[thisislife]

He fumbled his way into my office a mere three weeks after enrolling in a course I was teaching. I cannot remember the subject. But I can remember the look on his face as he inched forward across my office floor — it was like a sea cucumber, all damp and terrified. Trying to ease his evident panic at having to face another human being, I offered him a cigarette. It was an hour later that I convinced him to leave the broom cupboard, and resolved to allow him ample time in order to prepare for his interaction with a fellow life-form. While he gathered all reserves of his will I turned up the chandelier and lit a few sticks of incense. He had regressed to merely soggy by the time he opened his mouth to speak.

And alas, no words came. His voice, so terrified from the previous encounter, had gone into shock and was currently on hiatus, not to be returning for a good while yet. He was bewildered by this more than anything, and began to slink off into the shadowy corners of the room. But I gathered myself and swept behind him, cut him off, and ushered him into a chair. “Mr. Peters, Mr. Peters,” I murmured as I adjusted the bulb on the desk lamp, “you seem to have a persistent problem.” But the chair did not respond; although it was slightly damp from Evelyn’s visit, he was no longer in it. Outside the rain drummed apologetically. Some lightning went off self-consciously.