Beginnings

“You’re the inspiration” by Chicago, came through softly on the Mercury Mariner stereo. The 39 year old man smiled to himself; his deep blue eyes crinkled. This is song brought back good memories of his middle school days before life got crazy. He pushed a wayward light brown curl out of his eye and focused on the road to his new destination. He knew he needed a haircut badly to tame his mess of curls, but he hadn’t had time to go to a stylist or even find one in his new area.

He turned and pulled into the faculty parking lot at the college where he would be teaching the next few months. This was a new venture for him and a different change in pace. He had never officially taught a class before except in an acting role if that could count.

He located a spot, parked, and looked at the Wright State University Student Union before him. Out of all the places he could have chosen for his first teaching position, he opted for this Midwestern Ohio college. Perhaps here, he might be able to blend into the population. He always wondered what it might be like to live in an area that was not a hectic metropolis. He had a love-hate relationship with public recognition. There were times he wanted to be noticed and then times when he just wanted to blend in and be an observer. Perhaps teaching undergraduate students would give him a chance to be in a population of people who were not as familiar with his work.

The man gathered up his leather laptop bag, exited the car and strode to the student union entrance. He was 5’10” tall with a slender, muscular build from working out and biking. It was gloriously sunny with temperatures in the mid-50s. Maple trees were green with hints of red. The weather was perfect for a lightweight brown blazer, light blue dress shirt, jeans, and brown dress shoes. No tie.

The brick Student Union greeted him. White structures formed a cubicle accent across the front. Upon entering, he heard students conversing as they made their way to their destinations on this early Tuesday morning. He headed to the Union Market for breakfast. He grabbed a tray, plate and utensils and proceeded to the self-serve griddles. He greased the griddle, carefully measured and poured the batter into the waffle iron crevices. He closed the lid and flipped it.

A woman approached the griddle next to him. She was not quite 5’ tall. She had long, straight black hair with red highlights. She wore a navy blue blazer, blue pinstripe blouse, jeans, and maroon loafers. Topaz eye shadow and mascara accented her almond shaped, chocolaty eyes. She wore no other makeup on her tan, olive skin. Her gold necklace swayed as she moved. The fragrance of her CK One Summer cologne blended in with the scent of Belgian waffles cooking. His nose twitched at the tantalizing mix.

She was preoccupied and took no notice of him. He estimated that she was not an undergraduate student. Maybe she was a graduate student? Was she an instructor?

He quietly observed her from the corner of his eye. Normally, women her age recognized him. She quietly retrieved her waffle and proceeded to peruse the rest of the market place. He brooded; this aggravated and confounded him. He wanted to blend in with people, yet wanted to be recognized by her for who he was. He wanted her to say something. What in the world. He shook his head. He never met her before and debated upon trying to get her attention.

He glanced to see where she went. She was in line to pay for her food. She paid and surveyed the area for an empty table. She found one near a window, sat down and busied herself with her breakfast.

He quickly got his cup of coffee and paid for his food. He opted for a table across the way from her so he could observe her but not be obvious.

She took out a pen, small Blackberry, and little black note book from her red, bohemian style purse. Her brown eyes furrowed. She made some quick notes as she took bites of her waffle. She still didn’t look his way.

He was baffled. Here he was to teach his craft to undergraduate students. He was well known among his peers for 26 years in acting and music. She looked to be a couple years younger than he was. She paid him no heed. He wasn’t used to it and was intrigued. He had no idea why. He had never seen her before but was drawn.

She finished her breakfast and drank the rest of her coffee. She stood up, put her pen and phone away, gathered her tray, and quickly left.

He finished the last bites of his waffle and coffee and then stood up. Something caught his eye on the table. It was her little black notebook! She was gone.

He gathered up his tray and laptop bag and went over to retrieve the notebook. He was hoping to return it to her. He opened up the notebook to try to find a clue to try to contact her.

On the inside cover, her first name was neatly written in cursive: Jillian. No last name. On the following page:

9-6-2011

I have to get out. What do I do? My one job is about to end due to a reduction in force. And I just started this graduate assistant job. My attorney advised me to go to Project Woman. My stomach is in knots. I have to try to get through this year of grad school as it is my only hope. I have to get out and refuse to move back home with my parents. I AM SCARED.

His eyes widened. He suddenly felt terrible for wanting her to notice him when clearly something was wrong. He had her first name. That was it.

