Monday came too early, and I found my way to my classroom, iPad in a shoulder bag along with my wallet holding both IDs. The English Lit survey class was going to be boring, I discovered. I'd read every book represented in the anthology that was the only textbook already. After class, I caught the professor while he was packing up his stuff and asked if there was a way just to take a test and pass, since this was a required class for my major. He had been looking at what he was doing instead of at me, but now he looked up, surprised.
"You've read all of these works? Beowulf? Dr. Faustus?" he queried.
"Yes, sir. My guardian's library is quite extensive," I said.
"Well, I suppose I could give you the final, and if you pass, you pass. However, I doubt, without hearing the discussions…No, it's quite impossible. I'm afraid you'll have to suffer through the class, young lady."
It was disappointing, but I did have one alternative. I planned to ask my adviser if there were a way to take the test and pass, so I could take a more interesting English class.
I wasn't taking a particularly heavy load of classes because Russ thought I might need to ease into it. I´d never had a normal high school classroom experience, much less college. Homework for my first semester classes consisted mainly of reading the textbooks, so when I got back to the dorm ahead of Rihanna, I took the time to do the reading. Unless I missed my guess, we'd be off on another adventure as soon as Rihanna was back.
On Wednesday, I socialized a bit before class started, so I was startled to see the professor gesturing to me before he called the class to order. "See me after class, young lady."
"Yes, sir."
Dutifully, I presented myself at the podium as the other students filed out. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes. I understand you went to your adviser for an alternative to taking this class," he said, peering at me over the top of his reading glasses.
"Yes, sir. I feel I could pass the test and be able to use my time more productively." If he thought a mere freshman presumptive for such brave words, he suppressed any sign of it.
"Very well. Your adviser has asked me to give you last year's test, so that if you don't pass it, this year's won't be compromised. When are you done with classes today?" he said.
"At three, sir," I answered, my spirits lifting.
"Come to my office at three and I'll administer the test. If you pass, you'll get credit for this course and can late-register for another of your choice. Good luck." To my surprise, he smiled at me. I'd thought he was annoyed at my request. I smiled back, thanked him, and skipped out, energized. I had nearly an hour left before my next class, so I spent it on the ground under a tree, reviewing the material in Norton's Anthology by skimming through the Table of Contents. In fact, every spare moment between then and three o'clock was spent doing the same, and when I arrived in the professor's office, I was confident I'd do fine.
The final had a total of one hundred questions, divided mostly among multiple choice, true/false and short-answer facts about the works studied. The last question, though, was an essay question on the controversy surrounding gender roles and norms in the seventeenth century. If I hadn't been seated, I'd have jumped for joy when I saw that. This was something I knew about first-hand.
My early upbringing had been rooted in the same roles and norms, despite the fact that it was three centuries later. I had two hours to complete the test, so I gave myself an hour to answer the other questions and an hour to wow the professor with my insights into the mind of a seventeenth century housewife.
When I had finished, he kindly offered to grade the test immediately, so I'd be able to pick up the new class after only two missed days. I sat quietly and watched as he went rapidly down the answer sheet, ticking off one or two of the answers, before turning to the essay. As he read, his expression changed from skepticism to surprise, then intense interest. When he had finished, he looked up and asked, "Have you lived a past life, my dear?"
"What? No, er, at least I don't think so. Why?" I was so startled by the question I forgot even to be respectful to the older man.
"Astonishing insight, I'd say. Well, you have changed my mind. I wish I were going to have the opportunity to have you in my class, Ms. Nielsen, you would likely enliven the discussions. However, you have passed. In fact, I'd say this will earn you top marks in the class. Well done. I'll inform your adviser tomorrow."
It was all I could do to keep from skipping up and hugging the man, but he seemed a bit too conservative for that. I settled for thanking him profusely and telling him if I selected a subject that he taught in a later year, I'd be sure to choose his class over any other. Then I literally ran for the dorm to tell Ri the good news.
