February 22, 2016

Yesterday was hard to get out of bed.

As if Mondays were not bad enough on their own, the migraine was worse than its usual and it made me feel as if my head was one of those snow globes being vigorously shaken by an evil child.

I recollect fishing for my phone on the right side of my bed-where I usually leave it-and seeing the clock on the screen read 8:20am. I knew I was going to be late, and out of all classes, I was going to be late to Professor Bailey's.

It was quite evident that I would most definitely not get dressed and drive there in under 10 minutes, it would take a little over 15 minutes just to get myself ready. Nevertheless, I prayed I would get there before she did, holding on to the fact she was not the most punctual person. But it felt like wishful thinking-luck was usually not on my side.

I did not bother taking a shower, I had had one the night before in hope it would help with the migraines, it was no use though, but at least it was one less thing to do in order to get ready.

I crawled my way to the pile of washed clothes from Saturday throwing items on my bed as I went through the stack. I came up with a more suited outfit then the one I had on my first day, I was aware I was dressing to impress, but admitting it out loud was just something I would not do, not even for Amy.

With a burgundy pencil skirt, my gray ripped t-shirt of Guns N' Roses and black pump heels-later I figured out that last bit wasn't such a great idea for someone in a drunken-like state like I was. Attempting to run to the bathroom was how I found out the heels would be a bother, but I did not have time to rethink my outfit.

I looked myself in the bathroom's mirror-after I had brushed my teeth-and decided to tuck some of the shirt inside my skirt, getting my hair in a messy bun after because I knew I would not be able to fix it properly in time.

With the bun on top of my head, my sunglasses covering my sore eyes in hope they would keep the sunlight at bay, and a little makeup applied, I left my apartment with my computer, phone, and keys in hands, locking the door behind me.

Good for me, my neighbor from 901 had just gotten back and the elevator door was opened on my floor. I walked in, pressed the button to the garage-another great reason to live in this building-and walked to the back to rest my back on the wall.

The day had barely started and yet I felt beaten. Once again, I checked the time on my phone, and it read 8:27am-that has got to be my new record.

The door opened before my stop and someone rushed in, but I did not care to look up and see who it was. No. Not that morning. I was not in the mood to socialization. Then it hit me, I had forgotten my headphones, of all days.

The drive to campus was just about 5 minutes long and I thought I would be able to get in the classroom before Professor Bailey arrived, I my throbbing mind all I could think was how awkward it would be to get in late once I knew, for a fact, she could distinguish my face out of the other forty-something students in that class.

I kept my eyes down as waited for the person in front of me to get out first before I started the run to my car-my parking spot was right in front of the elevator-and as soon as I reached the driver's door a strong wave of dizziness from the migraine hit me making me drop the keys and the phone on the floor as my hands went instinctively to my scalp.

Thankfully, I had the habit of always sitting my laptop on the hook before I went to unlock the door of my car-a grayish 2015 Jeep Wrangler-or else it would have been destroyed on the fall.

I knew driving was not an option, but a taxi would take too long, and I did not have that kind of time. I was in too much pain and waiting to find a solution to get there in time would just make me late for class.

Startled by the honk of a car that was blocking my own, another wave hit me clouding my vision. The passenger's window slid down and the person inside adjusted themselves to have a better look, "Hey, are you okay? You don't look too good." The voice sounded distant, and the face was a little blurry, but I figured it was the professor.

"Damn, and here I thought I had picked a good outfit today." I probably sounded somewhat arrogant-usual aftermaths of my migraines. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, took a quick glance at her wristwatch, and then looked back at me.

"You know what I mean. You look sick, you should stay in today." Even though she seemed annoyed, her words were veiled in concernment, and perhaps that sobered me up a little, that or the crazy idea of staying in when I had three different classes that morning.

I gathered my things on the floor, and then walked closer to her car-a pearl 2015 Hyundai Sonata-, resting my arm on the passenger's open window and bending down to have a better look in, I explained, "That's really not an option, yours isn't the only class I have today, there are two others right after yours."

She took a long breath and a troubled semblance seemed to have taken over her face before opening the passenger's door from the inside and almost knocking me on the floor, "Sorry." I guess being clumsy was her thing, "Now, get in here. You can't drive like that." I was about to protest but she put on her bossy face.

"Don't fight me on this, we are both late already. Now. Get. Your. Ass. In. Here." She ordered taking me by surprise.

I would not have picked her as someone to swear, but then again, even something like that still sounded exquisite when coming out of her mouth.

I got my computer from the hook of my car, and with the rest of my things in hands I walked to hers closing the door and fastening the seatbelt as fast as I could so I would not get on her way anymore than necessary. We drove out of the garage in silence before I decided to pop the bubble.

