Forever Wanderer

Small clouds of white chalk powder gently flew from my hand as I made hard gritty contact with the board. The orange light of the approaching evening made the powder clouds look like colored smoke in a dance club. In the effort to keep my hand steady, I kept the white uncomfortably dry chalk in hard contact with the ash black surface. Do they notice? Notice the effort it takes me to write every single word? Even every single letter? I had to grind my teeth together to keep myself in check. Did I ever say how much I hate chalk? How it leaves your skin feeling as if the powder had separated every single crevice on the surface of your finger tips. Stuck in between the lines of your thumb print. Or was it the fact that I still was not over... her. The accident. I wasn't sure... Breathing in slowly I turned around to face the class.

"So who can tell me about the very First Jewish-Roman war?"

A small class of ten sat before me, only three girls remained in the class. Originally there had been fifteen, the five that had dropped the class were four girls and one boy. Anyone could tell that they were the party goers, ones that didn't come to college to learn but rather to just get away from Mommy and Daddy. As a matter of fact it was very hard to find a good group of people who really cared about history. And this class was proving it. I had yet to rise a really good debate, let alone discussion with them.

"Anyone?" I looked around at all their faces. The three girls sat in the back corner whispering excitedly to each other. Probably about the nights party with the local Fraternity.

"Come on... anyone?" I pointed my piece of chalk at a scrawny ash haired boy. "Pete... how about you?"
He let out a big sigh. "Was it called the Great Revolution?"
"It was called the Great Revolt..."
"How bout you Alex..."

And so it went on, and on, and well on. I had thought by choosing to torture myself with ten years of education that I'd being doing some good in the world. That I'd be able to magically spread my love for the past to my students as well. I wanted to show them what good they could do for the world, by learning the mistakes of our past leaders. Itching to get out myself I looked up at the clock and saw that there was still a half hour left of this very long three hour class. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath. Come on John... you can do this! Forget about her! Forget about everything, just think about right now! Exhaling, the air rapidly flew from my lungs with my hands still clasped so tightly together they were white at the knuckles. Ok... I can't do this.

"Five page essay on the Great Revolt due this Thursday. I'll let you have an early release today. Class dismissed."

I plopped down in my chair behind my desk and stared at the mess. Watching the papers clutter and clutter some more from the ever stacking pile of work I had yet to do.
"Umm... Professor Valentine?" The sound of a high chirpy voice rang.
I realized that there was still someone in the room and straightened up in my seat trying to make myself look as least depressing as possible.

I cleared my throat. "Yes Missy? Need help with something?"
The short pudgy blond put one hand on my desk and leaned forward twirling her bleach blond, may I say fried hair in one hand. Making sure to emphasize her curvaceous assets.
"I thought that was a very interesting speech Professor Valeeentine." She chirped again in her high pitched voice. She smiled wide showing her shinny white chicklet sized teeth.
I bent down and opened a drawer pretending to look for something.
"That’s very nice of you to say Ms. Miller, maybe next time you could participate in the discussion."

I sat up with a folder in my hand, making myself stare at her face and not her umm... assets. Her blinding fresh from K-Mart sloppy red lip stick helped to be a distraction.
She let out a loud snort of a laugh and waved her hand in front of her dramatically. "Oh that would be silly! Why would I say anything when I can just listen to you all day Professor Valentine. Your so funny John!" She made a weird squeaking sound at the end of her sentence that made me want to listen to the sound of chalk screeching instead.
I put the folder down in front of me and opened it, pretending to read it. "If you don't mind Ms. Miller. I have some papers to grade. I'll be looking forward to reading your essay this Thursday."

I made sure to look up and politely nod at her. She once again widely smiled back.
"Good bye John!"

I stared down at the papers before me as I heard her loud clicking heels clamoring down the hall, followed by the sound of a bunch of girls giggling. Once I was sure they were gone, I quickly grabbed my empty briefcase and ran for the door.

