Caught

I could feel the dread bubbling to the surface so quickly that I had to force myself to swallow so I didn’t lose what little breakfast there was in my stomach. I’d forced myself to inhale half a bagel, lightly buttered, and a couple of blueberries left over from the night before on my kitchen counter before running out the door of my apartment. I didn’t want to see what my poor choice for nourishment this morning would look like in a puddle at my feet. I didn’t think anyone on the bus I was standing on would want to, either. I was wearing my favorite pair of Converse, too.

When I finally felt a little more at ease, I pressed my fingernails into the palm of my right hand. The pain instantly set off those predictable landmines in my head, all the way down to the place at the base of my neck. I finally felt some relief.

The number twelve bus to the main campus was always packed on Mondays because most freshmen had the same 8:00 am class. Introduction to Philosophy 100 was a required course selection for all of us, and we’d all head like sheep to the slaughter each week into Professor Armory’s classroom. The word ‘slaughter’ was the most appropriate because everyone would inevitably leave having understood nothing that was said and feeling even less confident about anything that was assigned as reading or a writing exercise. Class participation was done using the Socratic method and so many of my peers were always woefully unprepared and therefore underperforming.

I, like a mad woman, enjoyed the rigor of the course and the snide excellence of the professor. She was Bethann Armory, a lauded author and host of her own popular podcast that had national success. She wore her hair in locs, and she dyed them either auburn or jet black, depending on the semester. I lived for her to call on me because I may have been struggling in all of my other classes but this one, I took very seriously. Never missed a class and loved being called upon to make comments during class time.

Taking a seat in the middle-front of the auditorium, I took out some loose sheets of paper for my notes while everyone else around me set up their laptops and recording devices. It may have been primitive, but it was the way I’d studied since high school, and I had no desire to change things now.

At exactly 8:00 am, the large screen that overhung the chalkboard at the front of the little stage that housed the professor’s podium began to descend. It was another old-school relic that was a testament to the fact that my school was nearing the end of its heyday. There had been a robust endowment left to it by some famous alumni, but it had been mismanaged. Without a future cash injection, most of us in this auditorium would be lucky to graduate and be able to call this our alma mater. Nevertheless, the auditorium had become filled with students by the time the class start time rolled around.

It seemed like we were all encouraged to continue or scholastic pursuits by the same thing: hope.

As I leaned down to pick my glasses case out of my bag, I noticed that the typical buzz and hum of the class had died down more quickly than it had in the past.

Looking up, I could see that there was some writing being projected onto the screen before us, but I didn’t have my glasses on yet and couldn’t read it from where I was sitting.

There was an audible hush throughout the room of nearly one hundred students, but that was quickly followed by a few yelps, several gasps, and then finally an eruption of applause.

What in the world?

I knew I should’ve sat closer this morning, but my usual spot was occupied by a small group of other students already, and I didn’t like to be crowded. I’d chosen my second-best spot to sit in this class because people rarely liked to be in the middle. At the end of class, people rushed for the exits like the room was on fire.

But today, not only was my regular spot taken, but there appeared to be someone moving toward me in the aisle as well. There was still plenty of seating though, so whomever it was could find a comfortable seat a good distance from me.

I finally got a good enough grip on my glasses case and opened them, only for my glasses to fall to the ground beside my open bag. I’d brought the durable ones today, so a little fall from my seated position shouldn’t have been an issue.

I heard the snap and crunch of whatever plastic material my frames were made of go first, and then the unmistakable sound of my lenses following a similar fate.

Shit.

“Shit! Oh fuck. I’m sorry.”

My hand and those of the stranger now standing beside me reached for the remnants of my green frames at the same time. It was poorly timed, and we ended up bumping our heads.

I almost was seeing stars with how hard the impact had been. My glasses were forgotten, and my hands went directly to the area on the side of my head that had taken the bulk of the brunt.

“Ah, I’m sorry. Geez.” I’d barely been able to right myself in my seat before leaning away from the voice that had just uttered several ‘sorrys’ to me.

When I finally focused on the owner of that voice, I was more than a little taken aback.

His was a face that I hadn’t seen before. The rich, deep undertones of red underneath his dark complexion made it seem as if his face was a canvas that someone had painted on. Literally, brush-by-numbers type of stuff. He was utter perfection in every possible way. There wasn’t a blemish anywhere, from the immaculate edge-up and freshly trimmed sideburns to the stubble that covered the bottom half of his face. And his eyes were piercing. I’d never seen anyone with eyes like his before. They were so deep and matched his black hair color that he almost didn’t appear human, more like he was crafted somewhere and then set loose in society.

I didn’t have the words and couldn’t formulate anything to say to him, so when he spoke again, my mind was still calculating who I was looking at.

“Are you okay? Sorry, my head is hard. At least, that’s what I’ve always been told,” he said. It was then that I noticed a lilt in his manner of speaking. It definitely gave ‘the Caribbean’, although I’d need to hear him speak a little more to decipher which island.

He was still staring at me moments later when I realized that I still hadn’t answered him.

I gave my head a little shake, hoping that would dislodge whatever I was stuck on at the moment. It didn’t help. In fact, it made the subtle dizziness I’d been experiencing since our heads collided even worse.

