What Changes Us

The classroom door flies open. A young woman rushes out, slamming into my side. We tumble to the ground.

Rubbing my shoulder, I ask, “Hey, are you okay?”

She breaths sharply through her nose, “I’m fine; just the perfect ending to my trainwreck of a class.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad. And if it is you can take the class again.”

“It’s not the course. It’s the damn teacher.”

My eyes dart to the nameplate beside the door. Etched on it are the words Mr. Wheatley. My organs flipflop.

“Is he really that bad?”

I help her collect the books that had pummeled me moments before. She scurries away as she answers, “There aren’t words vile enough to describe him.”

My arms start to itch as I stare at the nameplate. I scratch at my wrist, the sensation growing stronger each time my nails dig into the spot. Then the sensation creeps across my neck. I begin to reach for my back when my mind snaps to attention. Get a grip Laney, you’re about to break out in hives and you’re not even in the guy’s class yet.

I leave the building and head to the courtyard. A stone bench welcomes me, and I silently thank whoever decided to create a private oasis on the edge of campus. A thick moat of shrubbery surrounds two concentric circles of trees, which engulfs a small field of grass and wildflowers. I breath, and the burning bumps that had started bubbling up on my skin subside.

Mr. Wheatley is one of the psychology professors. He teaches Physiological Psychology. Correction; he alone teaches Physiological Psychology. And it is a required class as a psychology major.

Ever since the first whisper I’d heard of the dreaded man, I had decided to push back his class until the very end. With time and more classes under my belt, I’d be ready.

But time is almost over and I’m no more ready now than I was two and a half years ago. All I have is this summer; fall will be my final semester. I hope.

A man jumps back as I emerge from the thick foliage. “Where did you come from?”

“Legacy Garden.”

His mouth purses up to his nose which crinkles up into his forehead. His whole face seems to shrink within itself. Then he jogs away, his legs springing high off the ground from his hurried pace.

I want to ask him why he’d looked at me so strangely; but I don’t know how.

Summer passes in a blink. The pale door stands between me and Mr. Wheatley. Straightening my shoulders, I march inside, pretending to believe I could do this.

An aging, heavyset man leans his backside against a chalkboard. His arms are bent back by his side; his hands lean against the board railing. A single index finger taps incessantly against the railing, “Okay, unless you’re all idiots, you are aware my name is Mr. Wheatley and this is Psych 307: Physiological Psychology. If that’s not the class you expected to be in, you should leave this room, and possibly this university, now.”

Telling myself it will be okay; I breathe in deep and produce a loud exhale.

“Ah, the first deep breath from an anxiety-ridden student has been released.”

Numerous giggles erupt through the class. My cheeks warm as I slump in my chair, trying to disappear.

Mr. Wheatley continues, “The physiology behind deep breathing techniques will be one of the topics covered in this course.” He places stacks of paper at the front of each row of desks, “Pass these back. This is your syllabus for the semester. I adhere strictly to what’s on this page. Nothing will change. There will be no assignment extensions, no make-up days for exams, and zero opportunities for extra credit. You follow this schedule, or you fail my class.”

Wheatley moves back to the spot against the chalkboard, “Now, rules, I only have two. First, you will not record my lectures. The tests come verbatim from what I say and write on the board, and either you keep up and take adequate notes, or fail. Second, you will not ask questions in class. I talk the entire time to fit what you need to know into our limited class time. If you have a question, see me during my office hours.”

My chest clenches at his second remark. I am a senior in college and have yet to see a professor during his office hours. You only visit an office when you have a problem, and I made damn sure I never have problems. But what if I have questions that don’t get answered? A headache forms as I envision everything I’d accomplished pouring down the drain. My legs wobble, barely supporting me, when I exit at the end of class.

Alexa plops down on the couch next to me, almost spilling her coffee, “So, what was Wheatley like?”

“He was different.”

“Come on, Laney. You have more to say than that.”

I shrug, turtling into the cushion.

Jim slumps into the couch across from us, “Girl, you’re never going to survive this world if you don’t grow a backbone. Wheatley’s not going to be the first hard person you have to deal with. This world is full of ‘em.”

“Shut up, Jim. Laney, you have a soft heart. That’s a good thing. You chose psychology exactly because of who you are. Don’t let anyone try to change you.”

“Learning to stand up for herself isn’t the same as changing.”

My friends continue arguing. I just want to disappear.

“I’m going back to my dorm to study.”

The first month of Wheatley’s class had been hell. He talked so fast; my hand would cramp up halfway through the lecture. Preoccupied with the pain, I’d shake my hand, trying to restore blood flow. This distracted Wheatley, who would then give me a death stare. And at the end of each class my notes were illegible.

