The wanderer, p.1
The Wanderer, page 1
The Wanderer
B Hamilton
For Hannah who believed in this story
(even when I didn’t at times).
For Luke who listened to this love story
(while we created our own).
And to the nostalgic who dream of the past
(your future is waiting for you).
Chapter One
“Why didn’t you wake me up!”
“Excuse me?” Joe mumbled, lifting his head from his pillow.
“I slept through my alarm and thanks to last night, I’m super late!”
Joe stared at Lizzy with half open eyes, his pillow slipping against the lino floor.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lizzy. Turn off the light. Let me sleep in peace.”
“This is the kitchen!”
“Whaa?” He rested on an elbow, taking in his surroundings. “How did I …”
“You crashed after five rounds of shots and two games of beer pong,” Lizzy said, voice dripping with irritation. How could she have been so irresponsible! Of all mornings, this was one Lizzy couldn’t afford to be late.
“But Lizzy, that’s impossible!” He looked up at her with sparkling eyes, “We don’t own ping pong balls.”
“Gah!” She stomped off to her room to pack her bag.
“I think the question I should be asking is how did I get myself a pillow and blanket? I must be a very proactive drunk.”
“Don’t over qualify yourself, Joe Gavin! You have a roommate who looks after you,” Lizzy yelled and she heard him chuckle from the kitchen.
“Did you also take off my clothes?”
“No, why?”
“Because I’m naked under here.”
“That’s why I put a blanket over you.” Rolling her eyes, Lizzy swung her backpack over her shoulder and quickly checked herself in the mirror.
“God, I’m a mess,” she muttered to herself. Her brown hair refused to cooperate this morning so she tossed it in a topknot, its fate resting in her one and only hair tie. There was no time to bronze her pale cheeks but Lizzy was thankful for her thick lashes, which gave her blue eyes some depth. She looked at the time and rushed to fill her drink bottle, but got distracted. Joe had wrapped the blanket below his hipbones and Lizzy couldn’t help but view his extremely toned body. At the beginning of the year they made it their New Year’s Resolution to join the university gym. Joe stuck to the goal and the results were showing. Impressive results. As for Lizzy, the membership card found a nice home on her dresser, unused.
Joe followed Lizzy’s eyes and cocked his head to the side. “Like what you see?”
She unscrewed the lid and threatened to drench him with water. He raised his hands in defense, “Alright, alright!”
“How did last night get so out of control—” Lizzy’s words rushed out in a panic, “—I’m already ten minutes late for the tutorial and I have no coffee in my system and to top it off, this place is a pigsty. How much vodka was in that drink you gave me?”
“Just chill, Liz. I’ve got it sorted. I’ll clean up my mess.”
“Good. And while you’re at it, do the laundry.” Joe stiffened and gestured a bow, “Yes Miss Grace.”
“And wash that blanket.” Before Lizzy had time to turn, Joe let it fall to the floor.
“Jesus!” She cupped her hands over her eyes before she saw anything, but her face blushed instantly. “I didn’t mean immediately.”
“What Lizzy wants, Lizzy gets.”
She headed out of their flat, willing herself not to peek.
As she stumbled through the door, Lizzy realized each student was staring at her. This was beyond embarrassing. She was twenty minutes late, still smelled like vodka and felt completely unprepared to run a tutorial. She faked a smile and addressed the class.
“Good morning, everybody. Welcome to European History.”
Down the back, a student nudged his friend who was slumped over his textbooks. “I am so sorry for my tardiness. I um—” she racked her brain for a reasonable excuse, “I was trying to print off your worksheets and the printer ran out of toner.” Sounded reasonable. The boys at the back still gaped at Lizzy, wearing grins from ear to ear. She tried not to pay attention. Lizzy had only been taking tutorials for a month so standing up at the front still felt peculiar to her.
She cleared her throat, “In class you would have heard Professor Matthews discuss the social and cultural context of sixteenth-century Britain. Can anyone tell me who was Britain’s biggest rival?” No one answered and the laughter from the back of the room was off putting. Lizzy sent the boys her meanest glare to put them in line but they continued to chuff to one another. Her cheeks began to heat and she felt victimized by the attention.
“Can anyone tell me?” A few of the female students dropped their heads and avoided her eyes. At first Lizzy thought they were trying to escape her calling on them for an answer. But it wasn’t until she turned to the board and looked down ... oh God! Her bra was completely exposed. She missed the top three buttons of her blouse. Lizzy was too scared to face the class, knowing her face was probably a shade of purple. With fumbling fingers she tidied herself up. “So no one can give me an answer?” Facing the class, Lizzy took a deep breath to calm down, and the students at the back quit their laughter. Show’s over, boys.
“Well this is disappointing. You call yourself History Majors? The answer is France.”
This is going to be a long semester, Lizzy thought to herself.