"Thanks. For the ride, I mean. You didn't have to." We were harboring the habit of being in each other's company while in awkward silences, "I owned you one anyhow."

She was one of those concentrated drivers that didn't took their eyes of the road, but then again, she was driving like a maniac, "So, what's the problem? Are you sick? That must be one hell of a hangover." She was being judgmental, and I was over my head with the amount of times people concluded I was only one more reckless grad student. I took a while to answer as I huffed and turned to the window.

"No hangover here. Never had one of those, I was always a collected drinker." I responded defensively.

"I would rather it were one, at least it would be the bad result to a good night of fun." I was ready to stop there, but she made me feel like I had to explain myself to her, "I have constant migraines, I don't know why, but it's been nonstop since December. I meant to go see a doctor, but I've been delaying it."

The look on her face softened resembling guilt, "Sorry for assuming. If that is the case, you should see a neurologist. I've a... friend. I could give you her number, she's kind of hard to get an appointment with, but when you call for an appointment, say my name, that should do the trick." There was something, I could not quite figure out what, but the way she said friend got me intrigued.

Her offer was too good to pass on so I told her I would like it if she could give me the number to clinic, she nodded telling me to remind her after class.

I checked the time again, it read 8:31am. But then realized there was no getting late when you are arriving with the professor, so I relaxed leaning farther on the passenger's seat. I also knew we were going to arrive there in time, sort of, thanks to her crazy driving skills.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, but at least it was not awkward anymore, I think she could sense I just wanted quiet before walking in a classroom to be forced to hear her voice for the next hour and a half.

With her concentrated on the road, and the advantage of still having my sunglasses on, I had the chance to observe.

She had those little quirks driving, she would always keep both hands on the steering wheel, and whenever we stopped at a red light, she leaned back to take a deep breath as if riding was draining to her.

I also noticed little things about her features.

Like how she had light freckles on her cheeks and on the bridge of her nose-probably from years of not using sunscreen-that she tried to cover up with makeup, but from up close, and the sunlight hitting her face just the right way, it was still possible to see them.

The freckles along with some exceptionally light wrinkles by her eyes gave her soft light skin and serious face a more mature semblance. I thought back to our talk on Saturday, she was right, she was not as young as she appeared from afar.

The professor parked much closer to the Law building than I would have been able to, perks of being a faculty member. As she turned off the engine, she turned her torso to face me and I felt weird, that scenario seemed much more intimate than it was supposed to-guess that was something only I noticed though.

"I have a meeting after my classes, but it should be done right about the time your last class is supposed to end, so meet me here and I can drive you back." I could sense she was offering out of this unreasonable obligation and I could not help but remember what she had said on Saturday, even if I had not asked for her help, this whole thing was the definition of blurring the line.

Nevertheless, I knew I had plans after my day was over, so I thanked her for the offer, but explained how it was not necessary-Mondays meant lunch with my mother.

I turned to the window to look around before opening the door, I could see on my peripheral vision she was doing the same.

After closing her door and locking the car, the professor said over the hood that she would get something before going to the classroom and told me to go on without her, I just nodded before thanking her for the ride, and we soon went our separate ways.

Close to the stairs that led to the classrooms there was a tea and coffee vending machine. I got one of my favorites, a strong, sugar-free tea of berry fusion, before going my way up to her class. I walked inside and noticed there were no more seats available, looking at the clock it read 8:34am-she sure drives fast.

I walked to a seat on the third row, right in the middle, habit I had cultivated over the past two weeks, because it meant being right in front of her.

She always sat on the top of her desk-another quirk of hers-it was not something many professors did, but for her it seemed like second nature.

She walked in not long after I did, with a large cup of coffee in hand, and, as usual, the professor apologized for her tardiness, I have a strong feeling the other students did not mind it though, in fact, they most likely counted on her tardiness in order to get a few more minutes of sleep.

Halfway through her lecture the waves of pain became less spaced, and paying attention was a no-go for me. I could not even make out the words that were being said. The bright light of the room was suffocating even though I still had my sunglasses on.

I tried to focus and noticed she was looking for something on her computer, she was fishing for something and it did not take me long to figure out what it was.

"Miss Hayes," she was fishing for my last name, "I was wondering if you could trouble me with your attention." She ought to be kidding me, was the first concise thought I managed to focus on.

She knew exactly why I was spacing out. I rolled my eyes to that but nodded even so, "Thank you, I promise to try and make this course worth your effort." Her sarcasm did not go unnoticed, not for me, nor for any other of my classmates as they all laughed in unison.

After the class was over, I wanted to wait until all the students were gone, but it seemed some of them were trying to glue themselves to her. They wouldn't leave her side as they kept on asking stupid questions over things she had already over-explained not even 10 minutes before the end of her lesson.

