.”
“Full disclosure. It’ll probably be something very similar to this,” he says.
“Wow, I promise to smile and be happy enough for the both of us. How does that sound?” He flashes me a double thumbs up. “Good enough for
me. Truth be told, though, I was expecting you to be a little more into this whole thing, considering it was your suggestion. Both that we do the project together and that we do it on the haunted history of Richmond.”
“Again, I’m excited.”
I give him an incredulous look, and he stretches his face into a wide, over-exaggerated grin.
“See? I knew you had it in you.”
I haven’t mentioned it to Talon, but I was touched when he suggested we use the many ghost legends of Richmond as a basis for our project. I can’t help but think it came to mind because he remembers our brief foray into ghost hunting at the mansion in the woods. I’ll never be able to bring myself to refer to it as urban spelunking. Or even suburban spelunking. To me, we were just exploring an old house and trying not to get caught by the ghosts. Or the police.
Hopefully this project will involve far less police interaction. But with Talon along for the ride, I can’t be but so sure.
It’s been more than a week since the professor assigned the history project, and I already feel behind by not getting started already. The trouble came when we started talking with other groups in the class and realized delving into the social implications of the statues on Monument Avenue and the visible reminders of the Civil War throughout the city was a popular topic. It’s a completely valid approach, meaningful in different ways to different people. But we wanted to stand out more. If we are going to work together, we want it to be exceptional, and that means doing a project, no one else in the class does. That’s where the ghosts came in.
Exploring the history of Richmond through the ghost legends seems like the perfect way to meet the assignment by delving into local history, but also touch back on the teacher’s lecture about perspective. Everyone sees ghost legends differently. For some, they are absolute truth. The ghosts exist and mingle among the living just like anyone else. That is the popular perspective in Richmond, it seems. All the people we’ve spoken to so far have made it clear the lore is very much alive today. There are others who love the stories but think of them more as a way to keep the history alive and continue to learn about it.
