Anissa's Redemption

by Zack Love

  I spoke to Michael and he thinks he’ll be able to wrap up his work in Syria and come back to Beirut to fly back with my sister, so that she’s accompanied for her whole trip to Montreal and then New York. So even though she could actually fly back today, we’re booking her flight for June 5th so that Michael can return with her. “There’s endless work on the ground in Syria, which means I’m never really done,” he noted. “But there are things that I need to take care of in New York, including my dissertation. So I might as well time my return so that Maria doesn’t have to travel alone to a foreign country for the first time. She’s been through enough as it is.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done, Michael,” I said, moved by how considerate and giving he was. I extended my hand towards the laptop screen and touched the video image of him.

  He smiled humbly and extended his hand, as if to virtually touch mine back. “I’m really the one who should thank you,” he replied. “Although I thought we decided that you weren’t going to ask your professor for any more donations.”

  My eyes looked away in a moment of confusion. “What do you mean? I haven’t been in touch with Professor Morales in over a month.”

  Michael’s expression then mirrored my confused look. “Oh. That’s odd.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “The MCA received a wire for ten million dollars yesterday.”

  My eyes practically popped out of their sockets and I couldn’t get my mouth to close. “What?!”

  “I know, I couldn’t believe it either. The funds came from that same foundation that sent us the first two wires totaling eleven million dollars.”

  My faith in the universe suddenly felt restored a little. “That’s amazing news!”

  Michael released a big grin. “Yes, it really is. I guess now you can pay back your Uncle Tony the $25,000 he contributed, I can restore my meager personal savings that were chipped in to release Maria, and we can definitely pay you a nice salary for all of your great work this summer,” he added with a wink.

  I was so elated after hearing about the huge, and totally unexpected, donation from Professor Morales that it more than made up for the disappointing news about my overall performance in his class. I actually got my grade yesterday (so I now have all of the results from my second semester) and I’ve been trying not to think about it. Actually, I don’t really want to tell you about my latest grades because they were nothing like what I received in my fall semester, and maybe that’s just a reflection of a more mature, well-rounded approach to my spring term. Indeed, during these last months, countless other aspects of my life took over and crowded out my academic focus. I’ll mention the B that I received in Psychology and Markets only because that class meant so much to me up until I stopped dating Professor Morales. For most of this semester, that course fueled my fantasy of a high-paying job at JMAT, but after Professor Morales and I had a falling out, and I got a B in his course, that dream is gone, it seems.

  Nevertheless, after just learning about his unbelievably magnanimous contribution to the MCA, I’m again confused about him, thinking that maybe I judged him too harshly or with too little information. Also, if I’m being totally honest with you, My Dearest, I should tell you that I did still think about him a lot over the last month, even though I tried to forget about him and that’s why I barely mentioned his name to you anymore. But I couldn’t help wondering if he was seeing anyone – Maya, our TA, or someone else – after we stopped dating. I also worried about whether our breakup might impact my grade somehow. And now that I got a B in his class, I am curious as to whether the breakdown of our personal relationship might have somehow influenced the outcome for the worse, although a part of me seriously doubts that possibility, in light of his generous donation. Yes, I’m very confused. I’m even tempted to discuss everything with him, although I’m not sure that I’m ready for that.

  To muddle my mind and heart even more, yesterday I read a story in the paper about another scandal that just hit Professor Morales. Someone from my Psychology and Markets class emailed a bunch of students, including me, the following article, from the same tabloid that had reported, with gleeful sarcasm, on his selfie scandal. Under the headline, “Office Attack After Psych Expert Hires Homeless Man,” the article read as follows:

  “Last month, Craig Walkenford, a homeless man hired as a security guard at JM Analytics & Trading (JMAT), the twenty-billion-dollar hedge fund owned and run by Julien Morales, allegedly attacked a Lightfoot Express Courier (LEC) deliveryman, who had arrived at the office with a package. The police report states that Mr. Walkenford, who had worked at JMAT for just a few weeks, suddenly screamed, tackled the unsuspecting courier, and proceeded to pummel him on the ground until those nearby could stop the attack by restraining the new hire. According to sources, the violent outburst shook up the employees and potential investors who were waiting in the lobby of the prestigious Midtown hedge fund. Mr. Walkenford was taken into police custody on May 9th, but details of the incident emerged when LEC and its injured employee today announced that they intend to sue JMAT and Mr. Morales for negligently hiring an emotionally unstable person for an office security role. According to the police report, Mr. Walkenford, 31, is a veteran who was deployed in a U.S. infantry unit in the 2003 Iraq War, and subsequently served in three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan before being honorably discharged in 2007. Due to chronic and often violent bouts of PTSD that Mr. Walkenford (in the police report) attributes to his military service, he was unable to hold a job and ended up living as a vagabond in the New York area for the last few years. Mr. Morales, a thirty-nine-year-old psychology professor at Columbia University, took the unusual step of personally clearing the homeless man to work at his hedge fund, rather than requiring him to pass through the firm’s notoriously rigorous hiring procedures. The billionaire finance tycoon apparently befriended him while “trying out” homelessness for a few days. The bizarre incident comes after a similarly erratic moment, last April, when Mr. Morales, who is known for his playboy lifestyle and swanky VIP parties, was revealed in shirtless selfies that he had sent to a socialite about half his age. Repeated calls to JMAT with a request for comment, were not returned.”

