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Authors: Ada Madison
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were there, Sophie. Do you need me to come home?”
I expected nothing less from my sweet friend who was willing to give up volleyball
on a sunny beach to take care of me. “No, no,” I said, still making my sweep of the
small three-bedroom house I grew up in. “It’s not like the mayor and I were close
friends. I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard.”
“Why wouldn’t it? It happened on your campus, right in front of you. And, most important,
he called out specifically for you, Sophie, as he was dying. You can’t take that lightly.”
“I guess not.” I finished a circle of the kitchen and the hallway of bedrooms, one
of which I’d outfitted as my office, ending up mildly at ease, back on the den sofa.
“You know what, Ariana? I wish I could have kept all this from you until you got back.
I shouldn’t be putting a damper on your vacation.”
“Shhh. It’s a business trip. In case the IRS is listening.”
Ariana was always good for a smile. “Business trip it is.We can talk about what’s going on here on Wednesday. We’ll have the whole ride back
from Logan, and then some.”
We agreed to let the matter go, though Ariana closed with, “Relax, Sophie.” Ariana
stretched out the word “relax” till it became a massage on its own. “I’ll pour cleansing
energy into the phenomenon.”
I knew better than to ask what she meant.
I skipped through most of the emails that had been downloaded throughout the evening.
Usually I checked frequently on my smartphone, but tonight had been different. I scanned
several emails regarding final grades from students who couldn’t wait the two weeks
until grades were officially posted. Paula Mattson, a bio major who’d taken my statistics
class, simply admitted, “I can’t stand not knowing how I did,” and her best friend,
Wendy Pruit, advised me that while I was figuring out Paula’s final grade, I might
find it convenient to calculate hers, also.
Thanks, Wendy. So thoughtful of you.
Simple, polite requests didn’t annoy me as did the email that popped up from Elysse
Hutchins, threatening to issue a formal complaint about me to the dean if I didn’t
adjust her exam grade to account for full credit on the statistics problem she’d blown.
The last thing I needed was to go through a grievance process with the administration.
I entertained the notion that I should just cave and give Elysse whatever grade she
wanted. There’d be no decisions tonight, however.
Several emails with one-word subjects like “OMG,” “Unbelievable!” and “howdathapen?”
were on the list. I didn’t need to open them to figure out the content.
I took a break to prepare a small plate of crostini and bruschetta, left over from
Bruce’s midweek visit, to eat in the den.
I devised a formula for the task. Read three emails, listen to one voice mail, take
one bite of crispy toast and tasty sauce. Repeat the sequence until the task has been
completed.
A cross-section of faculty and students had left messages through one medium or another,
some on more than one. Though I would have loved to answer Fran, one of the many who’d
tried to reach me while I was with Virgil and following, I refrained from a middle-of-the-night
call. I’d expected to see or hear something from Kira Gilmore, the mayor’s staunchest
defender, either through email or by phone, but so far I hadn’t come across anything
from her. I wondered if she’d heard the news. If she was staying in the hotel with
her parents before they flew back to California, she might not be up-to-date.
The email from Henley College president Olivia Aldridge read as expected, with an
expression of sorrow at the loss of “a young leader with such promise, who’d already
given so much,” and a mention that an official condolences note and flower arrangement
would be sent to the mayor’s family. The president wanted to assure us that campus
security
I expected nothing less from my sweet friend who was willing to give up volleyball
on a sunny beach to take care of me. “No, no,” I said, still making my sweep of the
small three-bedroom house I grew up in. “It’s not like the mayor and I were close
friends. I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard.”
“Why wouldn’t it? It happened on your campus, right in front of you. And, most important,
he called out specifically for you, Sophie, as he was dying. You can’t take that lightly.”
“I guess not.” I finished a circle of the kitchen and the hallway of bedrooms, one
of which I’d outfitted as my office, ending up mildly at ease, back on the den sofa.
“You know what, Ariana? I wish I could have kept all this from you until you got back.
I shouldn’t be putting a damper on your vacation.”
“Shhh. It’s a business trip. In case the IRS is listening.”
Ariana was always good for a smile. “Business trip it is.We can talk about what’s going on here on Wednesday. We’ll have the whole ride back
from Logan, and then some.”
We agreed to let the matter go, though Ariana closed with, “Relax, Sophie.” Ariana
stretched out the word “relax” till it became a massage on its own. “I’ll pour cleansing
energy into the phenomenon.”
I knew better than to ask what she meant.
I skipped through most of the emails that had been downloaded throughout the evening.
Usually I checked frequently on my smartphone, but tonight had been different. I scanned
several emails regarding final grades from students who couldn’t wait the two weeks
until grades were officially posted. Paula Mattson, a bio major who’d taken my statistics
class, simply admitted, “I can’t stand not knowing how I did,” and her best friend,
Wendy Pruit, advised me that while I was figuring out Paula’s final grade, I might
find it convenient to calculate hers, also.
Thanks, Wendy. So thoughtful of you.
Simple, polite requests didn’t annoy me as did the email that popped up from Elysse
Hutchins, threatening to issue a formal complaint about me to the dean if I didn’t
adjust her exam grade to account for full credit on the statistics problem she’d blown.
The last thing I needed was to go through a grievance process with the administration.
I entertained the notion that I should just cave and give Elysse whatever grade she
wanted. There’d be no decisions tonight, however.
Several emails with one-word subjects like “OMG,” “Unbelievable!” and “howdathapen?”
were on the list. I didn’t need to open them to figure out the content.
I took a break to prepare a small plate of crostini and bruschetta, left over from
Bruce’s midweek visit, to eat in the den.
I devised a formula for the task. Read three emails, listen to one voice mail, take
one bite of crispy toast and tasty sauce. Repeat the sequence until the task has been
completed.
A cross-section of faculty and students had left messages through one medium or another,
some on more than one. Though I would have loved to answer Fran, one of the many who’d
tried to reach me while I was with Virgil and following, I refrained from a middle-of-the-night
call. I’d expected to see or hear something from Kira Gilmore, the mayor’s staunchest
defender, either through email or by phone, but so far I hadn’t come across anything
from her. I wondered if she’d heard the news. If she was staying in the hotel with
her parents before they flew back to California, she might not be up-to-date.
The email from Henley College president Olivia Aldridge read as expected, with an
expression of sorrow at the loss of “a young leader with such promise, who’d already
given so much,” and a mention that an official condolences note and flower arrangement
would be sent to the mayor’s family. The president wanted to assure us that campus
security
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