Read Online Our First Love by Anthony Lamarr - Free Book Online

told them it was dark because I couldn’t find the light switch. One of the students walked down an exterior aisle to the front of the lecture hall and turned the lights on.”
    â€œA girl or guy?”
    â€œA guy. Kind of short. Dark complexion and long, nappy dreads. He sat in the middle of the second row with the three guys he came in with. One of the guys was white. He had that cool hipster look, so he fit right in. Didn’t seem a bit out of place.”
    â€œSo the Hill is fairly integrated?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say integrated, but I saw quite a few white students on campus.”
    â€œGood,” Caleb said. “I like hearing that.”
    â€œWriting For Mass Communication is the name of the course we’ll be teaching. It’s an introductory writing class for sophomores and juniors pursuing degrees in journalism, public relations, or advertising. There are two classes with a combined total of 136 students—seventy-seven are registered for first period and fifty-nine for third period. Both classes meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”
    â€œI’ll bet half of the students didn’t show up today.”
    â€œPay up. All but seven were there. A couple of the students said they received an email stating that everybody enrolled in the course would get an A for showing up today because the college couldn’t find a replacement for Professor Kapral, who took a medical leave to begin chemotherapy five weeks after the semester started.”
    Caleb reluctantly asked, “What type cancer…?”
    â€œLung cancer. I had a brief meeting with him right before class. He doesn’t look sick, but I’m guessing it’s because the cancer was discovered at an early stage. He looks to be in his early fifties. Short. Stocky, with way too curly hair.”
    Caleb looked out the window. He wasn’t showing up for the meeting with Professor Kapral.
    I brought him back into our day by telling him, “Our office is on the third floor of the School of Journalism. It’s a little cramped and there isn’t much we can do to liven it up, except for hanging a few pictures on the wall.”
    Caleb stared at the ceiling again. “A plant or two will help,” he suggested. “Artificial of course. A couple of large plants will set it off.”
    â€œThat might work,” I responded.
    We spent the next hour sharing my day, eating dinner at seven o’clock while watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on TV. Caleb finished the dishes before he walked into the living room, sat in Dad’s recliner, and watched as I skipped from channel to channel.
    This was the story of our life. The plot, setting, and supporting characters were different, but the story read the same.
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    Finally. A hurricane—Florida’s only hit this year—made land close enough to Tallahassee to send locals scrambling for saferground and shelter. Professor Childers packed a few belongings in his vintage yellow Volkswagen and skirted off yesterday. It was only a category two but that was good enough for me. The hurricane’s outer bands spanked Tallahassee for an entire day. Caleb hated bad weather so he turned his bedroom into a bunker, which meant I got to ride out the storm in Dad’s recliner.
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    Caleb and I were not alone today because hurricanes incarcerated thousands, even millions of people inside solitary havens like ours. Today, we were all evacuees of the inhospitable world outside our doors.
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    Florida Agricultural & Mechanical University, a historically black university, sat atop one of the highest hills in Tallahassee, so the locals referred to the campus as “the Hill.”
    I started walking by “the Set” on my way to and from lunch twice a week. I could take another less traveled route, but I didn’t. The set was the main hangout spot on the Hill. Students congregated outside on the plaza between classes, and it’s