Unfinished

The whisky burned my throat and the cigarette slowly disappeared down my fingers. My lecture notes were laid out in front of me, a testament to the years of hard work that was put into creating them. I knew every word, every beat, every diagram, every question that would be asked and in the margins were the markings for every thought that came to mind. Even in a state in which all my faculties were gone, I would be able to recite those very words without so much as a sheet in front of me. Vic sat across from me. Our silence spoke louder than the words that he struggled to say. He touched the watch hidden away in his vest pocket, a gift from his father, the only gift he received from the man for whom he held such animosity and yet, he treasured the trinket above all else.

Age had caught up with him sooner than I expected. Several months had passed since our last meeting, before I shut myself off from the world to stay with my grief. Vic was the only one who remained after all others had left, an obligation as the Chancellor for the university. I pressed my cigarette into the ashtray and grabbed another one but didn’t light it. It sat between my lips while I scanned the papers in front of me, making the odd mark with my pencil before going onto the next page.

“They’ve suggested eight months,” he said. His voice was rough, almost guttural. The tip of my pencil broke. I reached into my bag for another one as Vic continued. “You’ll have full access to the facilities, your office, the studio, the archives, whatever you need. I know this isn’t exactly what you wanted but we feel that a sabbatical would serve you well. We could even arrange some time away in France or Germany or… even the countryside.”

He nervously sipped on his own drink. Sweat formed over his brow that he delicately wiped with a napkin.

“Eight months,” he continued. “After that, we’ll reassess but the Board will likely suggest a part-time schedule with one class a week and office hours.”

I made a couple of annotations in my notes before closing the book and resting my hands on it. The cigarette remained between my lips as I held a flame to it and breathed in the toxic fumes. A cloud of grey smoke hovered over us as the voices seemed to fade. I had been drunk since noon. I was drunk the night before and the night before that, a ritual I practiced for so long that I could no longer break myself from its grasp. The more I drank, the more I wanted to be sober and the more I was sober, the more I wanted to be drunk. When I wasn’t thinking about Sarah, I was thinking about my next drink and how quickly I could get myself to the point where I was numb to everything. I was in constant pain both physically and emotionally and I could see no way out of it.

Vic continued.

“You’ll be obligated to meet with a supervisor bi-weekly for review of your progress. If you skip a meeting, it will be reported to the board which will then terminate your salary. Dr. Anderson will be overseeing your progress and I suggest you stop by her office to schedule your meetings.”

The bar turned from a quiet solitude to a hum of voices that grew louder as time went on. Young men and women congregated around us, excited for the new opportunities that were before them, unaware of the difficulties that life would bring them and the inability to escape disappointment. In my own youth, I had the same ambitions that I shared with Sarah. We walked the same path, had the same goals, the same destination but it was quickly ripped from me with no resolution for the despair that I felt. I looked at them with jealousy and envy as they had yet to experience the pain of loss.

“I wish you would say something,” Vic whispered. I finished my drink and set the glass down where it sat precariously at the end of the table.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked. “You’ve stripped away everything from me.”

“This isn’t a punishment, Sam.”

“No? Then what would you call it?”

“A break. It’s meant to ease your burden. To allow you to heal. You’ll agree to this, won’t you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He reached out and held onto my hands. His grip was strong, yet gentle, warm, caring and he looked me in the eyes with a fatherly gaze that immediately left a sharp pain in the back of my throat. As much as I tried to stop them, the tears stuck to the bottom lids and I blinked them away.

“You have to learn to live with the pain rather than let it consume you. Take this time to find yourself again, Sam.”

I pulled my hands away and stood up on unsteady feet before pulling some crumpled bills out of my pocket that I dropped onto the table.

“Where are you going?” Vic asked.

“Back to campus. I have a meeting to schedule.”

“Let me drive you.”

“I prefer to walk.”

The night was cold and damp. An unseasonable chill had run through the air for a number of nights, each one colder than the last, and I tightened my coat around my body. My grief hung too heavy that night and the thoughts of Sarah intensified in my mind. Images of her flashed before me as my lungs tightened and the breaths came out as though I were breathing through a straw. The bubbling rose up through my chest uncontrollably before everything purged and I vomited in a gutter on the side of the street. With my dignity already gone, I wiped my mouth and continued walking, ignoring the sideward glances from those around me.

Soon, soft drops of rain started to fall as I got closer to the university. Its looming face bore down on its surroundings, dwarfing the buildings around it. I had walked the same path hundreds of times with purpose and felt a sense of pride in doing so but now, it felt like a burden.

Inside, it was empty. The lights dimmed for the night and in the distance was the sound of machines used to clean the floors. I thought back to when I first met Sarah, how there was something so ethereal about her. So fascinating. I watched her from afar as she lifted a slender hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers grazed her jawline as the golden sun streamed in through the windows, catching the curve of her cheekbone, the hollow of her throat. It was like each move was carefully rehearsed to be mesmerizing. She was my Helen of Troy. She was a vision. A dream. I would have launched a thousand ships for her and then I would have launched a thousand more. She was all that I had hoped for and I couldn’t look away. The moment felt both endless and fleeting as I watched the corners of her lips lift into a smile that was hardly noticeable but for me, it sealed my obsession with her.

