3. Chapter 3
Lark
I tap my pencil on the mousepad that sits next to my laptop as I wait for the clock to tick from two fifty-nine to three o’clock.
The longest minute of the day, and the reason we switched the analog clock out of our office to a digital one that doesn’t count seconds.
I had commented one too many times that I thought it was broken, and in a fit of annoyance, my office mate, Hannah Laurent, plucked it off the wall and tossed it into the garbage can.
The next day when I came in, there was a new digital clock sitting on the window ledge between where our desks face each other.
It’s an odd setup for an office, but it works for us. When we decided to share the space, we were thrilled, but we kept fighting over who got to put their desk near the only window. We compromised by facing our desks to each other, so we can each turn to stare aimlessly outside when we need to.
Finally. Three o’clock and the day is over. I reach across my desk to where hers meets mine and triumphantly flip the end-of-year countdown from six to five. Five more school days before we get a break. And then the fall term begins, and the countdown starts over again.
Hannah eyes me over her dark-rimmed glasses. “Don’t you have your evaluation meeting with Carl this afternoon?”
I groan and violently lean back in my chair. It squeaks in protest and rolls back an inch. “Yes. God, who schedules a meeting on Friday afternoon?”
“You.” Hannah’s brown eyes don’t leave me as she reaches out to flip the number back to six. She shoots me a sardonic smile and tosses her long auburn hair over her shoulder before returning to the stack of papers on her desk. “Day’s not over,” she singsongs.
“Oh, come on,” I whine. “I have to go to Devin’s track meet right after my meeting, and flipping that number is a bright spot in an otherwise endless string of monotonous days.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Her voice is cartoonishly flat, and she doesn’t look up from the papers in front of her. She makes a large circle with her green pen, then notes something in the margin.
“As the Intro to Drama professor, it’s kind of a job requirement,” I counter.
“I hope you have it listed on your resume,” Hannah says drily.
She teaches the introductory rhetoric classes every student has to take at Arbor Hills Community College, and we’ve been close friends since she started here about ten years ago.
When the school cut funding five years after that and had to repurpose some buildings, they lumped all the humanities together in one place, which is when we decided to make the best of a bad situation and become office roomies.
“I do, in fact. Right between my master’s and my lack of stage-acting experience.
” I hadn’t meant for that to come out sounding so bitter, but I’m still feeling a little raw from the pity party Lennon interrupted last weekend.
I’d probably feel better if I were able to talk to him again, but between the end of my term, Devin’s year wrapping up, and a three-hour time difference, we’ve been playing phone tag all week.
Hannah looks up to give me a small sympathetic smile, and I’d probably feel better if I just talked to her about it, too, but there’s no sense in dwelling on any of this anymore. I can’t build a time machine, so I may as well just look to what’s next. And right now, that’s a meeting with Carl.
I push myself up from my desk with a whimper. I might not be forty for another few weeks, but I sure feel forty today. My back cracks as I straighten it.
“You sound like a glow stick,” Hannah muses, her attention turned back to her papers again.
“You look like a relic.” I flick a corner of the paper she’s working on. “I can’t believe your students haven’t revolted against your handwritten essay tests yet. You’re five years younger than me. What are you doing grading on paper?”
She smacks my hand away. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes.” I sling my giant tote bag over my shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“I won’t,” she promises, but she looks up and smiles, genuine this time. “Good luck.”
“You mean ‘break a leg,’” I correct as I’m almost out the door.
She does actually roll her eyes at that. “It’s not a performance.”
“‘All the world’s a stage,’” I quote with a flourish. She wads up a piece of scrap paper and throws it at me, but I easily sidestep it.
“‘The fool doth think he is wise,’” she returns. At my impressed look, she frowns. “Why are you shocked? I have degrees in English literature. Several. You drama people don’t corner the market on Shakespeare.”
I consider her with narrowed eyes for a moment. “You win,” I concede. “I don’t have a comeback.”
Hannah cackles and pumps her fist in victory as I close the door behind me on my way out.
