“Is there a point to your mentioning dualism, Mr. Baylor?” Professor Lambert asks, her wry tone pulling my attention back to her and the class. Shit, what was I saying?
I sit up higher in my seat, clearing my throat just as a few junior girls turn their heads to stare. “Ah, just that Descartes got people thinking about the relationship between the mind and the body in a different way.”
Hell, I fumbled that one. My face feels uncomfortably warm. That’s it, no more talking for me. And I’m grateful when the girl in the flower skirt jumps in. Only her eyes are narrowed at Anna in annoyance.
“I wouldn’t say Descartes is such a hero. His belief that animals did not possess a soul led to wide-spread abuse of animals.” The girl’s expression grows irate as her voice climbs. “Vivisection, experimentation, neglect, these atrocities to animals can be drawn back to Descartes.”
Since the girl’s yelling this at Anna, all eyes are now on the both of them. Anna doesn’t cower, though. Her response is smooth as cream. “Given that my argument wasn’t about Descartes, but on how philosophers changed societal beliefs, I’d say you just proved my point.”
Hell, but I like this girl. I like her quick mind and her fire.
Flower Girl, however is turning red. “So you’re just going to ignore the ill his theory brought to the world?”
“I’m not ignoring it,” Anna says. “But I also don’t think we need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. He was responsible for a lot of positive changes as well.”
Despite my former resolve to shut the hell up, I find myself saying, “Jones is right, we can’t judge the whole of a person’s work based on one negative outcome. Shouldn’t we give the guy a break? Maybe he had no idea the damage he’d do with a few misunderstood words.”
I will Anna to answer that. She stubbornly ignores me. But she’s the only one. As usual, whenever I talk, eyes turn my way. It’s annoying, but I’m used to it. The fact that I’m defending Anna, however, sends curious glances her way as well.
I hear the blonde who’s been trying to catch my attention for weeks now mutter in a voice meant to carry, “‘Jones?’ He knows her name?”
A flush pinks Anna’s cheeks. Tension lifts her shoulders, and I could swear that she’s fighting the urge to duck her head. It’s strange, as if she both wants to hide yet refuses to cave. But I have to be wrong. Nothing about Anna conveys shyness, and she didn’t seem bothered when she was arguing with Flower Girl. Yet she drops off from the discussion and concentrates on taking notes.
Since she’s no longer in the conversation, I lose interest as well. I resume watching her out of the corner of my eye and wonder if there’s some sort of remedy for this kind of fascination. A sane man would give up the ghost and let her go.
Does that stop me from following her when class is over? From stalking her like some creeper as she heads to the food court at the Student Union? No. Not even a little bit.
WHEN I STARTED college, I loved it. I loved the freedom of choosing what classes I wanted to take and when. I loved the exchange of ideas and the notion that professors were actually interested in what I was thinking. They might not always agree with me, but an intelligent argument was valued. And I loved the anonymity of it. No one here knew the old me. I was no longer that weird loner who everyone assumed was smoking up before class. Which is kind of ironic considering I was never even offered drugs until I got to college.