I’d stood in front of his office door at least three times. But every time, my body would shake, and I’d run away.

“Young man, in the back, what is that?” Wheatley roars two weeks before midterms.

“Nothing sir.”

“Really? My vision must be going because looks to me like that’s an audio recorder.”

The guy went pale.

“You know the rules. Out!”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Are you deaf? I only have two rules and you broke one, so you can leave. And don’t come to my office trying to find out what today’s lecture is about. You’ll have to pray you remember the rest of my lectures enough to make up for the questions you’ll miss on the midterm concerning today’s topics.”

He stumbles out of his chair and ducks out the door.

At the coffee shop, I grip my pumpkin spice latte as though it can warm the dead cold inside me. I’ve just finished my midterm and I know I’ve blown it.

“Jeez Laney, you okay?”

Alexa places a hand on my shoulder.

“No.” I grab my backpack and start to stand up, “I need to clear my head, I’ll be in the courtyard.”

“Okay, I’ll head over after Jim gets here. Which one?”

“Legacy garden.”

Alexa rips my backpack away, “Whoa, Laney, are you telling me you hang out at Legacy Garden?”

Her reaction startles me, “Yeah… what’s the problem?”

Jim pops through the door, “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

“Laney hangs out at Legacy Garden.”

“Whoa, murder garden? Laney’s afraid of her own shadow; there’s no way she goes to murder garden.”

The cold inside me turns to ice, “Murder?”

“Jim, no one’s been murdered there.”

“That we know of. Besides, it sounds better than disappearing garden.”

“What are you guys talking about?!”

“Sit down,” Alexa and Jim sit me in the middle of the couch.

Jim leans in close, “Twenty-one years ago Legacy Garden was full of life. Students played frisbee on its field; they threw down blankets and had picnics. Couples would use it at night as their make out spot. Then, one night during the fall semester, a female senior went missing. She was last seen going into Legacy Garden. The campus police, then the city police and everyone searched for her. But she was never found. Three years later, another senior girl went missing. Another three years, same thing. And the last place they were ever seen was Legacy Garden.”

“Why have I never heard of this?”

Alexa gives me a side-eye, “Because you go to class, your dorm, and the coffee shop. You wouldn’t even know us if Jim hadn’t almost run you down with his car. You seem so fearful, and yet sometimes you’re completely oblivious. You know what? Here, you need this.”

She places a small, black cylinder in my bag.

“What is that?”

“Pepper spray.”

“Thanks?” I offer, really not wanting to possess the weapon. “Umm, look, I’ve failed Wheatley’s midterm and now my only friends are telling me my favorite place on campus is actually an abduction hub, and I fit the description of the people getting abducted. Now all I want to do is go to bed and never wake up.”

My heartbeat throbs in my head as I pull away from my friends and clomp outside. I head directly toward the garden, but stop about twenty feet away. Fall colors shimmy before my eyes. The tree leaves are just starting to turn. I want to stand inside the courtyard, surrounded by fall bliss. But I walk away, feeling broken inside.

Wheatley drops the graded paper on my desk. Red ink covers the pages, including a large, red number 67 across the top. It’s a number I had expected. But the reality still punches me in the gut.

“Some of you should have visited me during my office hours,” Wheatley speaks in a harsh tone. Then he hands out another sheet of paper, “To distract you from your current pain; here’s the next of your three grades for my class. As you remember from the syllabus, I only give a midterm and final. And this one written assignment. A paper on a physiologic phenomenon. It better be good as it’s one-third of your grade.”

He places a paper in front of me. Three words appear across the middle of it. Rapid Ear Movement. I blink several times and flip the paper over. But everything else is blank. Rapid Ear Movement? He must mean rapid eye movement. Because rapid ear movement doesn’t exist.

My leg shakes rapidly under the desk. I start wringing my hands. As of now I’m failing. If I screw up this paper, there is no hope of me graduating in December. But I can’t go to his office. I can’t. All the emotions bubble up inside me until, “I think you made a mistake!”

Holy crap: I just said that out loud.

There had been normal classroom sounds. Papers being shuffled; Wheatley’s heavy steps back and forth. But everything stops; the silence pierces my ears.

Wheatley’s mustache twitches without his mouth even moving. Then he barks, “Out!”

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just, this topic, I don’t think it exists. I just need to know if this is a typo.”

“So, you believe a tenured professor either made up a topic to ensure your failure, or is so incompetent, he provides paperwork that is littered with errors to the point that you can’t even surmise what topic you are meant to write about? Is that it?”

I stammer, “I don’t know.”

“Out!”

Sweeping everything into my bag, I bolt out the door.

I run all the way to my dorm and throw myself on the bed. Salty, wet beads pour down my face, creating a large wet spot on my pillow. Bawling to the point of exhaustion, I fall asleep.

