Just Until Dark

I really hope today is going to be a busy day. I know I have several things I can work on if I have time on my hands. Better to do things than not to. But more urgent work would be better. Last year, I had multiple practical magic classes to lean on. Practical classes had a lot of work from class to class. Especially since the busy work involved in some classes actually required thinking and problem solving. Not so lucky this year. This year, I have lots more projects, but not as much daily work.

Today’s lecture on the Magisterial Court, about the late Roman court’s makeup and attitude, finished a few minutes early. The class is small, and in the last couple weeks only one of the seniors really asks a lot of questions. And she isn’t in class today. As he finishes the lecture, Maestro Marscotti turns to the class. “So, that’s about that,” he says, very unauthoritatively, “Any final questions?” He looks around the small class for hands.

There is a mumbled round of “No”s and “Not really”s. He smiles at that. “Okay then,” he replied, “So, go over your notes, it’s going to be on the test next week. Other than that, y’all can head out.”

Fortunately that means we don’t have a pop quiz. I am woefully underprepared. Unfortunately, that also means no additional work for next class. That leaves me with only my projects to work on. I try to call Jase. His phone rings through to voicemail. Of course it does. It’s been happening like that for awhile now. Looking in my planner as I walk down the Kon stairwell to the first floor, I check my planner to figure out what my most urgent work today is. “Great,” I mutter to myself, because it’s the Historical Accounts of Mystical Societies 400 project. That means meeting with Ter. Wait, I quickly realize, she’s friends-ish with Jase. Maybe she knows what’s up with him. And she already knows why it’s important for me to keep myself busy today. Sighing again, I head on out into the courtyard and text Ter a quick, ‘You want to work on HAMSoc tonight?”

As I sit down on one of the courtyard benches, she replies to my text. ‘Just til dark, right? Sure. I’m in SR Pem Mem rn’. In town. Alright. Having no break is probably a good thing, today, I figure as I stand right back up and go to my car. Just because the town is small enough that someone can walk pretty much anywhere doesn’t mean I want to. It adds a lot of time, and Pembarton, at least, has a not-small parking lot beside it. Besides, walking makes me all sweaty, and I’m going to need to be working in public for a couple hours. I’d rather not be too disheveled.

It is a short drive to the town library. I park my car in the lot beside Pembarton and head on in. Knowing Ter, she’s either up in the glass computer work areas, or she’s hiding in one of the secret nooks about the place. As I only know a couple of the nooks she likes to use, I head upstairs, to the second floor. Sure enough, in one of the small workspaces, Ter and her new, youthful friend sit, chatting about something or other. I walk over to the glass workspace and knock on the wall beside the door. Ter looks up, nods to me, gesturing to come in. When I open the door, she says, “Alina, this is Irene. Irene, Alina.”

I give the freshman a smile and nod. “A pleasure,” I greet her curtly.

“I’m sorry,” Irene replies smiling and looking very contrite about her existence, “We were just finishing up some workshopping.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” I add, “I didn’t realize Therese was with anyone.”

Ter, face blank, bows her head slightly. “I must admit, you arrived faster than I anticipated.”

“If you want, I can run over to the Starbucks, grab us both a coffee or something. Give you time to finish whatever you two are secretly talking about,” I offer.

It’s Irene who shakes her head. “No, we can pick this up later. I have some work I need to do,” she says. Then, as though to out polite me, she adds, “Though if you two would like coffee, I could grab some for you.” I look at Ter. She looks her friend dead in the eyes, silently. “Right,” after a moment, Irene says, “Enjoy yourselves.” She then heads out of the room.

“Apologies about that,” Ter states, once the door closes, “I did not expect you for a few minutes.”

“No worries,” I reply, “And no need to apologize for having friends. I just didn’t want to...” I trail off.

Ter shrugs slightly, face still blank. I can never read her, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to. “I understand completely,” she says. Then, after a pause, she adds, “So you didn’t have anything more to do?”

“Not this year,” I answer, “So, to work on the project, right?”

“Of course,” Ter responds, her gaze still locked on my eyes. “So, I’d start our society with the mystic purpose and build from there, does that sound alright?” she starts, though I suspect she knows that’s not what’s on my mind.

“You know everything, right? Do you know what’s up with people this semester?” I ask outright. I figure, with Ter, direct is probably the best route.

She has just the barest hint of a smile on her face. “And the real reason you wished Irene away,” she states, as though she could read minds. She is right, but that doesn’t make it polite. “And by people, I assume you mean Jason.”

“Ike, too. I’ve basically only been able to hang out with Nat or, shudder, you for the last month or so,” I tell her, making sure there’s a smile on my face to show the shudder part is a joke.

