Moonlit Surrender

A few weeks ago. Lucy stumbled into the first class of Graphic Communications at the local community college with her barista apron still secured in a sloppy bow at the small of her back from her long shift at the coffee shop downtown. She cursed at her forgetfulness and struggled to untie it with her backpack slung over one shoulder, her purse strapped across her body, and her coffee in one hand. Her commotion caught the eye of a couple other students as she struggled awkwardly into the classroom with barely a minute to spare. She slid into the last available seat in the center front row just as the cheap analog clock above the whiteboard struck 9:00 p.m. She felt ants crawling up her spine, feeling as if she was on display seated at the front of the class, and she tried her best to disappear into the desk, but there was no hiding her presence. Her dark makeup and long black hair stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of loafers, cardigans, and bottle blondes. Perhaps she could've given up her macabre ways and exchanged her fishnets for something more traditional to blend into her conservative little town better, but it would have always felt like an act to her. She would have always felt like she was wearing someone else's skin. Maybe if she was able to get this degree in graphic design, she could get a job far away from their small minds and live around people more like her.

She did her best to settle in and took a sip of the steaming cappuccino she had brought with her and winced from the unanticipated burn as she overheard a conversation adjacent to her. "What do you think your purpose is?" a smoky voice asked.

Lucy felt herself respond to the sound almost immediately, as if beckoned by a siren's call. She had to see the source of this deep and welcoming sound, curious for the first time since stepping on this campus about one of her fellow classmates.

"I'm going to be a doctor," a young woman replied confidently down the front row.

Lucy leaned in to peer past the other people that had taken notice of the conversation and saw a man in a black suit and red tie a few seats down, lounging in one of the desks with one ankle propped over a knee. He looked in his mid-forties, his deep chestnut hair fading at his temples and whispers of white in the stubble on his chin. He watched the girl carefully as he listened, noting every slight detail about her with an acute perception. "That is why you exist?" he asked, interrupting her idealistic rambling about the fairytale future she had already imagined for herself, probably spoon-fed to her by wealthy, overachieving parents. "That is what you came into being for, what humankind walks for? In all the chaos of the universe, Miss-?" he waited for her name, but Lucy couldn't hear her quiet mumble, the young woman obviously having lost some of her confidence. "The chaos of the universe and all the random components of the world came together and ceased their clamor so that flesh and bone might knit itself together for Sarah Walsh to..." He paused for dramatic effect. "Administer flu shots?"

The girl shifted awkwardly and her face scrunched in offense, but she had no reply.

He chuckled and patted her hand. "Relax, dear. It only gets harder from here."

The man rose and stepped in front of the room of thirty or so students and introduced himself properly. "I am Professor Wright and I will be your guide into deeper thought in Introduction to Philosophy." Lucy froze in terror.

Oh shit. I'm in the wrong class!

Her blue eyes widened and she panicked at what to do while the professor continued, oblivious to the humiliation unfolding just a few feet away from him in the front row.

"Silence your phones or I will fail you. Miss a class and I will fail you. Arrive late..." He paused and looked over at Lucy, letting her know he had indeed noticed her blundering. "And I will give you extra homework. You are warned." His gray eyes flicked back up to the throng of young people frowning at his strict policy. "I'm sure the majority of you are only in here for what you thought would be an easy credit, but I assure you my class is anything but. Your minds are my playthings and I intend to push them to their limits. By remaining here you are signing a verbal contract that you will dedicate yourselves to my twisted and sometimes sadistic intentions, that you will commit yourself to my unconventional and at times eccentric ways, and that you will marry education for the year you will spend in my classroom. If you do not wish to sign that contract, please leave." At that he crossed the room to his desk and took a seat at his computer. Lucy watched as several people got up and left, the future doctor among them, but hesitated over her own exit. There was something compelling about this strange man and the questions he was making them ask themselves. Despite her better judgment, she remained, and took out her notebook and pen and made a note to change her classes for the semester. Graphic Communications would still be there waiting for her next year.

Professor Wright stood up from his desk in a surprisingly graceful manner and clicked a button from the small remote in his hand to project the course's syllabus onto the whiteboard. She was immediately captivated by his every movement, as mundane as his actions were. Click a button, explain the slideshow, take a step this way, now that way. Answer a question. Glide back to starting position. Everything he did was deliberate, every movement, every sentence, and every expression. He was controlled, composed, and calm as he talked to the class, and Lucy felt strangely soothed by the rhythm of his speech and the rich deep pitch of his voice.