~~~
For my new English class, I chose a sophomore-level lecture class on William Faulkner. I felt it only polite to explain why I was entering the class late after the first session, but when I laid eyes on him, Professor Justin Mackey took my breath away. I knew I'd make a fool of myself if I approached him, so I abandoned my plan and hoped he wouldn't notice a new student among the fifty or so who were already enrolled.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. If I'd been casting for a play or a portrait of Adonis, he would have been perfect. Dr. Mackey wasn't exceptionally tall, only about five-eleven or six feet I estimated. His hair was chestnut-brown, worn long over his ears and neckline, and tousled as if he'd just gotten out of bed, a thought that sent a forbidden thrill to my core. I was too far away to see his eye color, but imagined it to be a dark brown that matched his hair.
Dr. Mackey's lecture was fascinating, and I realized I would need to find out what the previous assignments had been, to catch up. Debating whether I should risk becoming a babbling idiot by asking him or asking my neighboring student, I opted for the coward's way and spoke to my neighbor.
"He's just had us read the first three stories in the collection," she answered. "Would you like my notes on the lectures you missed?"
"Wow, would I ever!" I exclaimed, happy to have found someone friendly and studious. "I'll get them back to you next lecture, okay?"
"That's fine. Do you have a class right after this one, or would you like to get a coffee?" she asked.
"I'm Janey, and I'd love to get a coffee."
"Alicia; it's a date," she smiled. And, just like that, I had a new friend. Since I was used to a big, closely-knit family, having two friends didn't seem like nearly enough, but it was a start. After class, Alicia and I strolled over to the Student Union for our coffee. I learned that she was a sophomore, and she learned that I was a freshman.
"How'd you pull off getting into Dr. Mackey's class your first semester?" she asked. "Didn't you have too many prerequisites to fit it in?"
"Well, I had an opportunity to take the final for English Lit Survey 101, and I passed it, so they let me pick what to replace it with," I explained. I wasn't sure whether what I'd done was normal or whether I'd had a special privilege. If the latter, I didn't want to make a big deal of it. But, Alicia widened her eyes and dropped her mouth in an exaggerated 'O'.
"You must have some serious lit background," she said. "Is it your major?"
"Yes." Unless I missed my guess, I knew what came next, and I wasn't ready to share the rest of my background. My one-word answer seemed to shut down that line of inquiry, though. I filled the gap by asking hers.
"I'm Theater Arts. Taking Dr. Mackey's class was a brilliant stroke on my part, I have to say. Of course, the subject matter is important, but his delivery is teaching me plenty about stage blocking and a whole lot more. He's gorgeous, isn't he?"
"Sure is. Do you know anything about him, his personal life I mean?" Alicia pounced on the question right away.
"Oho, going straight for the A in his bed, huh? You may have competition," she warned.
"You mean, professors give good grades if you sleep with them? How is that fair?" I asked, indignant. Alicia sat up and leaned back, regarding me as if unable to believe what I'd just asked.
>
"Of course! How do you think those blonde bimbo cheerleaders ever pass a course? Nothing personal," she added as I bristled at the blonde bimbo remark. I was blonde, but I didn't think I was a bimbo if that meant someone who slept with teachers for grades.
Alicia went on, "So, you really are interested in him? Then I'll tell you, he's divorced, no children, but he's got a rep on campus of being a player. Better be careful."
"Thanks, Alicia, I really mean that." I thanked Alicia for the coffee, her notes and most of all her advice about Dr. Mackey, and headed for my next class.
That night I transcribed Alicia's notes into my iPad notes and re-read Falkner's short stories to catch up to the class. Alicia took excellent notes, very readable, and I was happy to gain some insights into the way Dr. Mackey's mind worked. His take on "A Rose for Emily" took me deeper into the story than my reading had done, and gave me a connection to Emily that I hadn't expected. Like Emily, I'd been cut off from the progress of time, clinging to the old ways in which I'd been raised, despite my appreciation of having been rescued from it.
