PHILIP
It was Friday afternoon, and as much as I’d wanted to cancel class and go back to bed, there I was, writing on the outdated chalk board while waiting for the students to arrive and get settled in. Standing there had nothing to do with being a decent professor and everything to do with seeing if he showed up. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help but be captivated by the boy with the haunted eyes. He hadn’t attended class in almost a week and I found myself wondering why. Since the beginning of the semester a few weeks ago, he’d never missed a class, and stupidly, it made me wonder what was going on with him.
“Pavlov’s Dog—” my voice rang out through the amphitheater-style classroom “—is the theory that positive reinforcement can condition an animal to come when called. Pavlov rang a bell, and at first his dog ignored it, but after receiving treats each time he obeyed with the ringing of the bell, the dog eventually responded to when Pavlov rang the bell, with or without the treat. He associated the ringing of the bell with the treat, being conditioned to do so. I tried something similar with my old black lab Sadie, since she refused to come inside at night. I used to open the refrigerator and fumble around before grabbing the hot dogs that I’d buy especially for her. When I first began this, I had to go outside, throwing pieces and making a trail, leading her back into the house and to the fridge.” I chuckled softly at the retelling. “Eventually she caught on to the fact that when I opened the refrigerator late at night, she’d get a hot dog. Pavlov’s theory worked so well, it was the only way I could get her to come inside at night.”
The class all laughed. “Okay, everyone, I want you to pair up and discuss the possibility of positive reinforcement and how it could work on people. There is a two-page paper due next Monday on why you think Pavlov’s theory does or doesn’t work with people. The more creative the answers the better. Do not forget to include pertinent references and site them correctly, people.” The collective groan that filled the room had me chuckling. “Seriously, you guys? It’s two pages. You can write a two-page paper in your sleep.” I motioned to one of my students. “Sissy, can you come here for a minute?”
From what I’d been able to gather during the semester, Sissy was Ryan’s best friend. If anyone could tell me what was going on with him it would be her. Of course I disguised my concern as being more about his GPA and his ability to catch up on his course work.
“You wanted to see me, Professor Marks?”
“Yes, I know you and Ryan are close. I’m concerned about his grades slipping since he has missed every one of my classes this week. Is something going on?”
Her eyes went wide before she began to babble. “Shit, er... shoot. Ugh! I don’t know… Ry is gonna kill me.”
“Sissy, focus please.” I speared her with a look, hoping like hell my “professor face” would force her to spill. “What’s going on? He never misses class.”
She looked down as she mumbled, “His mom… she overdosed last weekend.”
“Oh.” I nodded, unsure of an appropriate response, which showed how not professional I felt about this particular student considering I was a psychologist and taught the damn subject. But, keeping a professional tone with my students was necessary and allowing any of them to see just how much that information made my chest tighten was probably crossing a line. “Well, um, thank you for telling me—”
“He hasn’t left his dorm room in days!” she interrupted, thankfully, since my mind was a whirlwind. “He called into both of his jobs, hasn’t shown up for any classes. I tried to get him to at least go to class, figuring it might help, but then he had a fight with his sister too, and he won’t budge, so I’m not sure what I should do.”
Coming back down from my initial shock, I asked, “Have you tried to get him to see the grief counselor?”
“Yeah, but Ryan is... strong willed and very closed-off about his mom and sister.” She scratched the back of her neck, her eyes looking around as if we’d be heard at any moment. “He’s a little self-destructive, but he’s more mature than anyone I know. Honestly, professor, I’m really worried, this could break him.”
Self-destructive was not a term I wanted to hear associated with anyone, especially Ryan. Why this girl didn’t speak up sooner, I’d never know. “Don’t worry, Sissy. Thank you for confiding in me. I’ll have a talk with him and see what I can do.” The relief in her eyes was not surprising. As mature as Ryan seemed to be, his best friend was clearly on the younger side of the adult spectrum.
“Thank you! This is such a relief. I mean I wanted to say something, but didn’t know if Ryan would be mad, but this is better. He’s my best friend, so yeah, if you could help, even if he gets pis—uh, mad at me, this is good.”
Placing my hand on her arm in the hopes of calming her down, I nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ryan’s fine.”
Whether or not he wants me to.
Classes seemed to drag after that, my mind racing. What the fuck was I doing? He was a student. Would I have done the same with any other student in my class? The answer was a resounding no, but something about Ryan sucked me in, had from that very first day of class. It was wrong, but it didn’t stop me from walking across campus to his dorm and knocking on his door.
I was shocked when he opened it and I got my first good look at him in more than a week. His dark hair was sticking up all over the place, there were bruise-like circles under his eyes, and it looked as though he’d lost ten pounds. He looked like hell.
“Professor Marks? Uh, what’re you doing here?” He eyed me warily, as he probably should, since showing up at his dorm room was unprofessional at best, stalkerish at worst.
