I’d sent her a significant amount of new material after pulling an audible and venturing down the justice in politics road. I had no idea why I’d chosen politics, except that I simply couldn’t seem to choose anything else.
“Well, I’m not going to waste your time, Helene.” She always said that, and it always made me wonder if perhaps she didn’t think I was wasting her time. “Why politics? I’m not going to lie, it doesn’t really ring true to the Helene I know.”
“Well…” I paused. “I don’t know. It seemed relevant. I’m not terribly political minded.” When Dr. Briggs didn’t interrupt me, I continued. “Of course I have opinions, yes. But they seem to fall all over the place. I really just thought justice in the political arena was a valid topic in today’s culture. You can go—”
“Let me stop you right there,” she finally interrupted. “The topic is only valid if it’s valid to you. This is your dissertation, and you’re acting as if it’s a survey of pop culture. If it doesn’t matter to you, I promise you’ll never convince a strict philosophy dissertation committee of the validity of it. What is valid to you? What means something to you?”
“I … I…” I was stuttering.
“Helene, why did you even choose this field of study? Philosophy? The thing is, you double majored in psychology and philosophy in your undergraduate studies, but then you chose to pursue your doctorate in philosophy rather than psychology. There’s a reason for that.”
“Because, I like…” I scratched my head as I let myself drop back into the sofa cushions, and then I sighed. “I like that nothing is black and white. I like that I can let my mind go and explore even the most basic of concepts as though my thoughts and feelings are as important as… as… Schopenhauer and Hume. I don’t have to accept that there’s a right and wrong answer. I can believe and feel that there are so many more shades of truth.” It was an oddly passionate speech for seven-fifteen.
“And why is that important to you?” Dr. Briggs asked quietly, and for the first time in perhaps forever, I felt as though I had her undivided attention.
I thought about it, refusing to be rushed—even by Dr. Briggs. “Because it makes me feel … valid … normal … okay with my place in this existence.”
Dr. Briggs was silent for an uncomfortably long time, and I gnawed on my nail.
And then she finally responded. “There is a world inside your head, Helene. I have no doubt it is teeming with ideas, thoughts, questions, concerns, and even nightmares. Use what’s in there to figure this out. And stop using what you think the rest of the world perceives as important or appropriate.”
I sat there stunned. “O… Okay.” I was disappointed. I was also flattered in some way. And I was also screwed as all fuck. “So… back to square one.” It wasn’t really a question.
“You’re doing fine. This is the gateway to the rest of your life. Do it right.”
“Thank you, Dr.—”
“I must go, dear. We’ll talk soon.” Click.
“Fuck,” I said to my living room. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
By three-thirty that afternoon, I’d been timed off LexisNexis about twenty times, I had books strewn across my living room and into my bedroom, I’d drank about a pot and a half of coffee, and I’d ignored a call from my mother, just to turn around and answer it when she immediately called me back—consequently getting roped into a rather invasive inquisition about my personal life that was no doubt sparked by a Hilde-Mom gossip session. Oh yeah, and I hadn’t come even close to settling on a dissertation topic.
I started typing an email to Dr. Briggs, throwing out a few ideas, but just before I hit the send button, I cringed and deleted the email.
I kept hearing sounds outside. Branches rustling, dropping, and even something being dragged on the ground. But I was too deep in my search databases to actually stand up and see what the hell it was. That was until I realized I’d been so enthralled in my research I’d not taken a pee break since that morning. I was, at this point, sitting on my foot, rocking back and forth like a five year old. Odd the things you could miss when you weren’t paying attention.
I scurried to the bathroom and then scurried back out toward the living room, but as I was sliding across my wood floors, my eyes caught on movement outside in my front yard. My sock covered feet came skidding to a stop. I peeked out through the front window, and I grinned.
When I opened the front door, Kane peered up from the pile of branches he’d stacked by the driveway. He smiled. I loved that smile. It was casual, and it reminded me so much of an easier life we’d shared long ago.
He walked toward me and up the steps, and he leaned down and pecked the top of my head. “I was wondering when you’d notice I was here.” He pulled me into the house, shutting the door behind him.
“I’ve been busy—”
“Decorating with books?” he added sarcastically as he looked around the living room.