by L. P. Dover
The guys look at each other and smile. I know all about the whole MILF thing. I’m sure that’s what’s going through their minds. Summer stares at me in awe. “How old are you? You don’t look much older than me.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
The guy beside me leans in close. “Hey, I’m Brad. You married?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Summer snorts and waves him off. “Honey, she’s not going to want a little boy like you.” Then she focuses on me, but then her eyes widen at something over my shoulder. “Holy hell.”
“What?” I jerk my head toward the front of the class and that’s when I see him. Our professor, only he’s not just that to me. His dark brown hair that used to be cut close, is now longer, and looks like he just ran a hand through it. I remember when he used to hate not being able to grow facial hair, but now his cheeks and jaw are covered with stubble. I never thought I’d see him again. Jude Daniels. He was my best friend for most of my life until my husband wanted me to cut ties with him. I’ve often wondered where he was, and now I have my answer.
Summer’s voice is right by my ear. “This class may be stupid, but I think I’m going to love it.”
I nod, but I can’t even form the words. Jude sets his stuff down on the desk and glances around quickly. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Jude Daniels, your philosophy professor. You are more than welcome to call me Jude. I usually teach computer science, but they needed someone at the last minute to fill in here.” He laughs and it makes me smile. It sounds the same after all these years. “Just bear with me.”
His attention starts to turn my way, and out of reflex, I look down at my notebook so my hair covers my face. He passes out a stack of papers, and luckily, he doesn’t get a good look at me. After ending our friendship eight years ago, he probably hates me. I just hope he doesn’t fail me.
Two
Jude
“Stupid, stupid hair,” I mutter as my hand brushes through it one more time. I step closer to the full-length mirror my mother hung in my cabin not too many weeks ago, reminding me that I needed to look professional when I went to work and not like some lumberjack who just crawled out of the woods. She also mentioned something about a haircut, which I conveniently forgot about until just now. I groan and give up on my unruly mess of hair. It’s not overly long, but long enough for my friends to tease me by saying I have “sex hair” or “just had sex hair.” Surely, people comb their hair after sex, especially before entering a college classroom full of horny students. I also should’ve shaved, but doing so now would make me late, and being late for class means none of the students will be there because they don’t wait for anyone.
The drive to campus consists of a windy road, a watchful eye for any wildlife who tend to dart out in front of cars as if they’re playing their own version of chicken, and a repeated flip of my visor. Up, down, up, down. I swear my forearm gets a workout while I try desperately to block the sun.
When I arrive on campus, I watch as students leisurely walk toward their next class or their dorms, with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, a latte in one hand and their phone in the other. After five years of teaching at the high school level, I obtained my masters and immediately took a job at Appalachian State. It’s not that I didn’t want to shape the minds of teenagers when it came to computer science, it’s that I grew tired of the excuses and the phone calls from parents making even more excuses as to why their child didn’t do their homework. In college, don’t do your homework—fail. It’s that simple. I don’t have to explain myself ten times over on why Junior received a big red F on his report card. The chances are, if a student fails my class now, they don’t even tell their parents. It’s a win-win for me. Except I hate it when students don’t give it their all.
As I get out of my car, my phone dings with an incoming email from my department chair. Gotta love customized notification. After I grab my messenger bag and set it on my shoulder, I push my car door shut with my hip because my eyes are too focused on the email to pay attention to what I’m doing.
Professor Daniels,
I hope this email finds you well on our first day back to campus. It seems Professor Rossfield has broken his leg and will have to undergo surgery. We’ve been able to distribute most of his classes but are left with Philosophy 101 at two p.m. and we’re hoping you’d be able to fill in for him being as you have a minor in this field.
Sincerely,
EJ Masen, Chair
I read and reread the email multiple times, trying to convince myself that this is some joke because surely there are more qualified candidates on staff who could teach this class. The only reason I have a minor in philosophy is because it was easy, and I like to argue with people. I almost decided on law school for my masters, but hacker school, again was easier.
Instead of emailing Mr. Masen back, I scroll through my contacts until I come to his name and call him. He picks up on the second ring. “Mr. Masen,” I say as I head toward my first class. “This is Jude Daniels. I’m calling about the email you sent me.”
“Oh yes, do you know which building Mr. Rossfield holds his class in?”
“See, that’s why I’m calling. It’s been years since I’ve done anything with the subject matter and feel like there is probably someone more qualified to take over while Mr. Rossfield is out.”
“Nonsense, you were at the top of our list for this class. The syllabus will be in your email within the hour.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, and Mr. Masen hangs up. “Fuck.”
When I reach my classroom, students are still filtering in. The strong smells of perfume, coffee, and the sour stench of liquor easily take over the room. “Good morning and welcome to Computer Architecture. I am Professor Daniels. You may call me Mr. Daniels if you prefer. I will answer to both. Throughout the semester we are going to learn the rules and methods that describe the functionality, organization, and implementation of computer systems. If you are not serious about computers, how they operate, what it takes to make them operate, then this class is not for you.” I take my syllabus and set it on the farthest desk from me and ask the student take one and pass it down.
