Page 13 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
Specifically a beautiful, brilliant young woman who put her artandher heart out there for anyone to see. Formeto see, though I had to reject her then. Celine Wallace will never know how much her fearlessness that semester inspired me. Not just the day she read that poem, but throughout her time in my class. I know firsthand how it feels to walk in the shadow of a famous parent. What it takes to establish and distinguish yourself based on your own merits. Her father, Touré Wallace, is one of the most respected journalists in the world. One of my heroes. I admired how Celine appreciated the legacy of her father—one of Finley’s most famous alums—but found her own way.
I haven’t spoken to her since that day in class when I turned down her too-tempting offer, though I’ve occasionally stalked…errrrr…tracked her progress through the years via social media. That’s how I know she’s establishing her own place in the world. It’s been a while since I checked, but I think she’s in television? New York?
“Well, if Finley lit that first fire under you, I’m all for you recapturing it for book three,” Hani says. “Just let us know if those tour dates work soon, okay?”
The stack of papers I still need to get through snags my attention. I’m probably a dinosaur, printing out the students’ assignments and grading by hand, but there’s something about a red pen between my fingers. I’m facile that way.
“Okay, sure,” I answer. “But I got work to do, Hani. Lemme go.”
“Alright, Play Professor,” she teases. “But don’t forget those—”
“—dates. Got it. Bye.”
As soon as we disconnect, I let my mind drift back to that season of my life. Fresh out of my doctoral program, at a loose end, I received a call asking me to step in for Dr. Ackerman. Attending Finley as an undergrad changed my life. When my father practically disowned me for not enlisting, I was adrift. I always knew the military wasn’t for me. I wanted to write, to tell stories—true and fictional. None of that fit into Dad’s plans. My mother died when I was five, and it had been just me and my father. So when he rejected me, it felt like I’d lost the only family I had left.
The scholarship to Finley was a godsend because Dad had made it clear he wouldn’t pay for me to “waste my life” on making up stories. Finley’s faculty, staff, and students became family. I received offers from bigger schools, from PWIs with stellar reputations, but I needed a smaller setting. I needed my people. Fromthe students working at the financial aid office, to the ladies serving up home cooking at the caf, and my professors who took time to truly know me and to challenge me—they made this campus my home. They nurtured and equipped me until what my father had said was a pipe dream became attainable. Saying they helped set the path for my success doesn’t overstate Finley’s impact on my life.
This place is special. Even when I obtained my master’s and doctorate from Berkeley, I never forgot Finley, which was why I jumped at the chance to teach here five years ago. And why when the invitation came a few months ago to return, I leapt again.
“Knock, knock.”
The man standing at my door wears a sports coat and slacks, and even though I can’t see them, I have no doubt a pair of suspenders is inevitable beneath that jacket.
“Bailey Moore.” I stand and cross the office to dap up my old friend. “What are you doing on campus? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Well, I had kind of forgotten you were here for the semester,” Bailey replies, the corners of his eyes creasing with lines I know were sketched there by laughter. “Then I ran into Dr. Ackerman and she asked if I’d seen you yet.”
“Nice.” I settle on the edge of the desk and cross my arms over my chest. “What brings you home?”
“Recruiting for my software startup.” He shrugs. “Finley’s always got some of the best candidates, and the job fair’s today.”
“Oh, I forgot about that. Glad you swung through. Where’s it being held?”
“The student center.” He glances at his watch. “Wanna walk with me over there, or you too busy for your old roommate?”
“Barely roommates,” I remind him with a chuckle. “We livedtogether one semester before you left Barton Hall and moved in with your girlfriend off campus.”
“Don’t hate because I pulled an older woman.” He preens, reaching under the jacket and tugging at the suspenders I knew were there.
“Bruh.” I laugh. “You were a freshman and she was a sophomore. Not exactly May-December. And howisSherrie? The dental practice going well?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s my sugar mama while I get this enterprise off the ground.” He grins and hands me his phone. “Look at the girls.”
I study the photo of his two daughters, aged eight and ten, if I remember correctly.
“They’re beautiful.” I hand the phone back. “Lucky they take after their mama.”
“Don’t I know it.” He pockets the phone and tilts his head toward the door. “So you coming or what?”
“I do have these papers to grade.” I glance over my shoulder to the stack waiting for me. “But they ain’t going nowhere, and I could use the fresh air.”
We exit the Hayes building and walk out into the cooling autumn day. It’s not cold exactly, but not hot either. That slice of October that can’t make up its mind and between one breath and the next could go either way. Homecoming weather. Perfect for tailgating in the parking lot. Swag surfing in the bleachers. Alums—the old heads that haven’t missed a homecoming in thirty years—packing the stands. The Finley Prancers dancing in gold at halftime, the gleam of hose on their legs and the shimmer of glitter painted on their faces.
“So what you been up to?” Bailey asks as we cross the yard. “I mean, besides writing the next great American novel.”
“Oh, you know.” I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. “Just filling in some time before I get serious about this next book and while I prepare to go on tour for the new one.”
The air crackles as we walk through the quad. Students line the walls to watch one of the fraternities stepping and shouting, draped in their pride and paraphernalia. By the time we reach the student center, the ease that always existed between Bailey and me has us laughing and sharing shit I don’t usually tell anyone.
