Page 9 of You've Found Oliver

James E. Brooks Library is a labyrinth of liminal space.

I spent the morning wandering the second floor, collecting books left out on the endless shelves.

One wrong turn could send me straight to The Backrooms. I’ve been working here for a few weeks.

It’s part of a federal work-study program for students with financial needs. It’s honestly a nice gig so far.

Once the cart is full, I roll it back to the circulation desk.

Rami is checking out someone’s book as I take the seat next to him.

He’s a first-year like I am. I see he’s still working on his little project.

Someone dropped a copy of Swann’s Way in a bathtub, damaging most of the pages.

I told Rami we should just put in an order for a new one, but he brought in a flat iron to straighten out every page.

“It’s starting to look like new,” I say.

“Don’t lie to me,” he groans, lowering his straightener. “I’ve spent six hours on this and I’m not even halfway done.”

“You know they don’t pay us extra for that, right?”

Rami sighs. “I’m trying to get a raise, okay?”

“I don’t think the pay is negotiable.”

“Then what am I burning my fingers for?” Rami tosses the book into the recycling and crosses his arms. I let him take a break while I help the next person in line.

I spend the next hour sorting through a cart full of go-backs, pausing to check my phone every few minutes.

I texted Ben this morning, letting him know I watched the Velvet Underground concert last night.

To be honest, it almost put me to sleep.

I wasn’t a fan of the band when Sam was alive, and I wouldn’t say I am now.

But I wanted something to text Ben about.

I’m sure Ben will respond eventually. He’s probably just in class right now. I read over our previous messages in the meantime.

“What are you smiling about?”

I look up from my phone. Rami is sipping an iced coffee, a brow raised at me.

“Nothing,” I say.

“It’s not Nolan, is it? Because you’re not supposed to be talking to him.”

“How do you know about…” I pause. Because the answer is obvious. “Is Julie having you keep tabs on me?”

Rami shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

I had a feeling she asked some of our friends to watch over me, but I can’t believe she would take it this far. Rami and I only see each other at work. I don’t need him keeping track of my every move. How many other people does she have spying on me?

“Well, stop that. You don’t work for her, okay?”

“Yeah, but she kind of scares me.”

I let out a breath. Frankly, Julie scares a lot of people. Some might even describe her as unlikable at times. I mean, it took her a few years to show me her softer side. But now she’s my best friend in the world. “She only pretends to bite,” I say.

“I’m not taking any chances. She has quite the… reputation in the English department.” He takes another sip of coffee and turns back to his keyboard.

Honestly, you’ve got to respect her for leaving an impression. And at least I know she’s doing this out of love. I turn my chair around, checking my phone again. Still no response from Ben. But there’s a text from someone else. Speak of the devil herself.

Hey. Are you still taking my mom’s seminar?

Yeah I was planning to

Isn’t it right now?

I glance at the time. The class started ten minutes ago.

shittt

Oh Oliver…

I should have planned my work schedule better. I tell Rami to cover for me for the next two hours. Then I grab my bag and sprint out the doors.

Julie’s mom is a professor in the philosophy department.

The course is called Disrupting the Senses.

For some reason, it’s cross-listed in psychology, film and media studies, religious studies, and also German.

Apparently, she has a reputation of being a little out there.

I’m hopeful she’ll be lenient on the grading.

I mean, I have dinner at their house all the time.

I’ve even helped with the dishes before.

I’m sure that should give me some favoritism.

Thankfully, the building isn’t too far. I hurry up the stairs and open the classroom door.

Julie’s mom is in the middle of answering a question when I walk in slowly.

“…yes, of course, but I would like us to think beyond that. Now, what are some other things we can sense ? For instance, when something is missing. Or wrong. Colors? What about when something changes in the air? Or a person’s mood? ”

Quietly, I find a seat in the back. As I pull out the chair, Professor Clarke turns her head and says, “Oliver! What are you doing all the way back there? There is an open spot here in the front.”

I wasn’t expecting her to call me out. I grab my bag and make my way down. Everyone watches as I take a seat right in the front.

