What would happen to this man if he unshackled his life and finally broke the chains he’d placed on himself so long ago? Could he turn around and walk out of his cave, finally seeing the shadows for what they were—a pathetic coping mechanism. Could he realign his reality with truth, rather than the twisted notions of what he’d made his world out to be?
Plato’s Allegory relates to perception and reality. Plato saw philosophical enlightenment as breaking those chains that bind, freeing oneself of ignorance. But the concept applies broadly to all of humanity. People as a whole see a limited scope of the world, chained to their notions, often misguided notions, of what truth is. Seeking something more, I would argue, is the very act of unchaining oneself from the cave wall.
I reread my essay, and I finally set my pen down. It was a nice notion—breaking the chains. I had no real idea if I could ever be strong enough to do such a thing, but … it was a nice notion. My shadows were what separated me from Hell—not the bad hell, the good Hell. I wanted my Hell.
Students had already started turning their tests in and leaving, but I wasn’t the last, and nearly a quarter of the class remained. I pulled the envelope of money I’d stashed in my textbook from between the pages as I stood from the desk, and I walked my test and the envelope up to Helene. When I approached the desk, she marked her spot in the book she was reading, and she stood.
I set the test down, placing the envelope on top of it. She studied the envelope for a moment.
“It should be what I owe you … for the other night.” No amount of money in the world could come close to what I owed her.
She nodded as she fidgeted with the cover of the book she held in her hands.
“I need to speak with you,” she said quietly. She cocked her head toward the door. “Could we step out to the—”
“Professor Hess,” a student called from halfway back in the desks.
Helene didn’t look away from me for a moment, and when she did, I inhaled slowly to calm the race of my heart.
“I’ll be right there,” she responded to the student.
When her eyes returned to me, I nodded. “I’ll just wait.” I returned to my seat.
Helene walked by on her way back to speak with the student, and in the time it took her to clarify a completely clear as day question to the idiot, three more tests had been turned in. Only the idiot and one other slow test taker remained. I fidgeted with the cover of my book, and Helene didn’t bother opening the one she was reading when she returned to her desk.
She stacked up tests and put them in her briefcase along with her book and the envelope I’d given her. But her hand paused on my test that was still sitting at the edge of her desk. She glanced quickly to me but picked it up and leafed through it slowly even as I watched her. When she flipped to the last page, she stopped and started reading.
She barely looked up as the idiot set her test on the desk, and I fidgeted with the cover of my book so harshly I ended up tearing the top corner off. Her lips parted as she read, and her brow furrowed, but I couldn’t see her expression full on, so I had no idea what she was thinking.
She finally looked up, and she just stared at me. I looked back, barely managing to hold the eye contact. When the last student finally stood and walked his test up to Helene, I kept my eyes trained on her. She smiled at the boy kindly, but I could tell she was nervous. She tucked his test along with mine into her briefcase and snapped it shut as he walked out the door.
I waited for the click of the door, and I started to stand the moment I heard it, but her voice stopped me still, and I sank back to my seat.
“Do you feel responsible for what happened to us?” Her expression wasn’t accusatory in the least. It was calm.
I cleared my throat as it tried to constrict. “Yes, I do,” I said quietly. I didn’t know how to be more blunt than that. Of course I was responsible.
She nodded slowly. “You’re not responsible.” Her words were just as blunt, and she said them plainly. “I’ve never blamed you for what happened. I need you to understand that. You don’t have to feel guilty. You don’t have to hurt yourself. You don’t have to…” She glanced away for a moment, but then she sighed. “I just need you to know that.”
The constriction in my throat became tighter and tighter, and my eyes burned even as I stared at her. I coughed as I tried to fight it, and when she stood and grabbed her briefcase, I panicked.
“Good night, Kane,” she said quietly as she walked toward the door.
I stood, feeling the panic course through me like a rush of adrenaline. “I fight because it feels good to hurt. I drink because it feels good to go numb. And I fuck because it feels good to forget … how terrifying it can actually be.” I rattled the words out so fast I was almost shocked to hear them. I gasped as the panic escalated. She was walking away from me, and that couldn’t happen. It needed to happen, but I still couldn’t let it happen.