By ML Van Everbroeck
Gail stepped back and peered at the door shivering. Ha. She hadn’t remembered it being this tough to open. Oh hell, why should this be any different than how much tougher everything had gotten for her over the past six months? She grabbed the handle a second time as her hand prickled against the cold steel and pushed through into the only coffee shop in town.
She could have gone to college anywhere. Anywhere warmer would have been nice. But she knew she only had one choice… his alma mater. It was her chance to make him proud.
She placed her arm on her stomach as she looked at the clock displayed over the counter and sighed. Only 24 hours before their scheduled weekly phone call. She took a deep breath. Time was almost up. She had to tell him before grades were posted. Her hand pulsated as she slid her arms out of her coat and looked back at the clock. Soon…very soon, she’d break her dad’s heart—again.
“Gail.”
She turned towards the soft, deep voice that called her name.
“Oh, Professor Ward…”
“May I join you?”
Funny, she’d just been thinking of how much she’ll miss his classes. They were the best. He was the best— out of all of them.
She waved at the empty chair opposite her. “Why sure.”
He sat, crossed his arms, and leaned on the table. “I noticed how you struggled with the door.”
She sighed as she slumped back against the chair. “Yeah, somehow it was harder today.” She turned her head, staring out the window, toe-tapping her feet against the linoleum floor. “Or maybe…”
She couldn’t tell him what was really going on with her. She gritted her teeth. That’s not what she’d learned at home. She repeated the mantra in her head. Never tell people our business. They won’t understand. You’ll look like a fool. Family takes care of family.
She turned to him and held out her hands. “Look, even forgot my gloves.” She rolled her eyes. “I need to stop listening to that guy.”
“What, Guy? —And Gail, you said—maybe, as if you had a thought as to why it was hard to push open the door today?”
Don’t! She reminded herself. She was sure he already thought she was stupid. She closed her eyes. He had to have marked her final by now. She had to think of something else to tell him, other than the truth—other than what was really going on with her.
She scooted forward to the edge of her chair. “That Harvey guy… you know the weather man; the one and only weather man in town; you know the one who always wears the yellow and orange striped sport jacket.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I must remember that Professor, when Harvey says, expect a warm one that this is South Dakota, not Pennsylvania, where I’m from.”
He laughed. “Yes, I guess being here five months isn’t long enough. Give it time; by end of sophomore year, you’ll dress like an Eskimo.” He unraveled two thick scarves around his neck. “Like me.”
She examined her hands. Yep, they’d be crimson for a while. “I’m sure you’re right, Professor. Gloves for sure next time—thick ones.”
He took a drink of coffee and studied her face. “You know, I called your name three times before you acknowledged me.”
She looked down at the coffee, then raised her head, meeting his gaze. She wasn’t surprised he had noticed, she was somehow off—different from how he was used to seeing her. She’d been lost in a fog trying to figure out how to turn all this around before she had to call her dad. She looked up at the clock and sighed. 22 ½ hours to go.
“Oh…sorry about that, Professor. I guess…” she brushed her bangs to the side of her forehead. “I’m thinking about stuff.” She yawned. “Plus, I’m so tired. That’s what I meant by maybe… that I’m tired—just have no energy today.”
He tapped her elbow with his index finger. “You sure that’s all that’s going on?”
She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Aha…Yep, I’m fine,” she said looking down at the cup and stirring her coffee. “I’ve just been thinking…”
He leaned back against the chair, looking down at his cup. “Well,” he said raising his head, smiling at her, my son’s told me I’m a good listener.”
She studied his face. She wouldn’t know what that would be like. She had never had that kind of luck with either her mom or dad. Instead, she listened as they talked. Then they quizzed her to make sure she’d gotten their message. That was just the way it was. She closed her eyes wishing she could talk to her parents—that they’d listen like the Professor did with his son.
She sat back, and opened her eyes, staring at the clock overhead. Only 22 hours remained.
She turned back to the Professor, nodding. “Ah, professor… He… your son, is very lucky to have you.”
He nodded, smiling at her. “And… I’m very fortunate…” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I am…” he said, looking at her, very fortunate to have him.
She shifted to the edge of the chair and folded her arms on top of the table. They’d had a substitute instructor this whole week. A rumor spread that something was wrong with his son. She wanted to ask… but didn’t know if she should. If it was the right time? Place? They’d all guessed…cancer.
“I…” she looked down at the table. “Um, how is your son?” She placed her hands side by side on top of the table and leaned forward. “And you, Professor, how are you?”
He curved the corner of his mouth to one side, smiling at her while shaking his head. “Here’s the deal,” he said straightening his posture.
Her eyes widened as she pushed back against the chair. She didn’t understand why he said that. She was sure he was going to tell her that it was none of her business. Oh God. It wasn’t the right time or the right place. She squirmed in her seat. “Oh, professor I didn’t mean to…”
He smoothed his hand down his beard, his eyes softening as he smiled. “I’ll tell you about my son if you share with me what’s going on with you.”