“Isaac has found himself in a terribly foolish relationship,” she tells me, her smirk turning form barely hinted to almost visible. Clearly, she finds Ike’s situation quite amusing. “I suspect most of the time he is unavailable, that’s why.” Then, with a shrug, she adds, “As far as Jason is concerned, all I know is he’s been getting more and more out of it, of late.”

“Alright,” I say, “Putting a hold on Ike’s thing for gossip time later, what do you mean out of it?”

“I don’t have any classes with him this semester, but every time I run into him, he seems lost in his own world. Just a little bit, but more so with each passing week.”

“I honestly don’t know which worries me more,” I admit to Ter, “What you do know, or the fact that you don’t know the details.”

Ter stares me down. “Yes you do,” she says, once again succeeding in terrifying the hell out of me.

“Yes, I do,” I reply. It’s the latter. The latter definitely is more worrying, as it means likely no one in school or town knows the details of what’s going on in Jase’s head.

Ter opens up our notes for HAMSoc. “So,” she says to me, “Where do you want to start. origin or purpose?”

“What about practices? Or structure?” I reply as I open up my own HAMSoc notes, “You could easily build from those, too.”

“True,” Ter admits, “But if you want an artificial organization to feel real, you have to begin at the beginning, either with the ideals behind it, or the formation of it.”

I nod, ascending. “Fine,” I say, “Fair enough. Let’s start with the purpose, then.”

Ter nods in agreement. “Very well,” she says, “Purpose it is.” And for the next hour, we set about outlining our fictitious mystical society. For the first time since I started my studies here, I can understand why so many people liked Ter, as well as were terrified by her. Her mind operates in an oddly detail oriented way, everything a series of specific but significant causes and effects. Projects like this are less like a piece of art and more like a complex diagram of dominoes. Together, we set up the first few, and they, in turn, knock over all the rest. Beyond that, she says exactly what she means to say, which is rare nowadays. It’s odd, but I think I’m actually growing to like her more the more I understand her. Also, I’m definitely growing more terrified the more peeks I get into how her head works. Because I’m starting to understand exactly how much she can do with even a little bit of information. And she knows more than a little about everyone in the Villa.

As we’re finishing up the outline and the sun’s getting low, I stop her. “Alright, we’ll do the actual paper-writing bit later,” I say, “But before I head out, I think it’s gossip time.”

“No,” she states plainly.

“No?” I ask.

Ter repeats herself, “No.” She offers up no additional information. It seems the only way to get her to say anything more is to ask. I hope in any case.

“Come on, Therese,” I push, “Why not?”

“If you wish information on Isaac’s comings and goings,” she begins, putting an odd amount of emphasis on the former participle, “I’d suggest speaking with Isaac.” It seems, even asking and hoping results in no real information at times.

“Aw,” I reply, jokingly. I figured that’s what she was going to say, but it never hurts to ask, “But then I’d have to actually speak with my best friend, and who wants to do that?”

“No idea,” Ter replies, whether or not she is joking, I’ll never know. I can’t be expected to read Ter’s facial expressions. I’ll leave that to my boyfriend and best friend. They’re the ones who actually hang out with the girl.

With a nod of my head, I say, “Until class tomorrow,” and take my leave. I head down and out to the parking lot, hop into my car, and drive back to the Villa’s lot. The sun has already descended below the horizon by the time I park. Working with Ter, at least, helped take my mind off of things. I head into Pembarton Hall, I walk to the fifth floor and into my door.

Opening it and entering my room for the first time this afternoon, I toss my bag onto my desk. I head over to my closet and open the small box in the bottom. The box I simply don’t open. Looking down at the pictures inside, I can’t help but start to tear up. I pick out of the box a small, wooden carving. I hold back the tears as best I can. Instead of weeping, I try to tell the box about my day. It helps. “Today, I got to work on a writing project. Well, planning it, at least. Yeah, I know, it sounds really boring, but you always said the learning stuff was as important as the skills?” I held it back for as long as I could. Unfortunately, I’m not quite strong enough. I can’t help but begin to cry silently. “I wish you were here, Ric,” I whisper to my little brother, “I miss you so much, every day.” In my heart, I can still feel him, looking over me, worrying about me. Knowing that makes me a bit better, at least. It doesn’t help to slow down the now pouring tears. I don’t think anything can. At least, it’s been years now and nothing I found helps. I pull the small carving up to my chest, right by my heart as I curl into a ball on the floor. Lying there in the lit room, I glare at the switch and mutter a quick gust of downforce into the room. The lights go off, and I cry myself to sleep.