You've Found Oliver (You've Reached Sam, #2)(43)
I decide to end the conversation there. At least his heart is in the right place. The library is starting to get busy anyway. Rami and I have to get back to work. Of course, I don’t stop thinking about Ben. I know things will work out for us.
* * *
It’s another long week of classes. But I can’t seem to focus on anything. I just stare out the windows, wondering when we’ll see each other again. I wish I could just hop on the next bus to Seattle. But I’m falling behind on my schoolwork, which includes a history paper I haven’t even started yet. And I just got an email about fall classes; registration is opening up soon. I haven’t even finished this quarter yet. How am I supposed to know what to take next year?
I wish I didn’t have to think about this right now. I’m still trying to figure out what’s been happening between me and Ben. I’ve started searching online for similar stories. Forums or articles that might explain how our timelines seem to have crossed. I haven’t found anything helpful, just sci-fi references. There’s one movie, Sliding Doors, that I’ve watched with my mom. It’s about a woman who nearly misses the train, creating two versions of herself: one where she gets on the train and another where she misses it.
I wonder if things like this happen all the time. The decisions we make create alternate timelines with different versions of ourselves. Of course, that’s just a movie, but maybe something I did connected me to Ben. There has to be an answer out there somewhere.
Thankfully, the week always ends with Professor Clarke’s class. It’s the only class I never consider skipping. And it’s not just because she’s Julie’s mom. There’s another quote on the board when I walk into the room.
“Memories are motionless, and the more securely they are fixed in space, the sounder they are.” —Gaston Bachelard For some reason, the desks are arranged differently today. They’re spread out in no particular order. Professor Clarke must notice our confusion. “You may take a seat anywhere,” she says. “Feel free to move the desks around or sit on the floor, if you’d like. Or you could stand. I won’t stop you.”
I take a seat somewhere in the middle of the room. Usually, Professor Clarke teaches at the front of the classroom. But today, she is standing by the opened windows, forcing some of us to turn our chairs around.
“You’re probably wondering why we’re sitting this way today,” she continues. “My question back to you would be, why did you sit the way you were before? After all, I never gave assigned seating in this class. I also never said you couldn’t move things around. You simply walked in and sat down in the same spot every day.” She points at someone standing by the corner. “Ryan, why did you choose to stand today?”
He shrugs. “Been sitting all day. My legs are kinda sore.”
“I imagine that happens a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You never thought to stand before?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
Professor Clarke points to someone else. “Sierra, why have you never moved your desk around?”
“I don’t know,” she says timidly. “I didn’t really think about it.”
Professor Clarke takes this in and says, “I’m sure this seems insignificant. The way we arrange ourselves in a classroom. But this course is about questioning everything, which includes things you never once thought to question. Let’s keep this in mind as we move on to today’s discussion.”
She steps toward the chalkboard. “Memories are motionless…” As usual, she lets the words sink in. “Some of you have encountered this passage in the text already. Admittedly, this is a bit of a tricky one, so I thought we might use this time to read between the lines together.
“According to Bachelard, memories are fixed to the locations in which they are made, like the homes we’ve previously discussed. Just like a scent can conjure a memory, so can a particular hallway or room when you walk through it. Have you ever forgotten something only to have it all come flooding back to you when you glance at a photograph? Every room, in every building, including this one, has memories of its own. Ones that have existed since long before any of you, or myself, stepped foot in here,” she says.
“That is one way for us to interpret his use of motionless. Memories are anchored in space. However, when it comes to time, our sense of memory is never fixed.” Her eyes scan the room. “After all, you can’t imagine time the same way you can visualize a room, can you? What would that look like if you tried? The moving hands of a clock? Images passing through a film reel? We all experience it differently. That’s because time is never constant, but always in motion.
“Think about that for a moment. Why do certain things that happened years ago feel like yesterday? Why do some days feel longer than others? How do we recall some memories instantly, regardless of when they happened? If the past is constantly merging with the present, maybe time shouldn’t be represented on a single line, as we often regard it. Maybe time is an infinite number of lines that we can access at any moment, likes stars in the sky.”
Professor Clarke picks up a piece of chalk from the board. “We’ve been working as a class these past few weeks. For today’s activity, we’re going to do something different. I would like you to write about a memory from your life. You will not be turning this in to me. This is something I want you to write for yourself. Think back to the corners of the room where you sat alone. After all, it’s the moments of solitude when we can access our full imagination.”