She blinked. What? What did he say? He wants me to tell him—about what’s going on with me? Nah, he’s just being polite. He’s such a nice person.
She took a deep breath, thanking God she’d been wrong. He wasn’t angry that she’d asked about his son. He’d always been so nice to her. She’d never want to upset him.
She cleared her throat as she shifted side to side in her chair. “I mean…I really don’t know what to say…Tell you.” She bowed her head, clanking her spoon up and down on the tabletop. “Besides, you can’t help me.” She raised her head, dropping the spoon on the table, as her throat tightened, and her heart pounded. “No one can.”
He sat back, wrapping his hands around his cup, and gazed at her. “Well, let’s see about that. We’ll both share and see what happens.”
She kept her eyes on him as she stirred in more cream, waiting for him to speak. She wasn’t going to go first. She couldn’t. Needed time to think about what she was going to tell him. She breathed in as her heart pounded faster and faster. She had to find something…something else to tell him. She breathed out, reminding herself—he wasn’t family.
“I’ll start.”
She unclasped her hands and laid them on her lap as she released a sigh. “Okay.”
He hunched forward midway across the table—”My son?” He blessed himself and as he met her eyes. “He’s great. Thank you for asking. Out of the hospital, now a week.” He crossed his fingers as he leaned back in the chair and gave her a broad smile. “This time, the chemo’s going to keep him in remission.”
Her heart sank. She’d hoped the students were wrong. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him. “This time?”
“Yes. Second time.” His voice cracked. “He just finished his second chemo treatment program.” He folded his hands and placed them on the table as tears coated his eyes. “It will work this time. I’m sure of it.”
She handed him a napkin as his eyes glistened. “But Professor, that’s good news—right?”
He took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, it is.” He squared his jaw, pushing back tears. “I just worry about the future—you know—the what-ifs!” He shook himself and straightened up. He leaned back in the chair, took a drink of his coffee, and smiled at her. “Your turn, Gail—now what’s going on? Talk to me.”
She gazed across the table at Professor Ward, a thin, tall man, she’d guessed was close to her dad’s age. He had to have more important things to do than want her to tell him what’s going on. Yet, he waited—waited for her to share.
She looked at her coffee—then him. “It’s the chem exam, tomorrow, Professor.”
He sat back and rested his arms on the table. “Worried?”
“Yeah,” she groaned.
“Why? You don’t think you’ll do well?”
“Ha! Do well?” She resumed stirring her coffee, shaking her head. “No, Professor. It’s not a matter of not doing well,” she said, wrapping her arm around her stomach and squeezing it tight. She stared into his eyes. “I’m going to fail.”
He cris-crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me why, you think that.”
She anchored her elbows on the top of the table and cradled her head between her hands. “I’ve studied hours and hours—so many hours, and still I haven’t been able to bring my grades up.”
Professor Ward pulled out his phone, clicked it on and scrolled. “Ah… Here you are. Biology wise you squeaked through with a B-.” He stared at his phone. “Not the greatest mark, I admit.” He met her eyes and smiled, “but you passed. “C is a failure in pre-med.”
She rolled her right hand into a ball and pushed it against her thigh. “That’s the point, Professor. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve studied just to get that B-.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
She didn’t think he had. This was important to her. That someone understood what she was trying to say. She sat up straight and stared at the clock. Soon she’d find out if her dad did. She doubted he would—still… She hoped he’d understand. “Professor, what I’m trying to say is if I had to study this much—this hard for a B-, how on earth will I ever make it to med school?”
He looked into her eyes. “I do understand your concern.”
She brushed the floor with the sole of her shoes as she slid her legs back and forth under her chair. “I’m not ready for the test tomorrow.” She shook her head. “And if things weren’t bad enough, Professor Ward…” She pointed to his watch. “In less than twenty hours I need to tell my parents again that I’m not the daughter they want me to be. One more thing they’ll blame me for.”
He took hold on the rim of both sides of the chair, pushed forward to the edge of the table and looked into her eyes. “You know, Gail, we parents don’t know much when it comes to helping our children.” He waved his hand in the air. “We try. We really do,” he chuckled. “It’s just that…” he sighed, “we get a lot wrong.” He leaned back in the chair and gazed at her. “Maybe they’re waiting for you…You to tell them what’s happening.”
She knew he was wrong. Couldn’t blame him though. He didn’t know them. Although… She’d dreamt about it though. Dreamt about telling them how lonely she was, here, this far away from everything familiar to her. The Mid-west was alien to her. She especially wished she could tell them how often she cried herself to sleep because no matter how much she studied, she didn’t understand the material. That it wasn’t her fault if she didn’t have the smarts to be a doctor.
She tilted her head towards him and narrowed her gaze. “They’re… You think my parents are waiting for me?”
