Miss Emily Returns to College previously published in "The Storyteller" in 2004 © Henry Brown
It is the first day of a new semester at the small college on the ridge, and Miss Emily has arrived early. In the faint light she is sitting alone in the middle of the classroom at the desk she has chosen for herself. She is wearing a simple housedress, black lace-up shoes, and she is knitting, humming, waiting for others to arrive.
For more than fifty years she had thought of the day she could return to this campus, but a string of obligations and bad luck had not allowed her to do so. Now, she was all alone and free and able to do as she pleased.
Some weeks before, in the administrative office of the school where she had been welcomed, a course in the philosophy department had been agreed upon: Introduction to Logic, Philosophy Building, Dr. Henderson. Those printed words in the schedule of classes looked pleasing to her.
Now, as she waited in the room for the class to begin, one by one they came. Girls in their pleated denim minis and double layered sweaters; the boys in their droopy jeans and vintage tees. In their tanned and tattooed skin they entered the classroom, taking seats away from the old woman in the middle of the room, looking around, wondering if they were in the right place. Miss Emily glanced up and smiled at them if they looked her way as she worked the needle in front of her.
As the room filled, the last ones through the door were two boys who took the remaining empty desks next to her. They sat on either side of her, picking up their conversation and leaning around her to talk.
“What do you know about this Dr. Henderson?” one boy said to the other.
“Not a thing,” said the boy on the other side. “Don't sweat it. Just ask a question now and then; pretend to be interested.”
“Sounds good to me,” laughed the first boy.
Then Miss Emily sensed that the two boys had settled their eyes on her. The first boy said loudly to the other one, “You sure we got the right room?” Miss Emily glanced at both of them with a bigger smile than before. Nothing would spoil this day for her.
“I don't know,” said the other boy. “Maybe this is the class for retirement planning.” They both laughed, and snickers had now begun to come from around the room.
Miss Emily kept her eyes on her needlework, saying nothing, holding the same calm expression on her face. Insults were now beginning to come from other directions, one comment attempting to outdo the previous one, and the noise in the classroom was rising to a frenzy.
Miss Emily looked at her watch.
It was time to move. She rose, gathered her notebook and needlework and started toward the door.
As a voice from the rear squeaked, “Good-bye, Grandma,” Miss Emily, in her slightly stooped frame, with her thin blue dress hanging forward almost touching the floor, approached the door and closed it in front of her. Turning, walking slowly with purpose to the lectern in front of the class, she set down her things.
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