Lizzy hung her head in her hands while sitting at the front desk of the empty lecture theatre. It didn’t help to see that three boys added their cell phone numbers to the attendance list. This was just how she wanted to start the year—feeling disorganized and unprofessional. The History Department was counting on her, especially Professor Matthews. He had jumped through hoops to get her this tutoring position. Traditionally, only Masters students could tutor but Professor Matthews convinced the entire History Department to accept a third year. He said Lizzy showed a “distinguished ability.” Ability or not, she hadn’t been too keen to stand up in front of a whole lecture theatre of first-years.
However, Lizzy’s bank account got the better of her when she found out it was a paid position. The content for 100-level courses was rather dull. The year was filled with field trips to puff up the credits for each term. And in the small town of Cheshire, there was hardly anything that predated 1852. As tutor, Lizzy had the responsibility to select the field trips and naturally, Joe wanted her to modify the destinations from previous years. “Let’s do a history camp over a weekend and make all the first-years get extremely wasted and do famous initiations from antiquity?” His suggestion was met with cricket silence. The thought of tutor administration reminded Lizzy to check her emails to prepare for class the next day. Her inbox chimed with two new emails, both from Professor Matthews:
“Elizabeth, I trust the tutorial went well. Please let me know if anyone gives you any hardship or if the workload becomes overwhelming. I have attached the necessary notes for your next lesson: ‘The Comforts and Customs of 16th Century Britain’—fascinating!”
She could almost see Professor Matthews’ face light up as he typed out the topic. The second email:
“Also, Professor Stevens has come down with the flu. She won’t be able to take her second-year Classics class on Greek and Roman Myth. I understand you did extremely well in this paper last year and as you have been practising the skills of lecturing with your own tutorials, I’m sure you would be in fine shape to run the class tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.”
He ended the email with a simple “thank you” as if Lizzy had already accepted. Greek and Roman Myth was basically adult story time and perhaps the second-years would take her more seriously. The more experience she had with any teaching, the better. It was what Lizzy needed to reassure herself that she could do this. If Professor Matthews believed in her, then so should she. Lizzy replied with a simple statement:
“Sounds great, you can count on me.”
“So how was it?” Seeing Joe on the couch was a welcome sight.
“It was certainly a tutorial to remember. It feels like the students think I’m just a friend they met at orientation. They don’t seem to realize that I’ll be grading their tests.”
Joe flashed Lizzy his perfect smile, “No offense, Liz but you have a certain doe-eyed freshman look about you and you’re five-foot-three.”
“Height has nothing to do with it. These guys are just plain rude. They even had the nerve to give me their cell phone numbers.” Kicking off her boots she joined Joe, snatching the novel he was reading.
“Can you blame them?”
Lizzy rolled her eyes, “It didn’t help that I flashed the whole class.”
“Yes, I noticed that this morning.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” She hit him lightly with the book but Joe just shrugged as if it was no big deal.
“I could have lost my job!”
“I doubt it,” he smirked, “perhaps at most, your dignity.” He wrestled Lizzy for the book but she jumped up and held it high.
“I had to get back at you somehow for the rude awakening this morning. Besides, it was a nice view.” Joe gave her a sly smile and eyed Lizzy conspicuously.
She awkwardly reverted her gaze to what he was reading. Joe Gavin and Lizzy had always been close and on the odd drunk occasion, he had tried to take it further. Whenever Lizzy was along with Joe and his friends, they never fa iled to embarrass and tease him about his crush. She would just ignore them but deep down it pained her that she never felt the same way. Sure, there were moments where she considered being his. He was attractive, intelligent, and had always looked out for her but his affection and love felt unconditional. At least Lizzy thought it did. It didn’t help that she had never been with a guy before. Not even close. Her lack of experience was her own Genghis Khan Tomb; a secret no one knew, not even her best friend, Kim, understood fully, and one Lizzy would take to the grave. It wasn’t that she was embarresed by her virginity; she was only twenty-two so there was still time. It was more her lack of desire. Lizzy just hadn’t met the right person. Perhaps her expectations of love were old fashioned but she was waiting for that certain someone, she just knew it.
“The Last Kingdom of Wessex?” Lizzy flipped through the pages and eyed the beautiful images. What she thought was a novel was really a field guide of the Viking invasions of England. The images of green meadows and dragon-shaped boats were both legendary and mystifying. Joe reached for the guide.
“I’m just getting a few ideas for our field trip.”
“Joe, you cannot expect an entire history class to sail around the old Mercia?”
“Of course not!” He snatched the book back, “I’m talking about our field trip.”
They had been brainstorming travel plans for the end of the year. Joe had been master-minding the adventure since Christmas.
“So we’re off to see the remains of King Alfred the Great?”
“Who?”
Lizzy shot Joe a look of dismay, “You’re kidding! King Alfred? He’s only the best known of all Anglo-Saxon rulers, won the Battle of Edington against the Vikings in 879 AD. The King who ‘drove out the Danes, secur’d the seas’,” she cast her hand along a pretend horizon, “the last of four brothers and creator of England’s legal code who suffered from Crohn’s disease?”
Joe blinked with disbelief.
“How do you know all this?” He flipped through the guide. “I mean, I was just kidding but then you switch into Wikipedia mode and you’re speaking as if you knew the guy.”