“Glad you could join us today,” she says, gesturing to the rest of the class. “We were just talking about the name of the course. Disrupting the Senses.” She pauses, allowing us to take it in. Then she looks at me. “What do you think that means, Oliver?”

“Oh…uh.” Julie only mentioned this class a few days ago. I haven’t even seen the syllabus yet. So I have no clue what it’s actually about. “Something to do with our senses?”

She nods. “Yes, what about them?”

“I don’t really know.”

“That’s why we’re here, to ask questions,” she says, bringing her hands together. Then she turns to someone else. “You in the gray shirt. Looks like you have something to say.”

He seems surprised to be called on but manages to answer anyway. “Maybe it has to do with our perception. As in, how we see the world.”

“How we see the world,” she says, nodding thoughtfully.

“Interesting. Would anyone like to expand on that? What are other ways to perceive the world that we haven’t discussed yet?

” Professor Clarke walks between the rows of seats as she continues.

“What about our sense of time? Or the future? What about our memories ? Do they also shape our image of the world? If so, what exactly does that even mean?”

She gives us a moment, but no one raises their hand.

She lets out a slow breath, returning to the front of the class.

“It seems a lot of you are afraid to share your thoughts. I want to make something very clear to all of you. There are no wrong answers in this course, which means there is no rubric to follow and no points to deduct. Everyone gets the same grade, as long as you turn in your work. All I ask is you forget what you’ve learned from your other classes.

This is my permission for you to be creative, question everything you’ve been told, think outside of the box. Speaking of which—”

There’s a white box on the table in front of the class.

Mrs.Clarke walks over and places her hands on top of it.

“This brings us to our first activity. For the remainder of the class, we are going to shift our attention to what’s inside of this box in front of us.

You’re going to guess on your own and then break into small groups to discuss it. ”

The girl behind me raises her hand. “Are we allowed to touch it?”

Professor Clarke shakes her head. “The rules are you can’t touch it or shake it. And the box will remain closed for the entire class,” she says.

A guy in the back raises his hand. “Is this like Schrodinger’s cat? Where it’s both dead and alive until we open it?”

“Forget Schrodinger,” she scoffs. “There could be three cats in here. Or even a hundred.”

“But there can’t be a hundred,” he says.

“And who said that?”

“I mean, it’s physically impossible.”

“Interesting.” She looks at the rest of us as if expecting someone to interject.

“It seems you all have come to this class with your own constraints and logic about the world. Not to say any of it is wrong. But for the sake of these ninety minutes we have together, I would like us to open our minds toward what we consider to be impossible.” She lets that sink in.

Then she grabs a piece of chalk and faces the board.

“Let’s take a second to discuss the book we’ll be reading this quarter.

It’s called The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard,” she says, writing down the title for us.

“But I don’t want you to read it like any other book.

I want you to read it in any order, starting at any page.

Just pick a passage and write about it. In fact, it is Bachelard who says there are more things in a closed box than in an open one.

We will consider what that means as we continue our activity. ”

For the next fifteen minutes, she has us write down what we think is inside the box.

I guessed a sandwich because that’s what I had for lunch.

Then we arrange the desks into small circles to “see each other better.” As we come up with question for clues, it never feels like we’re getting closer to the answer.

Mrs.Clarke doesn’t confirm or dismiss anything, making it even more confusing.

For a second, I think she might not know what’s in there herself.

The class ends a few minutes early. I stick around as everyone files out.

Professor Clarke unzips the bag on her desk. “Nice having you in my class today, Oliver.”

“Sorry I was late.”

She waves it off. “That’s alright. Julie might have given me a warning. I just hope today’s conversation didn’t scare you off.”

“Not at all. It was pretty interesting, actually. I’m definitely planning to come back.”

“It wouldn’t offend me if you didn’t.”

I smile. “It was a great lecture. I promise.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, what else are you taking?”

“I don’t know. I’m still shopping around.”

“Have you thought about what major you want?”

I let out a breath. “I honestly have no clue. I know Julie decided already.” She’s practically had her life planned out since sophomore year of high school. Meanwhile, I don’t even know what’s for breakfast tomorrow.

“We all have our own timelines, Oliver.”

“Yeah, I know.”