Chapter 7
The parking lot at Columbus State was half empty on December 27th. I'd forgotten how quiet campus got between semesters. The air tasted like salt and cold exhaust, and the automatic doors at Davidson Hall hesitated before they opened for me.
I carried my tote too tight against my side. My fellowship letter was folded inside a manila folder under my laptop. I hadn't meant to bring it, but I hadn't been able to leave it on my apartment counter either.
My classroom was cold. Someone had turned the heat down for break and left the whiteboard wiped clean. I flipped the light switch and stood there a second, just breathing. My desk was exactly as I'd left it, a stack of graded finals I hadn't logged yet, a dead plant Jenna had given me as a joke. I sat down and my chair squeaked.
Diane Carter knocked once on the open door before she came in. She was holding a travel mug and a thin stack of papers with a paperclip on top.
"Lauren. You came in," she said. She smiled in that efficient way she had. "I figured I'd catch you before spring chaos. Got a minute?"
I followed her back to her office. It smelled like coffee and copier toner. She cleared a spot on her desk and slid the top sheet toward me.
"Spring contract," she said. "Same load. Comp 101 and 102, three sections. And I put you down for the tutoring center coordinator hours again. You were so reliable this fall. The students ask for you."
It was a single page. Columbus State Community College, Spring 2024, my name typed neatly. A line at the bottom for my signature and date. The dates were printed right at the top: January 16 - May 10.
I stared at that range. My residency in Vermont started January 8th and ran through late February, then again in June. I'd memorized the fellowship letter. Full tuition, plus a $6,000 stipend, residency required, no exceptions.
"You good?" Diane asked. "It's the same pay bump we talked about in November. I know it's not Vermont money, but it's steady."
I felt my hand tighten on the edge of her desk. She assumed I'd stay. Everyone assumed I'd stay. David assumed I'd be here to drive Mom to her cardiologist in January.
"If I sign this," I said slowly, "I'd have to be here the second week of January. Right? There's no flexibility on start date?"
Diane tilted her head. "We need you for orientation the 12th, and classes start the 16th. Why? Do you have something else coming up?"
I didn't answer right away. My mouth opened, then closed. I could hear the wall clock ticking.
"It's just — I've been offered something. A fellowship. Low-residency MFA. I'd have to be out of state in January."
Her eyebrows lifted. Genuine surprise.
"Oh, Lauren. That's wonderful. When did this happen?"
"Last week," I said. "Christmas Eve letter. I haven't decided."
She nodded, but I could see her scanning my face the way administrators do when they're trying to figure out if you're actually leaving. She tapped the contract with her nail.
"Well, this is here if you want it. I need it back by the end of the week for HR, but take a couple days. You've earned that. Just don't sit on it too long, okay? We have to post if you decline."
Back in my classroom I didn't sign. I slid the contract into my folder, right on top of the fellowship letter. Two white pages touching. One offered $3,200 a course and health insurance and the same drive down I-71 I'd done for three years. The other offered a different life and required me to leave.
I sat back at my desk to log those finals and my knee hit the drawer. It stuck, like it always did. I yanked it and it popped open, and underneath a dried-out highlighter I found a folded piece of notebook paper.
It was from last spring. Maya, a nineteen-year-old in my night Comp 101, had left it on my desk after the final portfolio. The paper was creased and soft at the edges.
Ms. Hayes - thank you for saying my essay about my dad didn't need to be fixed, it just needed to be finished. No teacher ever said my writing was good before. I kept it.
I read it twice. My throat got tight. I remembered telling Maya that exact sentence and meaning it, and I realized I hadn't believed it for myself in the same way.
My phone buzzed once in my tote. For a half second I thought it was the family chat again. It was just a campus alert about the parking garage closing early.
I stood up and grabbed my coat. I took the folder with both pages inside. Diane was on the phone when I passed her office, and I waited until she hung up.
"Can I have two days?" I asked. My voice was quieter than I wanted it to be. "Just until December 30th? I need to figure coverage for something."
May you like
"Two days is fine," she said. "Just let me know, Lauren. Whatever you decide, I'm rooting for you."
Outside, the wind had picked up off the river. I held the folder against my chest with both hands, the same way I'd held that letter at Christmas, and walked to my car without opening it again.