I could see her discomfort whenever one of them touched her arm or back for a little too long. Why people are like that, I do not think I will ever comprehend. What reason do they have to invade someone's personal space just to ask a fucking question?

Seeing they did not plan on leaving anytime soon I decided to intervene because I really wanted the doctor's information. It took me a while to figure out how though.

I walked in small steps towards her as I thought of something believable to say and make them leave, "Professor Bailey. I'm so very sorry to interrupt, but you agreed to help me with the research to the paper I'm currently writing." I said taking my sunglasses off and giving her a play-along glance.

"Yes, of course." She got closer to me and farther away from the fuckboys besieging her desk and with a clearly fake apologetic look on her face-at least clearly fake to me-she turned to them, "I'm sorry guys, but I'll have to answer your remaining questions next class."

They looked at me with flaming eyes but left us alone nevertheless-now I know why she is so against getting closer to her students, they are overwhelming. Once the last one of the students was gone her shoulders loosened up and she seemed to breath more easily.

"Thank you, they can be... I don't know why they are like that." She looked down seeming rather upset.

"You are captivating, and they are like hormonal dogs, so they misread it as a free pass to hit on you. It isn't right, but then again, boys like that are hardly ever right." I was being blunt and I knew it, but my pain was killing me and I didn't want to be late for my next class-Commercial Law, not really my cup of tea.

"Still, I'm just like any of the other professors." I could not help but let out a whimper-like laugh at her response. "Anyhow, I'm sorry for earlier, I had to do something, the other students were looking at you and then back at me weirdly for letting you drift off. I am known for not allowing people to space out during my lessons," she looked and sounded sincere.

Okay, maybe my bluntness was out of spite from earlier.

I told her I did not mind and asked if she could give me the number to the doctor before I got late to my next class.

I really did not mind the scolding, once she explained it, that is. I guess she could not just out and tell the whole class she knew the reason to my inattentiveness.

I only had a ten-minute break, and it was almost over, she quickly wrote the information down on a small piece of paper and handed it to me-which reminds me, I must schedule my appointment ASAP.

We said our goodbyes, not before she asked again if I was sure about the ride back home.

The rest of my classes were spent in the back of the classrooms avoiding the brightness of the light and hoping time would go faster. The thought that maybe Cecilia was right about staying in, crossed my mind every time someone raised their voice.

I was not really paying attention, but much rather playing with the small piece of paper on my hand and sniffing the tip of my fingers every now and then. The paper strangely smelt of her perfume, I guess she probably kept the flask on her carryall.

Once my third and last class of the day was finally done and the clock read 2pm, my mother called to confirm our lunch and I told her I would need a ride, she hummed before saying she would pick me up in front of the stairs-where Professor Bailey had parked earlier.

I ran as fast as I could to meet up with my mom-if that could be consider running at all-, I knew better than to let her waiting. As I walked closer to my mother's car-a silver 2015 Lexus GS-I could see Cecilia approaching her parking spot, she seemed to be looking for someone when our eyes met.

I guess for a moment she thought I would accept the ride home after all because she started to check her surrounding for bystanders, but she soon figured out I would not be leaving with her.

As I reached my mother's car and I opened the back door to discard my things, before closing it and reaching for the passenger's door, I could see the professor glancing at the driver's window and abruptly changing her demeanor to a surprised one, as she cordially nodded toward my mother before getting inside her own car and driving away.

Once I was inside and I had closed the door, I kissed my mother's cheek and put on the seatbelt, "So, you know Cecilia Bailey?" Was the first thing she asked as she drove away.

"Yeah, I'm attending one of her classes this semester, why?" I was surprised my mother even knew who Cecilia was, "I thought you didn't like to interact with Law faculty's members." Mom laughed lightly in agreement.

"She was a student in one of my first classes as a professor here. I think it was Anthropological Studies. She was quite the prodigy back then." She then inquired if the professor was any good teaching and I told mother all about her lessons but kept to myself about us living in the same building.

My mother would always pick different restaurants around town for us to have lunch, she was an amateur chef always trying to savor new things.

Growing up she always made sure to challenge me in diverse ways, to make me into a 'fine young adult,' as she used to say. Over lunch we talked, mainly about her work and my schooling, even though she never fully accepted my choice, she did not discourage it either-I think it had more to do with I-wish-my-child-followed-in-my-steps kind of thing.

After our lunch, my mother drove me back to my place and demanded I got an appointment to see a physician for my migraines. I was too tired to even fathom calling anyone, so I figured I would give Cecilia's friend a try the next day-which reminds me, I need to call the clinic as soon as I am done writing this.

Back to writing.

Once I was lying on my bed, with only a baggy shirt on and underwear, I freed my hair and got my phone to message Amy and ask if she could come over after her class, she said she would be over in an hour and in return I told her the door would be unlocked and to wake me up when she arrived.

Remi