“Participation is fifty percent of your grade. Homework assignments are due by midnight via email, one day after they are assigned. The lovely thing about email is, it’s time stamped. I do not accept late assignments—unless there is a valid excuse—and you only get two excuses per semester.” I walk back and forth in front of the class, looking each one in the eye as I speak.
“If you come to my class drunk or tired, you will get a zero for the day. I expect you to be bright eyed—”
“And bushy tailed, right Professor Daniels?”
I look for the voice and my body fills with dread. Stu Stewart sits dead middle with his hat on backward and a ripped T-shirt. Thankfully, I can’t see what he’s wearing on the bottom half, but if I had to guess, he has cut-off jean shorts and work boots.
“Mr. Stewart, didn’t expect to find you in my class.” I refrain from adding again to the end of my sentence.
“Ah, Mr. D, you failed me last semester.”
I can’t imagine why.
“Yes, well, if instructions are followed, everyone should pass.”
Starting with how I want to be addressed.
The rest of my classes go rather smoothly. Most of the students paid attention, many asked questions, a few asked what my office hours are, and a couple young women might have flirted. Good thing I’m a straight-lace-by-the-book sort of guy and won’t engage in even a harmless game of flirtation.
When I finally make it to Mr. Rossfield’s class, I’m a few minutes late because I stayed in my office trying to find any reason I could to get out of teaching this class. As soon as I opened the syllabus for this class, I groaned so loud I had to cover my mouth and quickly scramble to shut my office door. The last thing I needed was for a student or a colleague to walk by, hear me, and assume I’m doing something I shouldn’t b
e.
I walk in and stand at the podium, looking over the papers I printed out. “Good afternoon, I’m Professor Daniels, your philosophy professor. You are more than welcome to call me Jude. I usually teach computer science, but they needed someone at the last minute to fill in here. Just bear with me.” I repeat my actions from earlier and hand out the necessary papers. “I’m filling in for Mr. Rossfield while he attends to some personal issues. If you have him for 102 next semester, you’ll be happy to know he will be back.”
As I’m walking back to the podium a familiar face catches my eyes. A face I’d know anywhere. The sight of Laura Parrish has my steps faltering as I make my back to where all my notes are.
“Um…” I say as I look down at my notepad. “Mr. Rossfield is out for person…” I clear my throat and try focus, but I make the mistake of looking for perfect blue eyes I remember so clearly. Once I spot them, I turn my attention to the class list and drag my finger down, starting from the top. Sure enough, Laura Parrish is listed as a student.
Clearing my throat again, “As I was saying, this is Philosophy 101. We are going to learn the five basic branches, which are metaphysics, epistemology, ethics, politics, and aesthetics. If you are not supposed to be here, now is the time to leave.” I pause and wait for anyone to get up. When no one does, I continue.
“We are going to study Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Hume, Kant, and Hegel. I caution you now, if you think Philosophy I is an easy A, you’re mistaken. If you do not have a logical mind, you will struggle in this class.”
I move some papers around and survey the class, this time, purposely missing Laura’s penetrating gaze, but not that of the young woman sitting next to her. She’s whispering to my one-time best friend as if this were high school, and I’d like to ask her to share what is so important with the rest of the class.
“I’m unaware of Mr. Rossfield’s homework requirements, but mine are as follows. All assignments, unless otherwise noted, will be due the next day by midnight, via email. I’ve added my address to the syllabus. I strongly recommend that you put it in your contacts. I do not accept late assignments. Please also go to the website listed on your paper to read over my attendance policy. Until I can touch base with Mr. Rossfield, we will follow the same guidelines as my other classes. So, this policy may be subject to change.”
“Does everyone have a textbook?” A few students nod but most grumble. I didn’t have time to run by Rossfield’s office to snag his. The lack of books makes me wonder if he actually sent an email out to the students about what they would need. By the confused looks, I’m guessing he didn’t.
“For tonight, chapters one and two. I’m not gonna lie, they’re boring and you’ll probably wonder what you’re doing with your life, which is exactly what we’ll discuss next week when we meet up. If you can’t find this book in the bookstore, please email me and I will send you the chapters, but only this once. Please, find the book online if the store doesn’t have it. You’re excused for the day.”
As soon as everyone stands up, my attention is back on Laura. “Ms. Parrish, I’d like to see you after class.” The woman next to Laura makes a face and it reminds me of how Laura used to act when something good happened to her.
Once everyone is gone, Laura walks down the auditorium style stairs until she’s face to face with me. “Hey, Jude,” she says and then starts to laugh. I know the Beatles song is playing in her head, it always has.
“You know, I wasn’t sure that was you sitting up there. I had to do a double take, stumbled over my words at the thought of my childhood best friend being in my class, and then to see your name on the class sheet… just wow.”
“It’s me, in the flesh.”
“And in college.” I point out. “Have to say, I never thought I’d see you again.”
