Page 16 of You've Found Oliver

“For our house is our corner of the world. As has often been said, it is our first universe.” —Gaston Bachelard

Those words are written on the board when I come into class.

It’s Friday afternoon, which means there’s only a few hours before the weekend starts.

Professor Clarke is standing at the front, drinking from a Christmas mug.

She waits for all of us to be seated before she says, “Good afternoon, everyone. This week has truly flown by, hasn’t it?

I’m sure many of you have exciting plans for the weekend, but hopefully you haven’t checked out just yet.

Please ignore the mug I’m drinking from today.

Everything else is in the dishwasher.” She takes a sip from it and sets it down on the table.

“I promise there’s no deeper meaning behind it, in case you were wondering.

“Now on to today’s class,” she continues.

“I’ve had the chance to read the assignments you turned in this week.

From what I can tell, most of you are enjoying the text we’ve been reading together.

While each of you started somewhere different, it seems we have begun to encounter this image of a house, which Bachelard describes as our first universe .

” She pauses to let the words sink in. “What do you suppose he means by this?”

A girl in the front eventually raises her hand. “I think he’s talking about how the home shapes our worldview,” she says.

Professor Clarke nods. “Why, yes. It is the home that contains all of our first experiences—from our first steps to the first words we hear and speak—and those things do construct our very understanding of everything else. But , I think there’s more he wants to say.

He speaks of corners to hide in, drawers containing secrets , things lost within the attic. ” She looks around. “Anyone else?”

The guy next to me raises a hand. “I think the rooms are supposed to represent our imagination, right?”

“ Yes. The imagination.” She nods thoughtfully.

“If you think about it, the house is what taught us to daydream. It is from the smallest spaces that our minds construct entire worlds . It’s where we learn to imagine in the corner, alone.

Especially as children, isn’t that right?

We might look at an empty room and see nothing, while a younger version of ourselves may see the possibility of everything.

Now, Bachelard thinks this way of imagining has been forgotten.

A sense of poetry that is lost once we leave the home.

” She pauses for emphasis. “Is this poetry something we can rediscover? That is, the ability for us to imagine without limits. I’d like us to think about this as we move on to today’s activity… ”

Professor Clarke has us free write for the first twenty minutes.

Then she breaks us into small groups to share our writing.

I must have missed the memo, because everyone wrote about memories from their childhood, the homes they grew up in.

Meanwhile, I wrote about the constellations I saw with Ben.

I don’t want to steer the conversation the wrong way.

So I just stay quiet and listen to everyone else share their stories.

The class goes by slower than usual. But I hang around afterward to speak with Professor Clarke.

I’m not sure if she noticed my lack of participation today, but I feel the need to explain myself anyway.

She’s wiping the board when I come up and say, “Sorry about my last assignment. I clearly misunderstood the word space .”

“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, Oliver. You know there are no wrong answers in this class.”

“But everyone wrote about their home. And I chose to write about outer space.”

Professor Clarke sets the eraser down. “The home is the mere embodiment of the imagination. So who’s to stop you from writing about space itself?”

“I think I just made it more complicated for myself.”

“And what makes that space more complicated?”

“Well, one is much bigger than the other,” I say.

“I worry you may have missed the point.” Professor Clarke looks at me. “Aren’t the possibilities of a home, or what’s inside of a single drawer, just as endless?”

I sigh. “No, I get that. The whole imagining part. But…”

“But what?”

I stare at the floor, unsure how to say this.

“I was thinking about what you asked earlier. Why we lose that sense of ourselves when we leave the home. I feel like the answer’s kind of obvious, right?

You don’t know what the world’s really like when you’re a kid.

But then you grow up and realize it’s nothing like you imagined.

That not everything is possible, you know?

And sometimes, you have to open the box and realize nothing’s inside. ”

Professor Clarke grabs her bag from her desk and says, “I’m not going to disagree, as it’s not my place to tell my students what to believe.

Maybe a sense of wonder has no place in the world today.