It was increasingly clear to me also that I too was in danger of being an object of distant observation and curiosity if I couldn't learn quickly to fit in. That very evening, I made the decision to re-invent myself, with Rihanna’s help. Setting my studies aside, I made the first step.
"Rihanna, what do you think of my hair? Be honest," I said.
"Um, well, it's pretty. You're a natural blonde, aren't you?" she hedged.
"Yes. But, what I meant was, what do you think of my style?" I wore my hair long enough to sit on, French-braided, with the long tail hanging down. I kept the front neat with combs that swept the sides up into the French braid. It was very similar to the style that unmarried women in my former life used. I hadn't seen anyone else on campus wearing theirs that way.
"Well, honey, you could really turn on the sex appeal if you'd cut it a little shorter, and maybe layer it. But it's pretty the way it is, honestly," she answered.
"What would I do with it if I wanted to attract a man?" I asked.
Rihanna startled and asked, "Someone in particular, or just any man?"
"Well, frankly, the most beautiful man I've ever seen." There, I'd said it. Lightning didn't strike me, and Rihanna didn't even flinch.
"Oh, so it's a specific man you want to attract. Someone in one of your classes?"
"No, it's one of my professors," I said. "A girl in the class with me told me he had a rep as a player. Does that mean reputation?" I asked.
"Oh, shit! Girl, you can't sleep with a professor! It's unethical. And yes, that means reputation, and player means he sleeps around. It means he plays with women's feelings. Sounds like a shithead to me."
"Maybe so, but he's gorgeous. Who said I was going to sleep with him? But I'm boring. I want to be more like you, Ri. You seize life by the horns and don't let go, and you're happy."
"Aw, thanks, hon! But I didn't get this way by sleeping with players. Why don't you forget him and I'll introduce you to some friends who are closer to our age?" I knew Rihanna would be willing to help, but I didn't expect her to resist what I wanted. Still, if she would help me, it might spill over into becoming more attractive for Dr. Mackey. Besides, who knew? Maybe Ri's friends were every bit as attractive. Maybe it was just that I'd missed my teen years for flirting and dating, and any man would do. Well, almost any. Not Scrud.
"Sure, Ri, that would be great! But we're off the subject. What should I do with my hair? Should I cut it short?" I was willing to do anything to change, and this seemed a good place to start. My hair was a symbol of imprisonment to someone else's rules.
"Are you kidding?" Ri screamed. "NO! Here, take a look." She opened her laptop and made several rapid keystrokes, pulling up three or four tabs with different searches. Then she called me over. "Look, all these women are young. Hardly any of them have short hair. But look what you can do with long layers."
Picture after picture showed young women with wavy tresses hanging loose, and I finally understood what she meant by layers. In front, different lengths framed and flattered oval faces like mine. There were even some showing side-braids that kept it back out of the way, or messy top-knots that looked like they'd just fisted it into a bunch and put a band around it.
"Ri, I love these! They look so easy to take care of. No half-hour detangling sessions before I can braid it, just wash it and go. Let's go do it right now! Will you come with me?"
Rihanna, caught up in my excitement, bounced off the bed and looked around for her shoes. "You know, most of those styles took at least half an hour. Those waves come from curling irons, you know."
"But mine's naturally wavy," I said.
"Really? I thought it was because you always had it in a braid. In fact, except when you're combing it out wet, I've never seen it down," she mused. "Okay, let's go, but first, get on your dancing clothes, because when you're all glam, we're going out!"
It was a strange Friday night date, getting my hair done and then going out dancing with my roommate, but we made it a fun night, and I managed to get back to the dorm with my new, wonderful hair style and not too shitfaced.
~~~
From that night forward, I watched Rihanna closely and emulated everything from the way she put her outfits together, to the breezy way she greeted her friends, now my friends too. She told me once it was a little creepy, but she laughed when she said it. I think she was actually flattered. I threw myself into learning to dance with abandon, loving that groups of girls would go out to dance together and occasionally get picked out of the herd by admiring boys to dance as a couple.