The heavy smell of smoke stung my nostrils as I walked towards the door of the pub named Peculier in down town New York. Pushing open the door, I felt my heart lighten a little upon the sweet vision I saw before me. The usual group of youngsters, lonely singles, rebels and low lives. And neither of any of those categories suited me, no... I was the special one of my kind. I was the 'lost soul' of the bar. The man that drank to forget. The lonely man who instead of looking for a warm body was just looking for a heavy alcoholic drink to fill the void. Yes, at the ever so young age of 30 every so often a drunken man would wander his way to my side of the bar and ask me why. Why I had 'the look' upon me. The look of a lost soul, the look of death, the look of doom, anyway a you put it, I had them all. And I wore it so well, because of her. The one that I had lost to fate, to death, because I was too stupid to listen. To logical or rather ignorant to see. To see that she needed me the most. And I just didn't see it... at all. Aren’t the ones we love the most suppose to know? Know when to comfort us? To have a certain psychic ability to tell when we needed them to comfort us? Their suppose to know right? Or am I not right? Are we all fated to wander this world having to blatantly put forth that we need this and we need that? I was so stupid! An idiotic fool!

"John... the usual?" An average height dark burley man in his fifties stepped forward from behind the bar.
"Sure Frank, leave the bottle this time."

He gave me a weary look, but put the bottle of whiskey and a shot glass before me. "John I care about ya... be careful. I might have to shut off your tab if you run it like you did three nights ago."

I shook my head and smiled beseechingly while quickly gulping down my first glass. "You don't have to worry about me good ol' Frank. Fate is fate my friend. I'll be fine."
He snorted, "You Professors and your peculiar ideas. Fate... have you ever heard of fate being your own?"

I took another swig. "That’s bull, we all don't have a choice. None of us have one frigged choice in this God forsaken universe."

Suddenly a man bumped into me and my shot glass fell out of my hand. Luckily it didn't shatter as it hit the floor, so I quickly got up off my stool to chase it. Bending down to pick it up, I noticed a certain book title that caught my eye, let alone with a pair of very well dressed legs. The book title was called, A Compendium of British History, and the legs had a pair of purple velvet high heels on with properly modest black leg tights meeting a just below mid thigh ivory laced skirt. This person 'did not' look like they belonged in here, at all. I picked up the glass and stood up, while staring at the book cover, trying to none conspicuously look behind the cover at the person reading it. The woman lowered the book to look at me. I thought I'd be looking at a woman, but instead was bombarded by the delicate soft face of a girl just turned woman. She had pale skin the color of whole milk with honey almost strawberry blond hair and unusually bright green eyes. Serious green eyes. Staring at her, I couldn't help but be sucked into this hypnotic green pool that seemed to emit the wisdom of Galileo. Just by sitting there, her aura was so thick with authority, I couldn't make sense of how it could come from someone so young. Or at least young looking, obviously she was old enough to drink.

"Is there something I can help you with sir?" She said politely though also letting me know that she'd like to get back to her good read. She had the rich honey tone voice made to make a person melt to submission. I felt if she told me to jump of a cliff right now I'd do it gladly. I noticed a slight English accent, as if she was from there, but she hadn't been back home in a while. Maybe I drank more than I thought? I blinked trying to get my focus back.
"Sorry, just dropped my glass. Nice read..." I nodded towards her book.
"Uh huh..." She smiled politely at me and continued reading.

I noticed a bottle of absinthe and a shot glass as well next to her at the table as I turned around. Kind've strong stuff for a young girl? And what is she doing in a bar reading a book? I'm surprised no one has bothered her yet. I sat back down at the bar.
"Hey Frank... how long has that girl been in town for? I haven't seen her before."
He looked over at her. "Oh... that little spit fire. Well, I wouldn't go looking for trouble with her if that’s what you mean. That ones got a mouth on her."
"Really, I was wondering how she was able to handle herself in a place like this..."
"Oh don't worry, she can handle herself all right." He laughed. "She can most definitely handle herself. No ones messing with her.