He shifted his gaze, canvassing the tables and chairs around them. “They’re not here with you now, therefore they have no idea what you’re going through—unless you tell them.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, Professor. I don’t think it’ll make a difference. They’re not in the habit of listening to me… about anything.”
She took a deep breath. How she’d yearned to tell her parents how painful the semester had been but didn’t think they’d listen. She wanted him to be right! She looked into his eyes and sighed. “You think my parents are waiting for me?”
He extended his forearms across the table and turned his palms up. “Yes, they’re waiting for you to tell them what you want.”
She rubbed her hands together and thought about the times she’d dialed their number to tell them she’d made a mistake… chosen the wrong field of study—then hung up.
He sat back and folded his hands against his chest. “Gail, what do you want?”
She sighed, settling back into the chair as she cleared her throat. “You see, Professor…” she said, blinking away a tear. “I’ve always wanted to go into a profession to help others.” She turned her head, looking out the window as tears blanketed her eyes.
He pursed his lips as he reached into his vest pocket and handed her his handkerchief.
The lump in her throat hardened, as every muscle in her body throbbed—screaming in agony as she looked up at the Professor, gripping the handkerchief.
“If I’m not to be a doctor, then what?”
He nodded, smiling at her. “There, you said it.”
She leaned back and tilted her head to one side. “Said what?”
His smile widened. “Then what? You said—then what!”
She shook her head, frowning. “I don’t understand.”
He leaned across the table and clicked his fingers together. “You’ve decided.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “You mean, because I said, if not a doctor, then what? I—”
“You’ve decided what to do about pre-med, nodding, and you’ve moved on to explore what you want to do—if not a doctor.”
“Ha!” she murmured as the lump in her throat softened and the pounding in her chest disappeared. She’d done exactly what she’d been taught not to do. She’d shared her feelings… her true feelings with someone other than family. She was very glad she had.
She lowered her arms to her side, gently stretching her neck and shoulder muscles. “Oh, Professor Ward, I’m so grateful to you! I’ve been so down on myself…” she said, hitching her breath. “So down…Blaming myself that I’m going to fail the test tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “But, Gail, you haven’t failed! You’ve just chosen to look at other options to major in to help people.”
She nodded, folding her hands on top of the table in front of her. “You’re right, and that’s how I’m going to explain it to the folks—that I haven’t failed—that I just found out Pre-Med is not for me. Oh, Professor Ward…” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me,” she said, bowing her head, “by inviting me to tell you what’s going on with me.”
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Well Gail, it seems you have some thinking to do—about your next adventure.”
She took a deep breath. Her throat and chest were no longer tight and her feet that had been swinging back and forth stilled. She looked up at the clock. She’d be ready. She’d practice what she’d say to her parents. She’d help them no matter how long it took to understand what she needed to tell them. She loved them.
Professor Ward turned to leave.
“Wait, Professor. Professor, how did you know?”
He turned back. “Know?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “How did you know that I was struggling and needed someone to talk to?”
He raised his head and gazed at her with tear-filled eyes. “My son has struggled too this year and has also chosen another path for himself—that is if the cancer returns.” He sat back down, wiping his face as he gazed into her eyes. “And he asked me to honor his decision. And as hard as it will be for me, he knows that I will honor his choice—the path he’s chosen, should the cancer return.”
She couldn’t imagine what the professor, his son, and his entire family had been going through and how much they’d suffered.
She tilted her head to the side. “Choice?”
He took a deep breath. “No more chemo if this round doesn’t work.”
“Ooh.” She took his hand. “I’m so sorry Professor Ward.”
He patted her hand as his lips parted into a partial smile. “I’m alright. My son has given me the greatest gift a parent can receive.”
She flipped his handkerchief over to the dry side and handed it back to him.
“A gift?”
He smiled. “He trusted me.”
“Trusted you?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “He’s trusted me and his mother to honor his decision.”
She nodded, as tears coated her eyes. “I see.” Like I need to trust mine.
He put the handkerchief in his pocket and stood. “Gail, don’t deny your parents the honor of knowing what you’re going through and the choice you’ve made.”
He turned to leave but pivoted back. “And don’t deny them the joy of being proud of their daughter who has struggled this entire first year—done her best but has chosen to change course.”
She watched him go, the corners of her mouth stretching wide, as the heaviness she’d felt when she first entered the coffee shop released her.
Gail felt lighter, happier… free—more like herself again, as she gathered up the empty coffee cups and tossed them in the bin. She put on her coat as she glanced at the clock and pushed through the door with ease. She was ready—now. No need to wait. She’d call them as soon as she got back to the dorm.
ML’s inspiration comes from the diverse and vibrant experiences of individuals she has encountered throughout her life, each with their unique, sacred, and exhilarating journey. Through her writing, she aims to explore the richness of human relationships, the complexity of emotions, and the shared moments of triumph that bring us together. Her goal is for her stories to make even the tiniest difference to those who read them, whether it’s a smile at the end of the story or the spark of a new thought.
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