Laura shies away and I know I touched a nerve. We have deep rooted skeletons in our closet, which I fully intend to exploit while I can. I don’t want an apology from her, I get why she broke off contact, but our friendship meant everything to me, and I want to know why she tossed me aside like take-out garbage.
She inhales and squares her shoulders. “Are you allowed to get coffee with a student?”
I shake my head slowly. “But for you, I’d break all the rules.”
Laura smiles and it sends my heart into a tailspin. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”
I laugh. “You’re worth it.”
Three
Laura
It’s strange how things feel so normal with Jude. He’s changed so much over the years. Sexy even. I was nervous as hell when he called my name to see me after class, but I don’t think he hates me. Or, at least, I hope not. Maybe he’s being nice for now, and at the end of the semester, plans on failing me as payback. Then again, I don’t see Jude doing something like that.
We walk down the hall, past other college students who are too busy with their own lives to notice that a professor is walking with a student. I don’t even see how it could be a problem anyway. We’re the same age and childhood friends.
“Do we want to get coffee at the Blue Ridge Café?” I ask, feeling the nervous jitters in my stomach.
Jude looks over at me and smiles which makes my heart hurt. I hate myself for ending our friendship. “Sure,” he says, grinning wider in a sarcastic kind of way. “We haven’t been there together in years. Maybe you’ll be able to explain what happened to us, and not in an email.”
And there it is, his smart-ass remark. I deserve it and then some. It was stupid and childish of me to end our friendship through an email. I could never bring myself to do it face to face. Honestly, I didn’t want to see him get hurt. I hated my husband for making me get rid of him. Now that I think about it, that moment was the beginning when things started to go downhill between us. I should’ve seen the signs then.
Once we get outside and away from everyone, I pull Jude over to what used to be my favorite tree on campus. We used to study together under its giant canopy. “I knew you hated me over it,” I say regretfully.
Jude stands in front of me and when he looks into my eyes, he sighs. “I don’t hate you, Laura. We were best friends and you tossed me aside like I was nothing to you. You would think after eighteen years of friendship, I deserved more than that.”
The hurt is evident on his face; it brings tears to my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. “I know,” I murmur. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed having you in my life. I regret it all.” Jude was the only person I could really confide in. Yes, I had girlfriends, but it wasn’t the same. Jude knew everything about me, all my secrets and fears. He knows more things about me than my ex-husband. Jude looks away and I squeeze his arm. “I’m so sorry, Jude. Please say you can forgive me.”
It only takes a couple of seconds, but he turns to me and his lips lift up in a sardonic smile. “All right, I forgive you. However, it’s going to take a lot more than saying you’re sorry to get me back in your good graces.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I smile. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
He winks. “Just so you know, I’m not as nice as I used to be. Might take some time.”
I roll my eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe that. Come on, let’s go. I’m dying for my hot chocolate from the café. When I moved to Charlotte, no place was ever good enough.”
Jude chuckles. “You’re damn right. Everything’s better here. Do you want to walk or drive? My jeep is in the stadium parking lot.”
“I’m parked there too,” I say, feeling nostalgic. “We can walk if you want.”
“Then let’s walk.” We go down the pathway through the middle of the quad and away from campus. Nothing has changed. Everything looks the same as it did all those years ago.
“I parked at the stadium so I could walk by Frank Hall. So many good memories there.”
He bumps me with his shoulder. “Like the time we went sledding down the hill behind your dorm room and you broke my finger when you landed on me?”<
br />
“Oh my God, that’s right,” I gasp, bursting out with laughter. “Your finger looked terrible.”
“And it still does.” He holds up his left hand and there is his pinky, still crooked. “Guess I should’ve gone to the doctor.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help but think of all the crazy things we did. “Oh, to be a teenager again and not have a care in the world.”
Jude smiles and agrees with a nod. It doesn’t take long to get to the main strip of Boone where all the little shops are. I remember when I first attended ASU, I went to one of the college shops and bought a gazillion T-shirts with the Appalachian State logo on them. My closet is still full of them. Jude used to make fun of me for wearing them all of the time.
The Blue Ridge café is just up ahead and with it being the afternoon, it’s not as packed as it would be if it were morning. Jude opens the door for me, and we walk inside to the counter. Even though it’s a hot, August day, I still have to order my hot chocolate. Jude orders his usual, the French roast coffee with cream. I try to hide my smile and fail.
“Yeah, I know. I haven’t changed a bit.”
Snickering, I look away and head for the door so we can go outside and sit at one of the tables out there. “I can’t say much. You see what I ordered.”
He chuckles. “Some things never change.”
We take a seat at the table, him across from me. He stirs his coffee and I use my spoon to scoop up a large dollop of my whipped cream. It’s not the canned crap a lot of places like to use. The Blue Ridge Café make everything they sell in house.
Jude sits back in his chair and focuses on me, his gray eyes curious. “So tell me, how’s married life?”
I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “It’s non-existent.” Bringing my hot chocolate to my lips, I take a sip. “Our divorce was finalized a year ago.”
His eyes widen. “Oh wow, sorry to hear that.”