I learned to drink with care, too. I still couldn't drink much without unfortunate consequences, but I learned that a frozen daiquiri or margarita could be stretched to match two or three of Rihanna’s drinks, and I'd be fine. I actually liked the taste of tequila, which Ri found hilarious. I had a few missteps, too, though. Like, the time Ri and her friends insisted I do a shot of tequila. Encouraged by the fact that I loved margaritas, I accepted the challenge, and as they chanted 'one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor!' I licked salt from my hand, tossed back the shot, and almost choked to death on the strong fumes.
Ri was screaming with laughter, yelling, "Suck the lime! Suck the lime!" I finally gained control long enough to do it, and felt immediate relief, followed by the realization that an aftertaste that I genuinely liked was present, as well as a warmth spreading through me that made me want to melt into someone's arms and kiss him.
Acting on impulse and alcohol, I pulled one of Ri's guy friends roughly in front of me and dragged him down by his face for a kiss that turned passionate in about half a second. He forced his tongue into my mouth, teased mine out and sucked on it. By the time he released the kiss, I was weak in the knees and would have followed him anywhere, but Ri intervened.
"Chase, she's drunk. No taking advantage. Come see her when she's sober." With that, she dragged me out of the bar that night and took me back to the dorm, where she put me to bed with a kiss on the cheek and an admonition not to shoot tequila anymore.
~~~
I was still aware that I was here on Russ's generosity, and no matter what, I wouldn't repay him by wasting my time in school. Ri would have been happy to go out more often, and in fact, she sometimes went without me on a weeknight, but I insisted on keeping up with my assignments and not missing class. I couldn't be certain I could get back to the dorm at a reasonable hour if I went with Ri, so I stayed home except on weekends.
I loved my classes, all except the math. Most of all I loved the English class. My heart continued to pound each time my sexy professor walked into the room. When he called on me in class, I had to gather myself to quell the excitement as I attempted to impress him with my insights. Every time he said, "Well done, Miss Nielsen," I practically swooned.
Before I screwed up my courage to join the circle of groupies around him and try to catch his attention, it was time for fall break, and a
visit home. I was nervous about what everyone would think of my physical transformation. Instead of the demure blue-eyed blonde-with-a-braid that had left in jeans and a plaid shirt, Russ and Charity would find me in second-hand but artfully-layered campus wardrobe, my hair eighteen inches shorter, layered and swinging in waves around my face. I'd even started wearing just a little makeup, usually just some mascara to make my almost-invisible blonde eyelashes visible and some neutral-pink lip gloss.
Even more than my nerves, though, I suddenly missed Grace. It had been fun not having to worry about who would watch her if I wanted to get out of the house, and the time had passed quickly with all the new experiences. Now I wondered if she had mastered potty training yet, if she missed me, and how many new words she'd learned. I longed for her sweet, chubby little arms around my neck, and her baby voice with 'mommy' on her lips.
Fall break was a full week, so I'd be back at the ranch for most of six days, and then we were coming back early so Russ could buy me a car. He said it would save him and Charity from having to come pick me up for every long weekend once their new baby was born, and that I'd want to branch out where I could go now that I was comfortable on-campus. I didn't think it was necessary to tell him I'd been off-campus plenty of times with Rihanna, even going as far as Ogden with her for a weekend visit to her parents' home.
CHAPTER THREE
I wasn't at all disappointed in Charity's and Russ's reaction to my new look. Russ's mouth dropped before he snapped it shut to say "Wow!" Charity clapped her hand over her mouth and tears started in her eyes.
"Charity, what's wrong? Don't you like it?" I cried.
"Oh, Janey, honey, it's glorious!" she answered. "These are happy tears. You look so young and carefree. I love what you've done with your hair, and don't you look stylish?"
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