The department chairs’ offices are in their own special building across the quad.
It makes no sense to me for them to be so far removed from the people they oversee, but office space is slim pickings, and if the college wants their department chairs lumped together, that’s a decision above my pay grade.
I take my time crossing the grassy space, enjoying the warm sun on my face and the activity of students milling about either on their way to Friday activities, home, or studying before night classes.
The scent of lilac greets me, and I stop along the sidewalk to breathe it in deeply.
It smells like springtime—like life is blooming all around me.
I can’t help but hope my life might be blooming along with it.
Slightly rejuvenated after that little jaunt outside, I pull open the heavy door to the building and bound up the two flights of stairs to Carl’s office. His door is open, but he appears thoroughly engrossed in whatever is on his desk, so I knock on the doorframe.
He looks up at me, his eyes magnified by his strong reading glasses.
This coupled with his slight, wiry stature kind of makes him look like a bug, and it’s jarring no matter how many times I see it.
Before coming here, he made a living playing either comical or villainous sidekicks.
The work never dried up for him because he was able to fit the part so well just by being himself, but he decided he wanted to pass on the knowledge he had gained from his time onstage in a more stable job.
Thankfully, he removes his glasses before waving me over to a chair in front of his desk. “Lark, come on in. Close the door behind you, if you want.”
I leave the door open and cross the room to the armchair facing his desk. He riffles through a huge stack of papers on his desk, looking for something. For the second time today, I’m left wondering when the people in this place will join the times and go digital.
“I had your evaluation paperwork here just a second ago…” he mumbles. Papers drop to the floor in his haste to find what he’s looking for.
I lean over to pick them up and place them back on the edge of his desk. My phone vibrates in my bag as I do so, which reminds me to silence it. I take it out and glance at the screen, unsurprised to see Lennon’s marshmallow-stuffed face lighting it up. Tag, I’m it.
“Here it is.” Carl holds up a piece of paper in triumph.
I click my phone to Silent and slide it back into my bag.
He skims the paper, nods to himself, then sets it on top of another pile on his desk.
“No surprises here. Another excellent evaluation.” He eyes me carefully, as if he’s not sure if he wants to say the next thing but he has to.
“We’d love to see you branch out, though. ”
I straighten in my seat, leaning forward. This is exactly the segue I was looking for. “I’d also love to branch out. I know the Acting II classes are opening up with Monique retiring, and I have thought about a few shows I could maybe direct—” I cut myself off as Carl’s lips tighten to a fine line.
“The Acting II classes are going to Paul,” he says.
“Paul? He’s been here half as long as I have.”
“And has twice the field experience. Lark, we’ve been over this.
You need to get back out there. Do some actual acting so you can bring that experience into the classroom.
That’s what I mean by branching out.” He reaches to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he must realize they’re no longer on his face.
I keep my voice even as I say, “You and I both know no one is interested in hiring someone as old as me for any of the fun roles.”
“Even doing some community theater would help.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Would it put me on the same playing field as Paul?” I try to keep the disdain out of my voice when I say his name but fail miserably.
Carl doesn’t miss it and levels me with a warning look. “He’s been in an off-Broadway show.”
Yes, and he won’t let anyone forget it. But I don’t say that, because that would surely only make me look as bitter as I feel. I actually don’t say anything. There’s nothing I can say. Paul didn’t spend his twenties changing diapers and finding pacifiers, and I did. That’s all there is to it.
Carl stacks a few papers and taps the edges of them against his desk.
“He can’t out-teach you, Lark. You’re excellent in the classroom, and the students love you.
But the college wants the instructors to have more experience at the upper levels of coursework.
” He shrugs as if this is out of his hands, even though I know he could fight for me if he wanted.
“Think about it. Are you teaching this summer?”
I shake my head slowly, not wanting my voice to betray me.
I had opted out of teaching summer courses to be around to help Devin move before I knew she’d be taking a few weeks to backpack across Europe with her friends and then moving herself in with Richard until classes start.
I’m still sore about that, too. Not at Devin, just at the universe for its cruel humor.