4AN: I'd just like to thank Lady R and Bananamilkshake for reviewing the first chapter. I hope I get to hear from some of the rest of you as well.
Starting Over
A still smoldering cigarette burning itself out on the steps was the only welcoming committee that awaited one as he or she entered the intimidating halls of the University. Veronica sighed as she wandered down the empty corridor. She thought she had finished with this several years ago, but here she was. Back again, hoping that this time she had it right. She wasn't afraid to admit that Creative Writing wasn't the brightest choice of major if she wanted to eat three meals a day and live in an apartment in the good part of town. So maybe getting published was a little harder than she had expected. Now she understood why so many authors also had jobs as lawyers, doctors, or teachers. So what if she had learned the hard way, now she was back in school and hopefully would leave this time with a brighter future.
Veronica had been taking night classes for the past year while she worked in a grocery store during the day. However, she realized that she was never going to get a degree if she didn't just go back to school full time. Her parents had promised to pay for her apartment if she kept her grades up, so now she was living within walking distance of the campus with two other girls. Of course, her roommates were still in college as well. The only problem was that they were only twenty years old where as Veronica was nearly twenty-nine.
"So, why are we taking Intro to Criminal Justice again?" Veronica asked her friend as they wandered toward the classroom where their lecture would be held.
"Because we want to be able to talk our way out of a ticket the next time we get pulled over," Mia explained as though she'd told Veronica this more times than she could count.
"I don't think it works that way, Mia," Veronica said as she glanced inside one of the lecture halls. A class was going on, and the professor stood at the front droning on. He might as well have been reading the phone book, his voice was so monotone. Half the class was sleeping, some even drooling. The other half was looking intently at their laptops, and Veronica could only assume that they had an intense game of solitaire going on or some such thing. "Damn, I hope that our professor is nothing like that," she said as she pointed into the room.
"If he does we can always drop the class and go back to batting our eyelashes out of tickets," Mia said optimistically.
Veronica rolled her eyes as she playfully punched her friend in the arm. "Knowing you, you probably get away with that behavior, but the rest of us lowly mortals have to pay for our indiscretions," Veronica laughed as they finally found their classroom. Several students were sitting in the room already, but there was no professor in sight. "Well, at least we don't need to worry about the fact that we're five minutes late," Veronica said as she frowned at her friend.
"Hey, I can't help it if I needed a little extra time to do my hair this morning. Have you been outside today. I swear if there was any more humidity in the air, we'd be living in a fish tank. It takes time to style this to perfection," Mia said as she gestured to her hair while they took two seats near the front of the room.
"You do realize that your hair is in a messy bun, don't you?" Veronica asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Roni! This is not just a messy bun. Every strand of hair has been strategically placed to simulate messiness which guys appreciate because it makes them think that you're low maintenance while also reminding them of activities that would produce such a crumpled look. Sort of the way guys walk around with bed head," she said as she chewed on the end of her pen.
"I'm glad you put so much thought into something, since I know for a fact you don't put that much effort into your course work," Veronica laughed as she took a sip of the tea she had brought with her. She loved teasing Mia because she was an easy target. Mia may often sound like an airhead, but she was actually very intelligent. They had been sharing an apartment with one other girl for the past year. Veronica was actually eight years older than both girls, but since she decided to go back to school full time, sharing an apartment was her only option. "I wonder if our professor is ever going to show up," she commented as she searched for an empty page in her notebook so that she could doodle while she waited. Before Mia could reply, a man in a black slacks and a wrinkled light blue dress shirt entered the classroom.
Stephen was running late. It wasn't bad enough that he had to teacher a class at eight in the morning, but his friends had insisted on taking him out for drinks the night before. They said it was to celebrate his new job, but he knew that it was because he was finally off all the painkillers he'd been taking. They figured that just because he wasn't taking anything for pain anymore that meant that it didn't still hurt like hell to be drinking with them pretending that everything was the same as ever.
Stephen cursed himself as he became depressed. Things could have turned out a hell of a lot worse than they were. He may not be a cop anymore, but at least he could still use his right arm. For a while the doctors had told him that he may lose all use of it. After six months of physical therapy he could lift his arm to shoulder level but that was as far as it went. He often found himself trying to reach for something in the medicine cabinet or above the refrigerator only to be painfully reminded that his right arm didn't have that range of motion anymore.