Lizzy shrugged her shoulders, “It’s common knowledge.”
“Yeah, if you lived in the ninth century. Besides he suffered from hemorrhoids, not—”
“It was Crohn’s.”
“You want to bet on it?”
“It was Crohn’s,” Lizzy said, folding her arms.
“Loser has to cook dinner.”
With a raised eyebrow, she gave him one last chance. “It was—”
“Alright, alright. I’m cooking.”
Lizzy clapped her hands in approval. “Excellent! This gives me time to prepare for my classes tomorrow.”
“You going to flash the students again this time?” Joe caught her cold stare. “Kidding … I’m done with the jokes. I’ll start making dinner.”
“What are you thinking? I’m feeling like veggie tacos tonight.”
“I’m not sure,” Joe said, poking his head into the fridge. “I think we have some chicken breasts that need using, God knows some first-years do.” He sent Lizzy a boyish wink. “All right, now I’m done.”
They ended up having chicken tacos. A compromise.
Joe went to clear Lizzy’s plate and asked if she had heard the latest news.
“What news?”
“Know-it-all Lizzy doesn’t know?”
“Cut the crap. What is it?” she replied.
“I don’t believe it, I know something you don’t for once.” Joe raised his hands, “Is the world ending?” She interrupted his epiphany with a dish towel to the face.
“Moment over. Okay, word on the street is Knox University has a new Dean of History.”
“Professor Woods is leaving?”
“Apparently.” Joe rolled his sleeves up over the sink. Lizzy noticed veins of strength on his forearms. “Some new guy has taken over and is stepping on a few toes with the changes he’s making.”
“Who told you?”
“You’re not the only favorite of Professor Matthews.” Joe was right. The two had become very close since Joe started his thesis. He actually was a Master’s student and was exceptional in Medieval History. But despite being a year ahead, Joe still came to Lizzy for advice on history.
“I can’t believe Professor Woods is leaving.”
“Has left,” Joe corrected her.
“She was wonderful. Always had the time of day for any student.” Lizzy turned in her chair and watched Joe from the dining table.
“Change is good, Lizzy. Perhaps the place needed some fresh perspective. She was in her seventies.”
“How old is this new Dean?” she asked.
“There seems to be an unwritten rule for all senior staff to be ... well, senior.”
“I don’t understand, they decide to fire someone for being too old and then hire someone of the same age?” Lizzy decided to do her share and began wiping the kitchen counter, but it was hardly a task considering how small the kitchen was.
“Who knows?” Joe sidestepped around her in the small space. “Perhaps Professor Woods messed up?” They both looked at each other and said “Na!” in unison.
“Despite being over seventy, that woman ran a tight ship and nothing was checked off without her authority.”
“Reminds me of you, Lizzy … minus the wrinkles.”
“It’s all too sudden if you ask me. Something’s up and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
With a packed lunch, fully charged laptop and printed worksheets, Lizzy felt well equipped and more organized than the previous day’s tutorial. She dedicated an hour to “prep time.” A full lecture required more focus and confidence. Of course, she knew the material well enough but the idea of thirty second-years all looking at her still made her knees weak. She was only a third-year. Who was she to tell them what to write down! Why should they listen to her? Lizzy knew this self-doubt would creep its way in, hence the prep time.
You’ve got this … Professor Matthews wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think you could do it. She repeated “you can do it” like a religious mantra in her head until a gentle chime from her laptop told her she had received an email.
“I thought you said I could count on you, Elizabeth?”
Lizzy’s stomach rose to her throat.
“Where were you for the lecture at 10:00 a.m.? I am very disappointed and expected more from you. I know it was late notice, but I would prefer you excuse yourself from taking a lecture, rather than committing and under delivering, or in this case, not showing up at all.”
Lizzy checked her watch and saw that it was only 9:10 a.m. What was Professor Matthews on about?
“I know you’re taking on a lot this year but with the new Dean, I cannot afford these mishaps. He has already expressed his concerns about you teaching with no real credentials, and impressive general knowledge of history is not enough. If you are serious about going far in this university then I suggest you give proper forewarning of non-attendance.”
She double-checked her watch and the time on her laptop screen: 9:10 a.m. Was Professor Matthews jet-lagged? Failed to reset to daylight savings? With shaking hands, Lizzy shoved her laptop in her bag and raced across campus to the lecture theatre. The room was empty. No surprise as there was still three-quarters of an hour until the lesson was due to start. She checked the clock in the theatre, and it confirmed there was plenty of time. This was doing nothing for her nerves. But Professor Matthews’ email was so … resentful. It was going to be an awkward reply. Suddenly, Lizzy’s jacket pocket vibrated with a phone call from Joe. She answered and slumped into the chair at the front of the room.
“Hey you, how was the lecture? I should be calling you ‘professor’ soon.”
Lizzy shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You’re basically part of the History Department—”
“No—” she interrupted him “—why do you ask about the lecture? I haven’t done it yet. It’s not even half past.”
