Sometimes things change in a way that confuses us. We don’t know how to react. Maybe it’s better not to get involved.
Then the occurrence repeats itself. And what runs through our mind is . . .
This Can’t Be Happening
Dr. Jeremy Burgess taught my Social Diplomacy class at Collins Lake Community College. Dedicated to his teaching, he showed up like clockwork for the class, Monday through Thursday of every week. He was never late and always prepared. Dressed in a plaid jacket, white shirt with a solid color tie, and black trousers, he stood erect in front of the classroom.
He greeted our class with a slight smile and then proceeded to follow a well-thought-out lesson plan projected on a screen in front of the room. Not once did he deviate from his outlined daily undertaking. We all paid close attention and hung on his every word as he moved through the material, which was crucial to passing the course.
But there was something strange about him today, March 14, 2017—something I couldn’t put my finger on. Ever the organized professional, who knew his subject well, he seemed even more methodical, almost mechanical in his presentation. He didn’t break stride, stray from his line of thought with a humorous, but related, side comment, as he had in many past sessions. Even the slight smile on his face didn’t seem the same.
This bugged me. I probably should have let it go, but I couldn’t. I leaned over to Sherry, who sat in her seat to my right, and whispered, “Do you see anything weird about Dr. Burgess today? He’s not himself. He just appears to be going through the motions. His connection to us isn’t there.”
“What are you talking about, Devyn? All I see is the same uptight, rigid prof who has faced us each day since the beginning of the semester. He was an oddball on day one, so why should anything be different now?”
“I don’t know. But his mannerisms are more precise, rigid—almost robotic. When I look into his eyes, they seem vacant. There’s no feeling, no warmth.”
“Warmth, Devyn? When did you ever consider him warm? He’s always been a cold, distant spirit. When I’d go to see him in his office, he would respond to my questions, but in a way that made me feel as if I wasn’t even there.”
“Beats me. Maybe I’m crazy. But there’s something wrong. I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out. I can’t just look the other way and make believe nothing has happened. Just thinking about it gives me a pain in my gut.”
“Leave it alone, Devyn. It’s none of your business. You do this all the time—stick your nose in where it isn’t wanted. You’re going to ruin it for all of us, if you start messing with Professor Burgess. My grade matters to me and I can’t support you in this nutty endeavor of yours.”
The bell rang. Without saying another word, Sherry gathered up her books and MacBook Air and followed the other students out of the room. I sat there staring at the figure behind the podium. There definitely was something odd happening. I heard Sherry’s arguments, but they didn’t diminish my concerns. I had to do something. What it was, I didn’t know.
At that moment, Dr. Burgess collected his belongings and marched, like a storm trooper, out the classroom door. Teachers don’t move that way, I thought. Their movements are more fluid—not lockstep. “Something’s not right with this picture,” I muttered.
After a restless night, I awoke to the bright sunlight of the start of a new day. My head felt clearer and I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn’t believe what I’d put myself through yesterday. I do it all the time. I build things up in my mind and make them out to be more than they should be. Burgess’s class bores me. What else can I say? Maybe what I did yesterday was my way of making it somewhat interesting.
I left my second floor apartment on South Willowby, jumped into my Ford Fiesta, and headed to campus. As I turned the corner onto Whitmore Lane, I saw the strangest sight at Argo Park. Just to the left of the swing area, about twenty men, all over fifty, with gray hair, marched with perfect precision down the bike trail. To my amazement, the leader of the pack was none other than Dr. Burgess.
“Holy cow!” I screamed. “What’s going on?” I was tempted to pull over, but my slowing down to view the spectacle already had angered the driver in the car behind me, who had begun honking his horn to keep me moving. So I did.
I arrived on campus, parked my car, and headed toward Carter Hall for my English class. I wouldn’t be in Dr. Burgess’s class until two in the afternoon. My head kept spinning with thoughts about what I’d observed in the park.
At two, I entered my Social Diplomacy class. The professor stood looking vacantly at the unoccupied seats, as the class members filed in. Then his still empty eyes fixated on me. I saw nothing in them, but they seemed to be peering into my very soul. Had he seen me drive by the park? Did he know I saw him marching robotically with his clan? Did he know I knew he was doing something that maybe he shouldn’t be doing? These thoughts made my skin crawl.
I slithered into my seat and Sherry sat down next to me. “Sherry, I’ve got something to tell you,” I muttered. Either she didn’t hear me or just ignored me. “Sherry, I need to tell you something about Dr. Burgess. Please Sherry, say something.”
She turned toward me with anger in her voice and said, “Don’t start this again Devyn. Burgess is our teacher. Leave him alone. I don’t need to hear any more of your crap about him being something less than human. Just drop it.”
I looked into her eyes. Oh, my God! There was nothing there. Her head moved methodically back and forth. I didn’t know what to do. Then she stood at attention, pointed at me, and yelled, “You have tainted my father’s reputation for the last time. You are a threat to his mission and must be stopped. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. Now I have no choice.”
“Have no choice? He’s your father? What the hell is happening?” Then I felt a needle being inserted into my arm. The world began to spin around me. And then everything became dark.
When I awoke from my medicated state, I was still seated in the same chair in the same classroom, but I couldn’t move. Eyes—empty eyes—stared at me from the front of the classroom, but they weren’t those of Dr. Jeremy Burgess. A woman stood looking in my direction and what I saw on the screen behind her caused chills to run through my body. Written in bold letters were the name, Dr. Sherry Burgess, and the date, March 14, 2024.
Copyright © 2017 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