  The article boiled my blood because it misleadingly made Professor Morales look like a man plagued by poor judgment and reckless behavior. But, unlike the last scandal, I personally knew just how unfair the press was being towards him and I even felt partly responsible for the incident – since the whole “trying out homelessness” thing was my idea, even if it was suggested half in jest. My professor clearly tried to do a good thing by helping this poor veteran and the paper put the worst possible spin on the incident.

  Chapter 21: Julien

  Wednesday, 6/4/14 at 21:13.

  Ah, the beauty of karma: put some good energy into the universe, and you may just bless your own life with it. To my delighted surprise, Raegan called me at around 5 p.m. to inform me that Anissa was in the reception area and had requested to meet with me, even though she had no appointment. I didn’t want to signal even to my most trusted assistant that there was anything special about Anissa that allowed her to meet with me unannounced like this – mainly to avoid setting a precedent or encouraging any speculation.

  “Ah yes. I asked her to see me about her final grade. Send her up, and please hold all of my calls.”

  “Will do.”

  A few minutes later, Anissa appeared at the doorway to my office, dressed casually in a light, spring skirt, as if she were going to class. Raegan was standing next to her, awaiting my next instructions.

  I looked up from my computer. “Thank you, Raegan,” I said with a smile. “Hi, Anissa. Please, come inside and have a seat,” I said, pointing to the comfortable chair by the window.

  Raegan nodded, and shut the door behind her as Anissa entered and took the seat I had suggested. Slowly, I left my desk and casually walked over to the chair beside her. I couldn’t allow her to see my unease
and simultaneous excitement that she was here, in my office.

  But my palms grew clammy as we avoided each other’s eyes. I had thought of her so much during our month apart and was curious if I, too, had stayed in her thoughts. I also wasn’t sure how to interact with her: with a cold formalism, or a more familiar playfulness? Was she here to complain about her grade, or to thank me for my donation? Or did she want to discuss our relationship? I assumed it was about her grade or my donation, since she had chosen to meet me in my office rather than a more casual setting.

  “Hi, Professor Morales,” she began, instantly telling me where things were at that moment between us: cold and distant. I almost cringed at the distance and immediately wanted to find some way for us to return to our freer and more comfortable way of interacting before our last night together.

  “Technically, I’m not your professor anymore,” I gently corrected her with a smile. “Unless you’re here to challenge your grade, in which case – for the purposes of this conversation – I would still be your professor.”

  One side of her mouth reluctantly rose into a half smile. “I’m not here about my grade, although it’s obviously not what I would have wanted to get in your class.”

  “I know. It pained me to give it to you, because I know you can do so much better. But that’s also why I insist on anonymous grading. Fairness demands that every exam be evaluated without letting any prior performance or interactions color the results. Honestly, I was very surprised to discover that the answers belonged to you. I even rescored your exam to make sure that I hadn’t made some error, but unfortunately the result was the same. I figured there was probably some external factor that impacted your performance... I even worried for a moment that maybe I had something to do with it.”

  Anissa exhaled in frustration. “Yes, there was an external factor, but it wasn’t you. I mean, I’m sure that the way things happened between us didn’t help. But that wasn’t what ruined my performance on your exam. I didn’t do very well on any of my finals this semester. And unfortunately, my academic transcript can’t include a footnote that says, ‘Anissa’s spring term grades were affected by the kidnapping of her sister during final exams.’ So it feels unfair on some level. But I’m grateful that I was at least able to help my last surviving relative in Syria. I learned many things this semester that aren’t reflected by my GPA.”

  “Well, I’m glad that you had the wisdom to remember what really matters. Some students are so competitive or driven that they forget the bigger picture. Speaking of which, I’m very sorry to hear about your sister and everything that’s happened to your family in Syria. I actually read a story in the paper about a kidnapped woman who was released thanks to the efforts of the MCA, and I immediately thought that she might be your sister.”

  Anissa nodded her head sadly, looking out the window. “Yes, that was my sister, Maria, you read about. And that actually brings me to the main reason for coming to your office today.” She turned slightly, so that her gaze held mine. “I wanted to thank you for your incredibly generous donation.”

  I smiled and couldn’t resist making a joke. “If it’s going to cost me ten million dollars every time I want to chat with you, I’m going to go broke very quickly.”

  “You’ve wanted to talk to me that much?” she asked, with a nervous chuckle, as her cheeks flushed a little.

  “Well, I guess that’s what happens after not seeing you for a month.” I looked down for a moment and then out the window at the fiftieth floor view of Manhattan. “I realize that I probably brought that on myself, and I actually was meaning to talk to you about things.”

  “So, why didn’t you?”

  I continued gazing out the window but saw her looking at me in the reflection of the glass. “Well, I thought maybe it was best if we both just had some time to think. And I also didn’t want you to feel pressured to respond in a certain way just as finals were on the horizon. I thought it would be best for us to talk after you have your grade in my class and are no longer my student.”

