One Midnight (ONC 2024) ✔️

Chapter Ten - Office Hours

A nudge jolts me awake. Where am I? My head is screaming as I realize that I must have fallen asleep in class. The opera history professor looms over me, expecting me to look up at him.

"Miss Broussard," Dr. Peterson says, peering at me from beyond his glasses, his eyes intense, his lips formed into a pout. "You know the policy about falling asleep in class."

"Dr. Peterson, I am so sorry. I don't know what happened."

I cannot believe that this has happened to me. What on earth is going on with me? Do I need to go to the doctor? First, the strange thing outside Cafe du Monde, dreaming about marrying Jeff, and now this? Why was I sobbing in a river?

"Because this is the first time this has ever transpired with you in my class, I am letting you off the hook. Oh," he said. "You wrote in your quiz. How strange. Perhaps you were writing in your sleep? Are you finished?"

"No," I shake my head. "I'll look over the quiz again."

The first question is about why Marie Guidry came to New Orleans. I must not have been paying attention that well in class, because I do not know the reason why she came to New Orleans. The second one is about who Marie Guidry was to society and how her music was influenced by the world around her. I look down at my quiz, realizing for the first time that there are completed answers scrawled on the page. Yes, it is my handwriting, but I do not recognize the wording. My finger traces the words written, and they make no sense to me. Words that I could never even dream of writing jump off my page.

You charm others with your ways

But veritably, you are a snake.

Look at me, not with that lecherous gaze

For you harp on my mistake!

I must wash away my agony

While you slumber in peace.

I am the flower that withers in its own tragedy

I tremble. Every part of me feels as if it is on fire as I look over the words. Where is this from? I do not write like this, and it feels incomplete. What on earth is washing away agony and the flower that withers in its tragedy?

The timer on Dr. Peterson's iPhone runs out as he walks up to his podium.

"All right, class. Hand in your answers. If you have questions, do not hesitate to come to my office during office hours. I hope you all have an operatic day."

But I haven't even had enough time to answer anything about Marie Guidry — there are only these strange words.

                                                                                     ***

 I sit alone on the bench in the quad, hoping that I won't see Jeff on his regular commute to his classes in the English department. Why did I choose to come back to school for my masters at the same time the school hired Jeff to teach? Of course, it was just my luck. I eat my sandwich I bought from the cafeteria, keeping my eyes on the cement walkway. If I see him, I'll just turn the other way and pretend that he doesn't exist.

It's not my fault that I got a graduate assistantship. It was a better offer than LSU, which is where I absolutely wanted to go. But I'm happy with my choice. This school is practically home to me.

As I am about to take another bite of my sandwich, I feel the sharp vibration coming from inside my backpack. I set down my lunch and quickly take my phone out. My heart skips a beat and then drops to the floor when I see the email banner at the top of my notifications. It's from Dr. Peterson. My hand trembles as I click on it.