As he continued going over what the class would be studying, Lucy felt herself begin to doze despite the huge cup of coffee she had scorched her tastebuds with at the beginning of class. The long shifts during the day and late nights taking classes was proving to be a greater challenge than she had anticipated. She propped her cheek on her hand and waged war with her heavy eyelids, lulled to sleep by the gravelly cadence of the professor's voice.

It felt like she had only rested her eyes for a moment before she startled upright. She tugged the stray piece of hair from her mouth and looked around her. The room was silent, all the seats empty now, and she groaned in humiliation, realizing she had dozed off for much more than a few minutes.

"You've been asleep for almost an hour. You're lucky I had some emails to reply to or you'd be locked up in here until my next class. Thursday."

Lucy looked over to Professor Wright behind his desk, his keyboard clicking and clacking quietly while he continued his typing without so much as a glance to her.

"I'm so sorry," she answered, mortified, wishing she could sink into the floor beneath her and vanish.

"You're not the first to fall asleep in my class, but on the first night? Going over the syllabus?" He looked up with a playful smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.

Lucy rose and began to gather her things. "While you may stimulate deeper thought, Professor, I'm afraid due dates and lists don't." She looked up as she clutched her empty paper cup in her hand.

The professor stood and reached forward with a small plastic trashcan. "You may call me John, and yes, I'm aware. I promise from here on out it's nothing but Plato, Nietzsche, and my own depraved ramblings."

"Depraved?" She chuckled as she crossed the few steps between them. "You know, you sound like a crazy person gearing up to torture a bunch of poor young people just trying to get a degree." Lucy tossed her coffee cup into the trashcan and watched him set it back down behind him.

His gray eyes were almost luminescent the way they caught the light. They were positively mesmerizing this close. "This campus hasn't seen hard work in decades. The torture is deserved. Most of your classmates will drop out, fail out, or goof around while they earn some easy credits before transferring to a university."

Lucy glared at him. "Well, this is my second year here and I have no intention of leaving or goofing around. This is it for me. I can't afford one of those universities."

A smile tugged at his lips. "And what is it you're studying, Miss-?"

She chuckled earnestly. "The last girl to give you her name was publicly belittled."

His gaze dropped to the apron in her hand then came back up. "Lucy."

She looked at him shocked for a moment at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue so casually, as if he had known her for years. Then she looked down and saw her nametag exposed.

"Anonymity didn't quite suit you. Lucy is a pretty name. Though I don't recall a Lucy on my roster. You're quite the mystery girl."

She was taken off guard by the compliment and laughed nervously.

No. Stop it right there. He's probably married, and if he's not by his age there's probably a reason.

"No, you won't find Lucy Beckett on any registration for this class. I'm working toward a degree in graphic design and I think I made a mistake," she answered, attempting to internally shrug off whatever attraction she was starting to feel for him. "Lucy the artist," he smiled. "I'm not surprised."

Lost in the world of this story? Make sure you're on Ñe5s.org to catch every twist and turn. The next chapter awaits, exclusively on our site. Dive in now! "Why is that?"

He motioned from her thick platform boots and fishnet tights all the way up to her glossy crown of ebony locks. "Artists often have creative ways of expressing themselves in their work or sometimes in their personal fashion." He watched her shift uncomfortably under his evaluation, then added, "It's a good thing. I'm curious why a soon-to-be graphic designer is taking a philosophy course."

She felt her cheeks heat and laughed in embarrassment. "That's the mistake. I think I got the rooms confused. I thought this was Graphic Communications."

He smiled and chuckled with her. "Why didn't you say something? You didn't have to stay."

She shrugged and looked down at the worn faux leather toes of her boots bashfully. "I know. It just seems like an interesting class. I'd like to stay if that's all right. I can speak to my guidance counselor about moving some things around." "You will be a happy addition to the class," he answered warmly as he powered down his computer and began to gather his things into a well-used satchel. In one graceful movement he was on his feet and slinging it over his shoulder. Lucy followed his ascent, entranced the same way she had been when he had spoken at the front of the class. Everything this man did was sure and full of intention and she realized now she admired the trait and was jealous of his confidence. Her eyes lifted and she found herself standing only about the height of his shoulders and tilting her head back to meet his gaze for perhaps the first time that night.

"I look forward to our academic relationship, Lucy. It's been a pleasure."

Suddenly she was unable to hold the eye contact and she looked back down with a smile as he moved for the door. "See you on Thursday, John."

He stretched his arm out and held the door open for her as she passed by him and into the hall as they went their separate ways into the night.