Carrying a briefcase in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, Stephen stumbled into his first class. He had never thought he'd become a teacher, especially not a professor, but the wife of one of his old friends on the force was the assistant to the president of the school. When she'd heard about the shooting, she'd done everything in her power to help him get back on his feet. Now, he got to look forward to boring his students and grading uninspired papers.
Just as he was reaching the front of the room, his foot caught on something. He hadn't realized that there was a step there. He managed to keep his balance only with practiced skill. However, several of his papers floated to the floor in front of him. Bending over, Stephen placed his briefcase down and reached for the papers only to be reminded again of his affliction. He quickly switched his papers into his bad arm and grabbed the loose papers with his left hand. Hurrying to the podium in front of the room, he dumped his belongings on the stand.
This was not starting well, he thought as he looked down and noticed that he'd grabbed the wrong shirt this morning because this one was still wrinkled. He had spent a good hour the day before figuring out how to iron his dress shirts and he'd worn the wrinkled one anyway. Stephen was pretty sure that this was turning out to be one of the worst days of his life. Maybe the drug induced haze that he'd been living in since the "incident" as they'd called it, would have been better than this. Now, he had nothing to lessen the throbbing he got in his shoulder or the headache he got from all the memories.
"Good morning, I'm Professor Mallory. I'm sorry that I'm late this morning, but I'm still getting used to this campus," he jumped right in hoping that most of the students had missed his less that stellar entrance.
Veronica watched Professor Mallory fumble around for a few moments before he reached the podium. He couldn't have been much over thirty judging by his features. His curly auburn hair hung in his eyes and he continually was running his fingers through it to keep it out of his face. He was tall and thin, but something about him gave off an aura of strength even though he didn't look that powerful. This contradiction was explained when he began to introduce himself.
"I was a police officer for ten years before I took this job, so I'd like to believe I know the subject matter pretty well," he said as he began to pass out the papers that he had carried in. "This is our syllabus. It's a bit vague because I'm new at this and will probably be changing things along the way. I'm a pretty relaxed guy. All I ask is that you show up and do the work. I don't give homework. You'll have one paper to do before the end of the semester, but other than that your grade will depend on exams and quizzes..." he continued to speak about the class and his policies, but Veronica wasn't really listening. She'd been to too many first days to have even the smallest desire to listen to the same old rules and regulations.
About forty-five minutes into the class, Veronica had developed a solid plot for her next story. She glanced up from her notebook to see that the professor was still fumbling through the basics of the class. His entire appearance and presentation led one to believe that this guy either didn't know what he was talking about, or he was just completely disorganized. Both of which were qualities that Veronica did not want in a professor.
When class ended, Veronica followed Mia down the corridor toward the parking lot. "So, what did you think of him?" Mia asked enthusiastically as she walked with a practiced sway beside her older friend.
"I think I might drop that class," Veronica replied indifferently as she stuffed her notebook into her over sized purse. In all honesty, she hadn't wanted to take Intro to Criminal Justice in the first place. The fact that her professor seemed to be quite inept was just an excuse to get out before Mia could talk her out of it.
"Roni! How can you say that? Did you get a look at our professor?" Mia asked in pure horror.
"Yes, I did. His clothes were wrinkled. His tie was not only lopsided, but the skinny back came lower than the front. He was ten minutes late, and he had the annoying habit of running his hands through his uncombed hair whenever he was nervous or unsure of something. His syllabus wasn't even typed. It was a photocopy of a handwritten sheet that was done in chicken scratch that I could barely understand. He's obviously never taught a day in his life, and when he wrote his name on the board he had the penmanship of a third grader," Veronica listed off in quick succession. Roni wasn't usually a critical person unless it came to her writing, but after going through college once already she had a different outlook on her education. She didn't want or need to waste her time in classes that were not going to benefit her in some way.
"No! I mean did you look at his face?" Mia asked as she pretended to fan herself, showing her obvious appreciation for their professor.
"I don't see your point. His looks aren't anything to faint over. His nose looks to have been broken several times too many. His hair obstructs the view of his eyes unless he is pushing it back, and his jaw is too firm..."