” She looks at me again. “But let me say one thing about the limits we place on ourselves and our ideas of everything else: The key to imagining is to imagine otherwise.”

I grab an iced coffee with extra sugar on my way to the library.

I’m not scheduled to work today, but Rami should be in.

Maybe I can hang with him for a couple hours.

I settle in at the back room and take out The Poetics of Space .

I don’t usually start assignments on Friday afternoon, but Professor Clarke made me think about my current mindset.

Maybe I should approach things differently.

Everyone else seemed to enjoy recalling memories of their home.

But what if you don’t like the home you grew up in?

I’ve blocked out the years we lived with my stepdad.

The time before that wasn’t exactly better.

Mom and I moved around a lot growing up.

The closest thing to a home is our current apartment that’s too small for the both of us.

I stare at the blank screen for a while.

Professor Clarke is right about my lack of imagination.

Maybe I’ve always been this way. It’s not like I had any big dreams growing up.

I’m not a writer like Julie who always wanted to be a published author.

Or a musician like Sam who dreamed of touring the world.

Frankly, I never imagined anything beyond where I am right now.

Getting through college so I can find a decent job.

It’s hard to imagine what’s possible when you don’t have much to start with.

The only interesting thing in my life is Ben. How we connected through Sam’s old number. Maybe I should write about that instead. We’re actually meeting later this afternoon. Ben is driving to Ellensburg this time. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.

Since Julie is in another time zone, I talk to him more than anyone else.

Getting to know Ben feels so easy and natural.

Even though we’re always texting and keeping each other updated on our how our days are going, I’m constantly resisting the urge to send: I miss you . Hopefully, he misses me, too.

Have you looked outside?

There’s a clear view of Orion’s belt tonight

Was thinking about you too

Glad to see you interested in astronomy now

Eventually, Rami returns to the circulation desk. He was supposed to start his shift over an hour ago. I close my laptop and say, “And where exactly have you been?”

Rami sets down his sunglasses. “I was at Sweet Juice.”

“You went to lunch ?”

“Relax, it’s Friday. People barely come to the library today. That’s why I take this shift.” He takes a seat in his usual chair, crossing one leg over the other. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were meeting that new boy.”

“He’s still on his way,” I say.

“I’m so glad he’s visiting you this time. It would have been a red flag if he made you take the bus to see him again .”

“The bus isn’t that bad.”

“What kind of car does he drive?”

“Not sure.”

“Hopefully something expensive. Like a Porsche.”

I shrug. “You know I don’t care about that.”

Rami rolls his eyes. “Okay, Oliver Twist. As long as I’m invited to your wedding.”

I lean back in my seat, sighing. “I still don’t know if he likes me yet.”

“Of course he likes you,” Rami says. “He’s not going to drive all the way from Seattle to be besties. He’s probably wondering the same thing about you. You’re not exactly the easiest person to read. Are you a water sign?”

I cross my arms. “I don’t subscribe to astrology.”

Rami looks at me. “That’s something a Cancer would say.”

My phone vibrates. There’s a text message from Ben, saying he’s here earlier than expected. I can’t believe he’s actually in Ellensburg right now.

Where should I park again?

Let me send you the location

I’ll meet you there now

I say goodbye to Rami and head out the door.

It’s another beautiful spring afternoon.

Most of the cherry blossoms have fallen, covering the ground with petals.

I have the whole day planned out for us.

There’s a river that runs the length of campus.

You have to cross the bridge to get from the library to the south parking lot.

Petals fall into the water as I’m walking over it. I text Ben, asking where he is.

Near the language and literature building

I stop short. Because I was just coming from that direction. Maybe he crossed one of the other bridges? Then someone calls my name, making me turn around.

Ben is standing on the other side of the bridge, the side I came from, smiling at me. How did he get there so fast? I make my way over and embrace him with a hug. I feel his arms tighten around me. I wish I never had to pull away.

“You’re almost an hour early,” I say.

“Couldn’t wait to see you again.” He adjusts the bag over his shoulder. “It’s also a curse of mine. I’m always early or the first to arrive.”