  “I was very upset. I still am, a little. But after your amazing donation to the MCA and what I read in the papers – ”

  I turned to look back at Anissa. “You mean the incident here with Craig?”

  “Yes. I was so angry that you were being misrepresented like that in the media.”

  “No good deed goes unpunished, as the saying goes,” I noted wryly. “But it is funny how when we weren’t talking, we sort of stayed in touch through newspaper articles.”

  Her expression lightened in amusement. “True – as if the universe had conspired to keep each of us in the other’s thoughts.”

  “I guess the universe knew that I owed you an apology,” I conceded with a smile, reaching out and lightly placing my hand on hers. “You really are unlike any woman I’ve ever met, and it just took a while for my bad habits to catch up with that realization.”

  She looked down, as if to conceal her emotions. “I guess I should also apologize to you for invading your privacy the way I did.”

  “Well, I can’t really blame you,” I said, taking my hand back. “And, for what it’s worth, I haven’t been physically intimate with another woman – or even gone on any dates with anyone – since the last time we slept together. And I’ll go one step further than that: if you’ll have me back, I promise that I’ll be faithful to you and inform anyone who tries to get close to me that I’m seriously dating you – and I haven’t been that monogamous in over a decade, so I hope you recognize what a big deal that would be.”

  Her lips pursed together empathetically for a moment, and then her eyebrow rose skeptically. “You know that’s not the only issue, Julien,” she replied. But just the fact that she chose to call me by my first name again lifted me with some inner joy – as if I was making progress and there was hope here.

  I put my hand on her wrist. “I know, Anissa. I’m working on the other issue with my therapist, trying to build up to it. But you, of all people, should know how hard it is. And since you apparently overcame it, maybe you’ll end up helping me to deal with it even better than she can.”

  Anissa smiled warmly. “Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re at least trying.”

  “I really am. And if you’ll give us another chance, I promise you that – within three months of when we’re back together – I’ll share all of the details of my childhood with you. Everything you want to know. And if I refuse to reveal any details that you ask about, then you can leave me for good.”

  Her face lit up into a radiant smile, and for a moment I thought Anissa might reach over and try to hug or kiss me, but she still seemed to be restraining herself. “Julien, a part of me wants nothing more than to get back together with you and give us another try... But things happened since we stopped seeing each other...”

  I took a hard swallow. “I wasn’t sure if you had asked Michael to pick you up from my class the last two lectures mainly to get back at me in some way, or because – ”

  “Well, it was definitely that too. I just needed his support during a very emotional time for me. And I was mad at you. But he and I really are very close, and have become a lot closer over the last month – because of how much we’ve been working together for the MCA and because of all the help that he’s provided to my family in Syria, often at great risk to himself. He’s actually due back the day after tomorrow, when my uncle and I will drive to Montreal to pick up my sister and him from the airport.”

  “Wow – well, that’s certainly understandable,” I remarked, unsure of what to say, as I reluctantly concluded that my prospects for having her back were apparently much worse than I had hoped.

  “Yes, he’s been amazing... It’s hard to believe that he’s already been in Syria for nearly a month,” she added.

  “Well, I’m glad you found someone who’s worthy of you, Anissa. And you won’t have to see me in class anymore, so at least there won’t be that awkwardness now.” I smiled ironically at her. “We can truly have a c
lean break, which is, in many ways, much healthier.” I rose from my chair to signal that our meeting was over. She stood up and followed me to the door, where I held it open for her. “But I’m glad we could at least have this chat, so thank you for coming by.”

  “Thank you, Julien. For everything. You’re an incredibly special man.”

  Chapter 22: Anissa

  Saturday, June 7, 2014

  To My Dearest,

  Yesterday I joined Uncle Tony for the six-hour drive north to Montreal to pick up my sister and Michael from the airport. I felt bad not being able to pitch in with the driving, but I had never learned, because of a certain phobia I had developed ever since the last time I rode in a car in Syria (which fear just grew worse thanks to the lie I constantly told myself and others about my parents dying in a car crash). Fortunately, my uncle didn’t seem to mind, and we used the time to catch up on everything that I hadn’t been able to talk to him about during my stressful exam period. I also gave him more details about my work for the MCA, all of which impressed him – especially the part about having raised enough money to pay him back the $25,000 he had kindly contributed towards the ransom we paid for Maria’s release.

  When we finally reached Montreal, parked the car, and made our way to the international arrivals area, I felt as if at least a decade had passed since I first came through the same airport a little over two years ago. I was in such a different place now – more confident, more secure about being in the United States, and more knowledgeable about myself and the world. I had been through so many new experiences and finally confronted past ones that I had hid from for so long. Just the fact that Maria was now the refugee and I was the New York resident picking her up made me think about how, thanks to the unfairness of chance, I was effectively “ahead” of my sister, even though she was older than me. Here she was, starting over in a new country, arriving with basically nothing to rebuild her life, other than me and our uncle. I had planned to offer her the option to share my small dorm room with me, although, as I expected, she ultimately opted for the greater space and privacy of staying with Uncle Tony.