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The hall wasn’t completely empty when Professor Evory and I stepped into it, but the densest portion of the crowd was gone. The next wave of students hadn’t yet arrived. The emptiness made it easy for me to see the hanging pictures of various campus celebrities doing noteworthy things. In particular was one shot of an old university president at a civil rights protest in the 1950s. It was a poignant shot, to be sure. A white priest clasping hands with a young black man as a high-powered hose pummeled them both. But I had seen that picture a thousand times before. I had seen all of those pictures countless times before. I knew the stories behind all the championship shots, the pictures of cornerstones being laid for buildings we took for granted, or other picturesque moments created by nearly impossible timing. They were fun stories, and they were powerful pictures, but none of it was new to me. I needed something new to me. That would have made the conversation easy.
I looked down at the tile under our feet. It was the same white linoleum it had always been. It was too bland for any new observation or musing, and the custodial staff worked so hard to keep it clean that I would feel guilty if I did anything to insinuate that it was not. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to force myself to be okay with hurting some hypothetical person’s feelings if it meant getting out of the mess I was currently in. But I couldn’t be. So that didn’t help.
Beside me, Professor Evory kept a steady pace. I walked slower than he did by virtue of my shorter legs, and while he had noticed, he was struggling to adjust while still keeping his trombone close to his body. It could be an unruly case. Its length made it hard to control when one carried it by the handle on its side, and if he did not try to control it, it would hit an unsuspected student far too close to the knee.
And his care was appreciated. It was objectively the responsible thing to do, but it also meant that I had time to think about the incoming conversation and what I would say or not to say to keep some sense of calm about us.
But as we walked out of the building, I knew that issue wouldn’t be so pressing. Once we stepped out of the somewhat tight hallway and out into the open air, there would be enough space for passersby to dodge the case on their own accord. And that would free Professor Evory up to have the conversation I was dreading.
While he was distracted with the case, I swallowed some of my nerves. But no matter how forcefully I pushed it down, some remained jammed in place. And I focused on that. I let the need to clear my throat consume me, ensuring I was caught off guard Professor Evory finally spoke.
“Thank you for doing that,” he said.
I was startled back into the moment. At first, I almost asked him to repeat himself, but before I could, I realized what he was saying.
“Right. Yeah. Of course. Happy to help. Always,” I stammered as we stepped outside.
As I expected, his grip on the trombone case was adjusted. He didn’t let the instrument fully rest horizontally, but he let the top drift away from his chest a couple extra inches. But as he did that, he said nothing. That left us with only my response and all its many flaws. It was a string of words that did not fit together to make a sentence. They were just there, co-existing and pretending they had some sort of purpose. But I knew they didn’t. I knew I had just said something to fill the air. But the need to do as much was a confession in and of itself.
I reached up towards the back of my collar, towards the bunched up section still sitting on my neck.
Professor Evory noticed. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I replied, distracted by the odd sensation against the back of my neck. “It’s just this stupid collar.”
It wasn’t just that stupid collar, but I wasn’t about to discuss the real issue at hand. The collar was annoying, but it did make for a good diversion.
He nodded as I struggled to adjust the stiff fabric. “Did you need some help?” he asked.
Trying a new strategy, my palms pressed the collar flat against the back of my neck. I held it all in place for a moment, feeling a dull ache in my shoulders from this repeated bend backwards. It worsened the general discontent that had been plaguing me as of late, the strain that came from so many restless nights unable to find a position to rest in. My elbows hung in the air beside my head, obscuring Professor Evory’s view of me and allowing for a small reprieve in the unbothered expression I was trying to maintain. In that brief moment of privacy, I felt my expression fall and the sting of all my stumbles picking at my cheeks like a thousand small bee stings.
That had been a disaster, I feared. I had spent the whole time lying through my teeth, covering for my own hurts and trauma. I was good at that. But I wasn’t good at anything else, it seemed. And that was a hell of a talent to have.
I lowered my hands, releasing my collar which seemed to hold in place for a moment before it snapped back into its earlier position. And it shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have bothered me. It was just one small thing, but it was a small thing I should have had under control. But I didn’t.
Even when he couldn’t clearly see me, Professor Evory didn’t break his stare. He didn’t take his eyes away from me even as we turned off of the path we were on and towards another less crowded sidewalk separate from the main flow of traffic. He kept his face pointed towards me and his hands on his trombone case. He kept himself the perfect model of order even as he walked me back to my office. And with his example so close at hand, I felt pressured to mirror him perfectly, but of course, it didn’t come easily to me. I struggled with it at every step of the way.
“No,” I told him. “It’s not a big deal. And you have your hands full.”
He pulled his left hand away from the trombone. The strength of his right kept the instrument tilted up at the angle he had been holding it.
“Not that full,” he said.
I chuckled darkly. “No, really. It’s fine.”
And it was. But I wasn’t. It was a slight difference, but there was no need to look into those details.
At first, Professor Evory just nodded, but he seemed to be turning over a thought in his head. And yet, when a soft early fall breeze passed over us, I thought the conversation was over, blown away by said wind just like the leaves would be in a few weeks. That was the season’s greatest trait: the talent that defined the season just like my tendency to lie defined me. A defining characteristic didn’t have to be a talent, after all, just a thing you couldn’t escape.
And for a moment, I was fine with that. I was fine with the wind and how it could wrap me up in a soft chill as I chewed over the truth but never let it leave my teeth. I was fine with this strained and uncomfortable truce between myself and Professor Evory in which he thought my shirt was my biggest burden and one that he could not help me with. He was tempted to, I could tell. It was in the way his eyes lingered on me. With him being so much taller, his neck was visibly turned downward. It wasn’t the sort of thing anyone would miss. And he didn’t want me to miss it. If I saw it, then it meant his next question wouldn’t be so much of a surprise, which would make it easier to ask.
“Have you heard from your sister?” he asked.
I didn’t need to ask which one he meant. I knew he was talking about Lynette. Her presence haunted every conversation between us. And I thought it was because she haunted me, but the sudden question made me think Lynette haunted him just as diligently.
A pang of guilt flooded my body. I really had pulled him into this mess. I had really made it his burden to carry. And that wasn’t fair at all.
“No,” I muttered, quickening my pace. “I haven’t. Excuse me.”
It wasn’t an easy thing to outpace someone so much taller than me. Each step of his was two of mine, but Professor Evory did not make an effort to catch me. He let me hurry off without another word. And while I hoped to take the specter of my difficult life with me, I couldn’t. I had given it to Professor Evory, and I would never forgive myself for that.