Closing my eyes, I turned my head away from him slightly.

That’s when I felt two hands on me. One against my thigh and the other was on my shoulder.

The flinch was instantaneous and exaggerated. So much so that it prompted me to apologize when he drew away both of his hands as if he’d touched a hot stovetop.

“I’m just not use…I am fine.” I’d managed to say something. Although I was pretty sure I sounded like a weirdo answering him like that.

The concern in his eyes was influencing me to try and find more words to say to him.

“It’s alright. Your head isn’t that hard,” I said. Really, that’s what you landed on?

The look of complete disbelief that he threw back at me made me want to smile for some reason. So, I did. And that seemed to disarm whatever tensions were left between us.

Not at the same time, but within a close space in time, we both looked down at my now trampled-on glasses. Nothing about them was going to be redeemable.

Turning my head back up to the screen, I squinted, but there was absolutely no way that I was going to be able to read it.

“It’s an announcement about our mid-term papers. We have to write them with a partner discussing the reading material and offering countering viewpoints on the subject matter,” he said.

In my head, I was trying to compute what he was saying but it still didn’t seem to gel with the fact that people had been clapping and excited for the news. So, I continued to look at him, knowing there was more.

As if understanding my cue, he continued. “It’s a philosophical discussion about sex and the distinction between the physical act and love,” he finished.

Well, fuck me.

Now, it made more sense why my classmates had suddenly become so enraptured. Professor Armory was known for choosing more ‘titillating’ components of the study of philosophy, but prior to signing up for this class, we’d all heard the rumors that the school had muzzled her for the last few years after a certain incident attributed to her assigned class work.

A graduate student of hers had been arrested for soliciting a prostitute some years before and had actually used her course curriculum as a means of defending himself. Turns out he came from money, so the charge eventually went away, but the headlines did not. It cast a very dark light against a university that was already beginning to struggle. This was before its financial difficulties came to light.

“Oh.” I felt dumb. That’s all I could manage to say. And he was looking at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to figure out before he dropped into the seat beside me and began picking up the pieces of my glasses.

“Let me at least help you. And I can pay for the damage, of course,” he said.

I was already shaking my head, although I didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if I could afford to pay for it myself. This broken pair of glasses wouldn’t likely be replaced for months if I had to rely on myself to pay for it. Between school and work, it was going to be an uphill battle.

“It’s alright. You didn’t do it on purpose.” I laughed to myself but stopped as soon as I noticed that he wasn’t even smiling.

“Well, why don’t I sit here beside you and read anything off the screen that you can’t see? I’ll be your personal pair of eyeglasses until I can replace the ones you’ve lost.”

“I don’t want to put you out, really.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Besides, it’s the least I can do after breaking the ones you’ve had for so long.”

Something in me prickled at his last words. I looked over at him cautiously, but there was still a calm about him that didn’t allude to anything being out of place. It was an accident, I keep telling myself. Just an accident.

He settled in beside me and began to set up his own laptop. Our interaction seemed like it’d taken a longer time, but Professor Armory had only begun to get the class under control so she could provide further instructions about the writing project.

“So, team up!” she finished as something on the screen changed to another message.

I looked over to my willing volunteer to take him up on his offer of reading for me. A brief inhale told me that he’d very recently taken a shower. He smelled clean and like soap. There were still a few droplets of water at the nape of his neck, which could’ve been sweat, but I attributed it to a shower.

Now that he’d taken off his jacket and was getting comfortable beside me, I noticed how tall he was. He barely fit in the auditorium chairs, and his knees were pressing against the back of the seat in front of him. Surely, he would’ve been more comfortable in an aisle seat where he could at least stretch out his legs.

“You don’t look that comfortable,” I mused. It was meant to be a joke, but it seemed more like it caught him off guard because the look he returned to me was more like he’d been surprised. Shocked even.

So, I pointed with my chin at the way his knees almost buckled against the chair. He smiled and shifted in his seat so that his knees pressed instead more in my direction. We weren’t touching, but it was clear to me that he was occupying some of my space.

“Do you mind?”

I nodded my head ‘no’ as I watched him make movements to attempt to get more comfortable.

How had I not noticed him before? He was impressively massive, and I was certain he must play some type of sport. Football perhaps? Who knows. But definitely, someone who took care of his body. Spent a good amount of time in the gym.

My attention returned to the screen I could no longer read, and I thought about asking him for some help but decided against it.

I was so intent on trying to see what I clearly couldn’t that I didn’t notice it when he leaned in my direction and whispered against the shell of my ear.

“My name is Zephen. Zephen Leed,” he said.

“I’m Caole.” Pronounced ‘coal-A’, my mother gave me my first name. My last name was unnecessary, but since I couldn’t change it, I wasn’t going to give it up, especially not to just anybody.

He seemed to satisfy himself quickly that I wasn’t going to offer him much more than that and, thankfully, didn’t press further.

“Would you like to be partners, Caole?”

He was holding out his hand. A very large hand.

Almost as if on auto-pilot, I reached for it, and my hand was swallowed up instantly.

“Okay.”