"God Roni! Since when did you get so harsh. Weren't you the girl who told us that everyone had their good qualities? I don't think that you'll be a very good psychologist if you're so judgmental," Mia said with a soft laugh as they came out of the building.
"I have nothing against Professor Mallory. I just don't find him attractive, and I don't think that I'd enjoy his class. You forget that I've been through this before. I've had every bad professor there is to have. This time, I want to do things my way," Roni sighed as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder.
"I guess so, but at least stay one more class before you drop it. He may turn out to be a great teacher. Maybe he was just having a bad day," Mia said hopefully. Veronica just looked at her friend like she was crazy, but she nodded that she'd give it one more class.
The worst damn day of his entire sordid life! Well that is, the worst day of his life that didn't involve him getting shot. Stephen's head hurt, his back ached, his shoulder screamed, and he still wasn't finished. Doug expected to meet him for drinks at a local restaurant. As though this job was something to celebrate. Stephen sighed deeply as he stepped out of his beat up old pick up and headed into the bar.
"How did the first day go, Professor Mallory?" Doug joked as he lightly punched his former partner in his good shoulder.
"Oh it went just fine," Stephen said without a hint of sarcasm until he continued. "It went so well that I nearly fell flat on my face not ten steps in the door. Three students fell asleep not five minutes into class. Another few were blatantly ignoring what I was saying. I think that I stuttered more than a failing engine. Between my first and second class, I had to run home and change my shirt not only because I had put my wrinkled one on this morning, but because I sweat so much while making a fool of myself in front of three dozen kids that I looked like I fell in a pool on the way to class. I won't even go into my second class, where a girl asked where I learned to write with the penmanship of a kindergartner," Stephen said as he dropped his head into his hands and rested them against the tabletop.
"You used to have really neat handwriting," Doug said before clamping his mouth shut, not wanting to remind his friend of all that he'd lost.
"Yeah, well it's hard to write neatly if you can't hold your arm still or lift it past your shoulder because of nerve damage. And I'm still trying to get the hang of writing with my left," Steve groaned as he sat up and rubbed his shoulder.
"You'll get the hang of it. You always could adapt to anything," Doug reassured him as a waitress placed two mugs between them. "Gloria wouldn't have gotten you the job, if she didn't believe that you could do it well."
"You don't need to pretend, Doug. I know that she got me the job because she was worried that I was becoming suicidal. You may think that I'm oblivious, but I know how much meddling all of you have been doing since even before I was shot. You guys decided that if I was working again, I wouldn't go through with it," Stephen sighed as he swirled his already half empty beer.
"Can you blame us. There were some days that you were damn near catatonic. You may think that you lost everything that day, but you didn't lose your friends. You may not want us anymore, but someone has to look out for you. Until you start doing it for yourself again, we're going to keep meddling," Doug said firmly as he downed his own drink. "Now, how about all those sexy college girls? Did you see anyone that tickled your fancy?"
"You're meddling again," Stephen muttered.
"I'm just worried. You know what they say, use it or lose it. And I know for a fact that you haven't used it since the incident," Doug gave him a pointed look.
"Don't start. I'm not going to go out and pick up a girl just to fumble around trying to find a position that doesn't involve me howling and collapsing in agony instead of ecstasy. And for your information, I would never try to pick up one of my students. That's absolutely ridiculous and unprofessional," Stephen announced strongly.
"So, they're hot, but you're just too self righteous to notice," Doug jibed.
"Why did I even agree to meet you?"
"Because whether you admit it or not, you enjoy this a lot more than sitting in your house replaying every moment of that day asking yourself if you could have done anything differently," he said gesturing toward the waitress again. "It's not healthy to keep going back to it. You just have to accept that it happened for a reason. You may not see it yet, but someday you'll understand why," Doug said as he patted Stephen on the shoulder befire rising from his seat. "Patti's going to kill me if I don't get back. I'll see you Friday night," he said before handing the waitress a couple of bills then sauntering out of the bar.
Stephen watched him go as he ordered another drink. He didn't really feel like staying for another round, but Doug was right. He definitely didn't want to go home and stay up half the night replaying not only the day he was shot, but the terrible day he had today.