At least I'd been able to find a vacant breezeway on campus to cry. It was uncovered, a sort of plain courtyard area. The fall wind was bitterly cold at times, and I'd forgotten my jacket at home. There were no windows in the buildings around the square, and the industrial air conditioning unit in the far corner supplied an endless hum. I could cry in peace, being relatively sure that no one would—
The door to my far right opened, and I jerked up straight, swiping my fists at my eyes to remove most of the tears. The last person I wanted to see at that moment, Professor Crawford, walked through the doorway. He had his same leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, but no coffee cup. His suit was different too. Black in color with a light blue shirt beneath, his red-and-blue striped tie was pinned down with a gleaming tie clip. I didn't think professors got paid very well, but Professor Crawford dressed like he had money. My heart dropped as shame exploded like a glitter bomb inside me at the sight of him. Shiny chunks of regret lodged into my ribs even while a horrible thought occurred.
The air conditioner was loud. I was sitting on the cement ledge that contained the vegetation along the building's side. I was out of the way, and Professor Crawford was blind.
I knew that now.
I'd gone back, after stopping crying, and had reread every interview I'd ever read of the man. He'd never mentioned his blindness. Not once.
But that didn't change anything now. And, since he was blind, I sucked in a deep breath and went motionless, hoping he would continue right on by me.
I watched his black leather loafers. They looked soft to the touch, not shiny like some fancy shoes were. The man moved with so much confidence, he reminded me of an athlete. I frowned. He had no right being so devastatingly handsome. I wished he'd turned out to be the grandfatherly type after all. At least then I wouldn't be experiencing such a conflicting range of emotions. I wanted him to walk by without incident almost as much as I wanted him to somehow notice me. But after nearly crying in his presence the last time, I didn't want to cry the next time he ran into me.
My lungs stretched uncomfortably, beginning to wish I'd let a little more air in. Professor Crawford had almost walked by, though. He used his cane in a sweeping back-and-forth pattern in front of him. The tip dragged over the cement, snagging on the dry leaves that had blown in and gotten caught in the enclosed courtyard.
He was in front of me now, and I shied back, though there was no risk of him bumping into me. He was a full five feet from the cement ledge. A few more steps and he'd be past me.
His cane stopped sweeping just as his black loafers settled in one spot. In front of me.
"I know it's you there, Mr. Formes."
I gasped and jerked. Maybe he was bluffing. I bit my lip.
"I knew you were there the moment I opened the door. But I didn't know you'd be here. I prefer to take less trafficked paths through campus if I can. This is one of my regular routes." His lips turned up in the corners, and I wondered if he knew he'd been about to smile.
Did blind people know that sort of thing? Oh my god, how horrible of a question was that? I'd keep it to myself.
His lips dropped. "Have you been crying?" He slid his cane over the ground in my direction. Once he found the ledge, he sat down beside me, leaving an appropriate distance between our bodies.
"No." Unfortunately, a hiccup of emotion popped in my throat at the exact same time, and the word came out sounding like it had two syllables instead of one.
"I don't enjoy being lied to, Mr. Formes," he replied sternly.
The authority in his tone made my spine straighten as I worked to wipe the last of my tears away. "I was crying. Now I'm not."
It had to be my imagination when I thought I saw his lips twitch up again.
"How did you know?" I asked, unable to keep my curiosity back another second.
"That you were crying?"
I nodded and then realized he couldn't see it. "That I was crying, sitting here, any of it."
Professor Crawford sat back, letting his legs stretch long in front of him as he hooked one ankle over the other. "I smelled your tears, heard your heart, and recognized your scent."
"Like a superhero?"
"No. Like a shifter."
I crossed my arms over my chest. He didn't have to make fun of me. But, when I looked over at him again, that smile was still there, and I found that I enjoyed his smiles more than the urge that compelled me to dwell on my hurt feelings.
"My other senses aren't enhanced because I'm blind. I've just learned to use them more efficiently. When sight is taken from the table, learning how to interpret information via your other senses becomes that much more important. Like now. The temperature tells me it is a cold, autumn day. The dry crunch of leaves beneath my feet and cane tell me that the leaves are all almost done changing and dropping. Whereas you use your eyes to come to some of those conclusions, I use my other senses. But we come to the same conclusion in the end." He sighed. "Another dreary autumn day."
It was dreary. The clouds overhead were that ominous shade of gray where you were never sure if the skies would begin dumping on you at any moment. I couldn't think of any thing to say. Except that wasn't really true. I could think of a thousand things to ask, but Professor Crawford hadn't sat down for an interview or chat. "You don't have to sit here with me. I'll be fine." Once my brother was back home and not living up in some prison camp because he'd been trying to defend me.
He didn't get up and continue on his way. He sat back, letting his messenger bag strap slide down to his elbow so he could set it down on the cement. "Why were you crying?"
I couldn't tell him the reason. He was the reason. Well, he was my reason. But my lips opened to answer anyway. Something about the man had me opening like a book. Maybe it was his position in the school or my adoration of his work, but I didn't think so. Whatever the force was that compelled me to obey was in him. "After you refused to let me in your class, I went home and told my brother about it. I'd been crying, and he is protective, and… he tried to burn down the school."
"So that's why it smells so much like smoke at the entrance. I thought perhaps I'd missed another pep rally bonfire. What happened to your brother?"
"He was arrested." I sniffed down the emotion that rose up at that. "And he had to move out, and now he's living up with the rabbits while he tries to rebuild what he burned. He doesn't even know how to use a saw! It's all my fault." I dropped my head in my hands as the tears began again.
Professor Crawford's warm fingers grabbed at my wrist, gently tugging it away. I was so curious as to what he was doing, I let him move me as he liked. He pulled my hands free of my face, coming in with a handkerchief he'd pulled from his pocket. Instead of handing it to me, he anchored his pinky under my jaw and wiped my cheeks dry. I closed my eyes, unsure of how he knew exactly where to wipe the handkerchief while also enjoying the feel of his hands on me. His touch felt like lava, and too soon, he'd cleaned my face and sat back. "Should I leave this with you just in case?"
I shook my head but then remembered how stupid that was. "No," I said, even though I wanted it. But I wanted to keep the handkerchief. To pull it out and think of the man who'd given it to me. I remembered what he'd said about lying and cleared my throat. "If you wouldn't mind, you could."