The room is dark when I wake. Not a speck of light glimmers through the blinds. I must have slept all day.

My head throbs and the room feels devoid of air. I rub away the crusty film on my face with a stray shirt. Without bothering to check the time, I walk out the door.

The campus is eerily quiet. Stars twinkle and the moon sits high in the night sky. How long did I sleep?

I feel as though I’ve walked for hours when I realize I am just a few feet away from Legacy Garden. A breeze picks up, and the trees dance in the starlight. I miss being surrounded by those trees, my eyes taking in a sea of green. I wonder what it looks like now, under the full moon. But I know it’s not worth the chance.

As I turn to head back to my dorm, the breeze carries a muffled noise from within the garden. It’s high-pitched, almost like a girl trying to scream.

Fear grips my body. Itchy bumps break out under my sweater. Run, my brain screams. Run and don’t look back.

The sound rolls across the wind again. A frantic tone I can’t mistake.

As though my body exists without me, I dig the pepper spray from my bag. The bushes wrap around me. I’d never bothered using the entrance. Walking through the shrubs had always felt like the transition I needed to be transported to a world of calm; something that existed outside the university and my stressful life. I silently thank God for the oddities about me because I’d learned how to twist and turn to make the bushes barely rustle out of place.

I emerge from the shrubs and press against a tree in the outer circle. The inner circle of trees provides me cover.

Peering around the tree, I see two dark figures dragging a girl across the field. She makes muffled sounds and kicks with all her strength. My heart feels like it might explode in my chest. You shouldn’t be here. What are you doing? I don’t know what I’m doing. But that could be me. That should be me.

My lungs fill with air, and I sprint toward the figures.

I’m almost upon them before they notice.

One yells, “Who the hell are you?!”

He drops the girl’s arm and comes toward me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, then hold out the can and spray.

“Aaarrghhhh,” he groans. I hop back several steps before opening my eyes, praying I won’t find the other guy on top of me.

He’s fighting the girl who is now on her feet.

“Hold your breath!” I yell as I lunge toward him and spray.

“Come on!” I grab the girl’s hand.

I can hear one man behind us, “Get up, we have to get them!”

“Ugh, she blinded me. That b*tch!”

“Hurry up!”

Digging through the bushes, I pull her out in a different direction, hoping to throw them off. We run straight for the campus police station. I look back and see them stop once we reach the staircase. With what adrenaline is left, we climb the stairs and burst through the doors.

An officer jumps up, “What the hell is this?”

My chest heaves as I try to get the words out, “Two men ….. tried to kidnap her. They’re outside.”

The girl shakes, “They grabbed me in Legacy Garden. If it wasn’t for her…” Tears fill her eyes and she wraps her arms around me, “You saved me. You saved me. Thank you…”

The officer calls for back up as he rushes out the door. Another man walks over, gesturing for us to come with him. He helps us to our feet and leads us to some chairs. My head swims as we go over everything that happened.

“That wasn’t a smart thing of you to do, young lady. But I have to say, it was very brave.”

No one has ever called me brave before.

“I honestly can’t believe I did it. It didn’t feel like me. Something took over my body, and I had to help.”

The campus fills with gossip over what happened. Students look at me with a mixture of confusion and awe. My professors applaud my heroism, shining a spotlight on me during class.

I walk into Wheatley’s class and the same looks come from the students.

Wheatley, however, struts in and immediately dives into the lecture. As usual, I struggle to keep up with my notes.

But my body doesn’t react the same way as before. My legs don’t quake; my stomach remains soft. There’s a strange sense of calm over me. It’s funny; what is happening right now doesn’t seem as important as it did last week.

I notate several question marks in my spiral. Every time I miss a sentence, I draw a parenthesis to let me know something belongs there. But it doesn’t frustrate me. My hand moves right along, my thoughts quiet.

Class ends and I don’t have the urge to run away. Instead, I calmly walk to my dorm to study.

But the notes blur in front of my face. No matter how hard I try, I can’t piece together the things I missed during Wheatley’s lecture.

I throw my spiral to the side and stand to look in the mirror. A messy bun sits atop my head and blonde bangs fall in my face. One sleeve of the over-sized t-shirt hangs off my shoulder, revealing the strap of my gray sport bra.

Everything seems the same, but it’s not. The blue of my eyes looks deeper; sharper than usual. There’s an energy emanating off my frame. I dig through my wardrobe and find a black fitted blouse with matching jacket, and gray dress pants.

With hair and clothes to match this sensation inside, I stand in front of his door.

A heavy knock echoes down the hall.

The door opens.

“Mr. Wheatley, I have a few questions.”

“Ah, Miss Sims, I’ve been waiting for you.”