But the light was gone, replaced by flickering fluorescent bulbs that hummed over me. That was what they didn’t tell you about losing someone. It wasn’t just the death that hurt. It was the loneliness. The emptiness. The endless longing. My chest tightened as I leaned against the wall trying to suck in air through my lungs. I felt the world close in on me and escaped into the bathroom where I splashed cold water over my face. I ran it through my hair. Watched as the drops fell into the sink. A bitter taste lingered in my mouth from the sudden dryness and I drank from the faucet until my stomach would allow for no more. The toilets wafted a scent of sewage that lingered quietly in the air as I lifted my head just enough to see myself in the mirror. Behind me stood Sarah. Her lips moved to speak though no words escaped and I touched the mirror afraid that if I turned around she would be gone. I hated feeling like that. I hated that the drinking consumed so much of me that I couldn’t let go of its clutches. I hated being without her.

I stumbled out of the bathroom bracing my shoulder against the wall to guide me. The lights were too bright and my office felt an age away but what waited for me there was heavy on my mind. Bottled scattered across the floor, a trash can full of vomit, broken canvases from a fit of rage and despair, memories that were either real or imaginary… I could no longer tell which. I stayed in that world with Sarah, content. Our lives were connected once more but when I finally emerged, I longed to go back.

A fluttering of voices could be heard in the distance which soon faded. I could see her office or rather, what was once her office. Her nameplate had already been replaced. Dr. B. Anderson, Head, Dept. of Arts sat embossed in black letters against the brass plate. I stood close enough that I could see an aged reflection of an unrecognizable face staring back at me. I ran my fingers over the letters wishing it would spark a memory but all I felt was a time being slowly erased.

“Office hours are next week,” I heard someone say behind me. The lilt of her accent rested on my ears with the sounds of shuffling papers and keys. Soon she moved past me to unlock the door that swung open into what could only be described as a time capsule. Everything was the same. The desk was the same. The couch with the cushions and the throw folded on one side was the same. The bookshelf was still a mess of overstuffed books, some falling apart, some that seemed to have never been opened. A soft orange light illuminated the room. Stacks of journals were piled on the floor with newspapers and files that appeared to have no home. One of them had Sarah’s handwriting on the cover. I was locked in a sort of trance, one that didn’t have me reliving past memories but rather in curiosity of what was left behind.

“Professor Hawthorne,” she said almost with reverence. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were a student. Did we have a meeting scheduled? I don’t have anything in my book for today.”

She flipped through some pages on her calendar and I cleared the lump that had formed in my throat. I couldn’t let go of the fact that she invaded Sarah’s space and while I felt I wanted to be angry at her for it, I couldn’t help but think she suited it more. She was professional, austere, determined. She commanded the room in a way that Sarah couldn’t.

“My progress reviews,” I said after some time. My voice cracked and I hoped she hadn’t noticed just as I hoped she hadn’t noticed the slur in my speech. I could have laid on that couch and passed out at that point. My vision had started to blur and the room spun more than it should have.

“Of course,” she said, shaking her head. She started to look through a planner that was on her desk, sitting down as she did so. “I’m sorry about your loss. I only just heard this morning. I can’t imagine what it must be like to–”

“If you’ll just…” I started. “If you’ll just let me know which day works for you so I can be on my way.”

Her eyes met with mine and I felt a sudden rush of anxiety in my chest before I quickly looked away.

“I have Thursdays available. After six. Does that work for you?”

“It’s fine,” I said as I turned back into the hallway.

“I’ll see you Thursday then, Professor Hawthorne.”

“It’s Sam,” I said without looking back. “Just Sam.”

“I expect you’ll be sober as well at these meetings… Sam,” she said.

“I can’t make any promises, Dr. Anderson.”

“Bertie,” she responded. “Just Bertie.”

It was at that time that I glanced at her just as she lifted her lips into a slight smile and I could have sworn at that time that I saw Sarah sitting there instead of her. My throat tightened. I stumbled down the hall with a rush of adrenaline running through me. I fished for the key to my office in my pocket which flung out through my fingers as soon as I pulled them out. They hit the floor, skittering down the linoleum until they stopped just before the gap where they would have been lost. I stumbled forward and hit the door with my shoulder knowing I would feel the pain only when the alcohol had worn off. The tremor returned to my hand as I held the key to the slot, missing it each time and bashing the metal around the lock.

“Fuck,” I said to myself. I tried to steady my hand but the more I did, the worse it got. I tried again, concentrating to match the key to the lock and when I heard the click of the mechanism releasing, I fell inside. My knees dug into the carpet as I crawled to the garbage can beside my desk just as the vomit spurted out of my mouth. The stench of bile hit my nose and it was somehow comforting. I heaved until there was nothing left and then heaved some more until my body could take no more. I fell onto the floor just as the room started to spin around me. My mind fluttered through thoughts of Sarah then mingled with thoughts of Bertie. Bertie. Just Bertie.

I rolled over onto my side in the fetal position and closed my eyes. I kept thinking of Sarah. Wishing I could see her. Longing to taste her lips, to feel her touch. I wanted to hold her close to me, to smell her hair as I kissed her head. I wanted to find her in my dreams and never wake up again. I wanted to be with her for just one more moment.