I cleared my throat. If I was going to do this, I’d come off as professional and courteous as possible. “I haven’t seen you in class in over a week.” Looking down at him, I confessed, “Sissy told me what happened. I’m here to talk.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to talk.” He started to close the door but my hand shot out and grabbed it.
“Sissy is worried about you,” I said softly, trying to conceal the hope in my eyes at wanting him to confide in me. “I can be a really great listener.” He paused, then nodded his head and opened the door wider to allow me entry.
“I don’t know why she worries. It’s not like I’m going to do anything to hurt myself. I’m just grieving. My mom was the only family I had, well, I have my half sister, but she has her own life and we were never super close.” He kicked some clothes out of the way and sat down on his bed, leaning up against the cement block wall that was covered in posters. “My sister was raised by her grandma and she’s seven years older than me. Mom always felt bad about them taking Court away, so she did everything in her power to make sure the same didn’t happen to me.”
He twisted around, dropping his feet to the floor buried his face in his hands as quiet sobs racked his body. I dragged the desk chair over to where he was sitting and sat down next to him by the edge of the bed. Our knees brushed briefly and I sucked in a lungful of air before moving back a fraction. My hand came down on his knee and I squeezed. “It’s good to grieve for your loss, but would your mom want you to sit here alone, wallowing in that grief?” He looked up at me with red rimmed eyes. “Absolutely not. She’d want you to live. I’m aware of your scholarship, if your grades slip they could take that from you, Ryan.”
“Yeah,” he said attempting to take a few deep breaths and pull himself together. “It just hurts so fucking bad knowing that I wasn’t enough of a reason for her to get herself clean. I know it was a disease taking her life, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck about that at the moment.” His anger was palpable and well deserved, but it’d been a week of him holing himself up in this room alone, suffering alone.
“I know this sounds contrite, and while this is painful, it will get easier. As you progress through your degree—and you will, Ryan, make no mistake—you’ll understand more of the anatomy of an alcoholic and drug addict. It may not be of comfort to you now, but eventually you’ll learn to forgive her.”
Anger flashed in his eyes as he jumped off the bed, pushing me back, and screamed the most guttural heartbreaking sound I’d ever heard in my life.
“I don’t want to forgive her! She left me. That’s the one thing she always promised she wouldn’t do.” He slammed his hand down on his desk. The container full of pencils fell over scattering across the floor. “I did everything for her. I work two jobs so she has a place to stay and a phone to call me. I put food in her fridge every week. Yet, she couldn’t even keep the one promise she made to me.” His hands were braced on the desk, his head slumped forward, and I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I walked over and wrapped my arms around him; it was like the dam burst inside of him. He turned around, then buried his face in the crook of my neck as loud racking sobs tore through his body.
I knew what I’d said was the truth about him eventually forgiving her, but he was still so raw there was no way he’d be able to accept anything until he passed through the overwhelming sadness and anger. “Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here. I’m not judging you, Ryan. If you need to cry, do it. If you need to get angry and throw things, I’ll sit quietly and watch that you don’t hurt yourself. The one thing you aren’t is alone.” I rubbed his back soothingly before I realized what I was doing. Ryan must have gotten the same weird tension because he sniffled before taking a step back.
“Thank y-you,” he stammered. “I’m okay now.”
“Right.” I cleared my throat, shifting from foot to foot, taking a step back from him, now completely uncomfortable with the tension radiating from him. “I, uh, brought the work you missed the last week.” Walking back over to the front door, I grabbed my satchel and dug around for the packet of papers I’d printed for him. He took a few hesitant steps forward and our fingers brushed as I handed him the assignment. A spark of electricity sizzled up my arm and I drew my arm back quickly.
“I’ll be in class Monday with all of this done.” His eyes refused to meet mine.
“My personal cell number is on that card in case you need to talk.”
“Is that... allowed?” He finally looked up.
“Look, Ryan, I’m just a professor making sure that a student is okay. It’s my responsibility, not only as a teacher here, but knowing what had happened, it’s the right thing to do.” I shrugged casually.
“None of my other professors have come to my dorm offering to talk or leaving me their phone numbers.” He pointed out with a lifted eyebrow.
“Look, use the number, or don’t. I don’t really care. I was just offering my help if you need it.” So what if I was a bit righteous in defending myself? He was acting as though I had ulterior motives—and as much as there was something about him, the person before me was in pain, and I’d never cross that line of causing someone more.
“Are you sure that’s all it is, Professor Marks?” Ryan took an aggressive step toward me, his hands balled into fists at his sides, crumpling the papers I gave him.
My jaw clenched tight as I ground out, “Positive, I’ll see you in class on Monday, Ryan,” then I hightailed it out the door, Ryan’s soft chuckle following me.
Shit. What was I thinking going in there?