It was going to be a challenge to locate which college she worked as a graduate assistant. He worked at the Creative Arts Center. Wright State University had slightly less than 20k students that fall. How was he going to find her? He tucked the black book into his laptop bag. The only thing he knew to do was try to see if she would arrive at the Student Union each morning for breakfast.

The day went quickly. Even though he was engaged with his classes, he found himself thinking about Jillian all day. Her note haunted him. He got through his scheduled classes and shared his acting and music backgrounds with three different acting classes.

There was an equal mix of students who recognized him and those who didn’t. The reaction he got was of interest and respect. The students were serious, and they wanted to know about his experiences and expertise. Not one student gushed about being a fan, which felt odd. They asked him well thought questions.

Finally, his last class concluded. He packed up his lap top and headed back to his parking spot at the Student Union. Jillian was in serious trouble. She pulled at his heart. On the way back to his condo, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

The next day, he drove to campus. Compared to the previous day, the weather was cool, rainy, and foggy. He didn’t have any classes; so he could take a leisurely pace. He had her little black notebook and his checkbook in the inside pocket of his blazer. He grabbed his umbrella, got out of the Mariner, and quickly headed to the entrance of the Student Union. Students bustled about; voices buzzed in the air. He purposely walked to the Union Market Place.

There was Jillian. She was placing an order at the breakfast grill. He continued to observe her from a distance. She was chatting indistinctly with the chef and smiling politely. His heart puttered. She wasn’t dressed in jeans today, but she wore a white skirt with light pink sweater and white sneakers.

His stomach growled at him to bring him to the present. He went over to the coffee bar for a regular coffee with cream and sugar. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to eat. He checked out the refrigerated section and opted for fresh fruit and yogurt. He headed to the cashier and paid for his food. Then, he surveyed the area to see where she might have gone. He spotted her at the same table again. He drew in a big breath. He might have had years of experience being in front of audiences, but for the first time in a long time, his throat felt parched; his hands were clammy. He hoped that she wouldn’t take this the wrong way.

She was eating her omelet with intent. She had a large textbook open beside her plate.

He approached her. “Hello, Jillian. How are you? My name is Jeremy.”

She looked up from her book. Her brown velvet eyes were red and puffy. She smiled politely and said, “Hello. How are you? How do you know my name? I don’t think I’ve ever met you.”

He was still surprised and couldn’t decide if she was being polite or truly didn’t know who he was.

“We haven’t met.” He paused and decided not to mention anything about his public, professional life.

“May I sit and eat breakfast with you, please?” he asked.

“Sure. What brings you over to my table? And how do you know my name?”

“You dropped something, Jillian. I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

Her eyes widened with worry and fear.

“Jillian, don’t be afraid. Ok? I want to return your notebook,” he said.

He pulled her notebook out of his pocket and handed it to her. She looked down briefly, almost in shame and her chin quivered. He could see tears form in her eyes. She whispered, “Thank you.”

“Jillian, what’s your last name?”

She breathed, “Jones.”

He drew out a pen and his checkbook from his blazer pocket. The check was already partially filled out from the previous night.

He dated the check, wrote in her last name, and signed it. He turned it over and slid it to her.

She peeked at him, drew the slip to her lap, and gasped. Then, she started weeping.

“I don’t know what to say. Why? I have never met you before in my entire life.”

Her response puzzled him. He could tell she was genuine.

“My lady. Please accept this. I could read between the lines. Please get to a safe place. Would you like me to help you with a private account?”

She nodded. “Thank you. How can I ever repay this $20,000.00?”

He said, “Be safe and live your own life. That’s how.”

She peered at him through her tears. Jeremy reached over and wiped away a stray tear.

“Let’s eat. I have all day. Feel free to tell me only what you’re comfortable sharing,” he said.

She nodded. She opened her mouth try to say something, but nothing came out. She looked down at her food.

He said, “It’s ok. Take your time. It doesn’t need to be today or even tomorrow.”

She nodded. He watched as she ate her food and noticed the slight shaking of her hands as she cut into the omelet. Tears kept sliding down her cheek. He reached over to try to hold her hand for a moment to calm her. She started to jerk back and then acquiesced. He patted her hand and looked at her intently. He knew it was going to be a long road to gain her trust, but that was ok. He had time.