"SEE ME AFTER CLASS"
4:03 AM, March 7, 2024
The period ends at six forty-five in the evening. I’m always eager to get out early, so it is with a sudden and unpleasant heaviness that the command keeps me fixed to my chair. Though his tone is soft and unassuming, it echoes dread in my ears while I wait silently for each student to make their way out of the room. Once the two of us are alone, the professor rises from his desk and kills one set of the fluorescents overhead.
“Why don’t we chat in my office?”
It is not a question. With wide, nervous eyes, I gather my things and trail after him down the hallway. Half the lights have been shut off for the evening, and I can feel shadows lapping at my ankles on the short walk around the corner. Though I can see students still trickling out of the building, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s just the two of us, separate and muted to the rest of the world.
The door is opened for me, and I take a seat before the desk. My eyes scrape the walls of the tiny white room, drinking in the cluttered shelves and various certificates dotting the walls. It smells of rain, of flooded basements and damp books. A cardboard box filled with folders sits atop one tall, olive-colored cabinet, and I notice it is spotted with mold, the source of which creeps subtly up the wall and into the grimy, pitted ceiling tiles.
As the professor shuts the door behind him, I follow him with my eyes until he is seated comfortably across from me. He doesn’t speak at first, just smiling that same friendly smile and leaning back in his chair, presumably trying to make me feel less… uneasy. I have to admit that it works, to a degree; he just has that sort of quality about him. Jolly, almost, with his round cheeks and crinkling eyes. He has the face of someone you know you can trust to want only the best for you, and I did. Or, maybe, I was just naive.
“I think your office has a water leak,” I blurt out. I motion vaguely to the box in the corner, at the little black spots blooming across its faces. The professor follows my hand with wide eyes, and there’s a hint of amusement in them when he turns back to me.
“I’ll speak with the custodial staff about it,” he promises. I don’t quite believe him, but I return his smile all the same.
There is a weighted pause between us, in which I fidget with my necklace and he clasps his hands on his sweater, still wearing that smile. He watches me for another moment, and I briefly wonder if he’d invited me here just to stare at me. Another couple of agonizingly long seconds pass before I break the silence without meeting his eyes.
“Did I... do something wrong?”
The professor leans forward slightly. “Not necessarily, no. But I did want to speak with you about your recent, er... drop... in performance.”
I feel myself slump; I never liked to disappoint. He was right, though— my grades had been slipping across the board, even in his class, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Or I thought I did, anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I- it’s… it’s entirely my fault, poor time management… a lot going on, I-” I fumble over my words, face warm with shame. “I was going to ask for an extension on this week’s assignment. I haven’t had time to go out and—”
He cuts me off.
“Are you religious, Charlie?”
The question is a surprise, for sure. My heart drops to my feet, and for a moment I simply stare at him in shock. Not that it’s an offensive question, per se, just... certainly an unprofessional one.
“I’m... not sure,” I say, hesitating. “Why?”
The smile has scarcely left his face, and it only grows as he speaks. “Your necklace,” he gestures with his chin to the little silver cross that has yet to leave my fingers since I’d sat down. “You wear it every day. I was just curious.”
I let the charm fall and bury my hands in my lap. “Oh. Yeah,” I murmur. “It was my grandfather’s. I’ve worn it since he passed, um… a few years ago. But I… I guess I haven’t really… I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Uncertainty isn’t a bad thing,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Just means you’ve got plenty of doors open to you.”
“I guess so,” I mumble, my eyes traveling back toward the moldy box of files in the corner.
“I’m only asking because I know that faith can really provide comfort for people struggling,” he pauses, eyeing me, “whatever their circumstances may be. A sense of purpose- a rock to stand on, so to speak.”
“I suppose,” I shrug. “But… I haven’t been to church in ages. There’s just been… a lot, you know. Stuff going on.” It’s the same excuse I’d use on my family members when they questioned me about my drop in attendance. It had only become less of a lie as the years had passed, but I didn’t feel any less guilty about defaulting to it, even to him.
“Have you thought about that, as an avenue, Charlie? I don’t mean to overstep, but… well, when I look at you, I see someone with a lot of potential, and it pains me to see you struggling. The issue is obviously external, and I thought it might help if I reach out to you on a more personal level.”
And there drops the first shoe. “I understand,” I say, awaiting the second.
The professor places both of his hands on the desk, the smile slipping from his face. “Look, I don’t mean to overstep here, and I’m happy to grant you that extension regardless of your answer. But I’d like to invite you to attend my own church group, if you’d like. Just once.”
There it is. I must have cast him a wary look, because he quickly shakes his head.
“Like I said, don’t feel pressured to accept,” he says, “but I promise you, it’s not like you’re expecting. I’m not sure I look it, but I’ve had a number of… directionless periods in my lifetime, and… believe it or not, most of my youth was spent actively avoiding places of worship. But I was extended an invitation much like the one I’m offering to you, and I took that chance.” He shrugs. “In the end it gave me more comfort and solidity in my life than I’d ever expected. But, once again, you are in no way obligated to accept.” He relaxes again, hands returning to their clasped position in front of him, and I stare hard at the desk. Even without looking, I can feel his sparkling eyes studying me, can feel that inviting smile turning up as he watches the gears turn in my head.
“Where is it?” I ask, more to his hands than to his face.
“I can send you the details, if you’d like. And we meet on Sunday mornings, of course. I’ll say again, there’s no pressure to attend. I’m happy to give you that extension, either way.”
I nod slowly, and eventually gather the courage to look him in the eyes, feeling the heat of his smile in its entirety. Once, I had told myself. I would attend once, just to ensure that I got that extension on my assignment. Even if he’d have given it to me regardless, it felt… wrong, I suppose, not to repay him in some way. My nineteen year old brain felt that spending a single Sunday morning listening to a boring, cookie-cutter sermon was well worth the lifeline to my floundering grade, and so I gave him my personal number after the meeting ended, and not five minutes after I’d exited through the front of the Arts department, I received a message consisting of the address of this supposed church, and 9:00 AM.
Two minutes later, another message: You won't regret it.