Help Sessions (3 page)

“If you overstep your bounds, I can assure you Heather will let you know in no uncertain terms.” With that and a wave, Greta walked toward the opposite exit as they went their separate ways.

****

The next day Mr. Cortessis called Roy and asked if he was free to come to the p-chem lab to do some troubleshooting on lab equipment. Roy, knowing Heather and Greta’s lab class was that afternoon, inwardly thanked Professor Baker that his schedule was free. As he entered the lab, the students were busy with the experiment. Roy saw Heather and Greta, but they were intent on their work and didn’t see him.

Mr. Cortessis, a heavy-set man of Greek descent, opened the caged area and showed him the equipment needing work. “Roy, the readings have been off on all these polarimeters when we use the standard sugar solution.” He waved his hand palm up in a frustrated gesture as he spoke.

“Probably an internal resistor out of whack. I’ll check to see if they can be brought back into tolerance by tweaking the variable resistor that’s in the final amplifier stage,” Roy said, glancing again into the lab and seeing Heather and Greta still intent on their work. Cortessis caught his attention to the two ladies.

“You going to be able to concentrate with Pridemore and Kallin working out there?” Cortessis asked, a smirk on his plump face.

“You busted me, Mr. Cortessis, but yeah, I’ll try. I’ve been studying with Heather and Greta on the problems sets.” Roy felt a sheepish grin on his face, and his ears heated up a bit. He busied himself disassembling the polarimeters and checking the various stages with a voltmeter. After finishing with one polarimeter, he went to the nearby controlled-temperature water bath, where he could check the sugar solution immersed there. Two benches away were Heather and Greta. He attached the sugar solution cell to the polarimeter, mounted the instrument in its stand, and peered into the eyepiece, adjusting the focus. He heard the bell ring and students packing up around him, preparing to leave, as he noted the reading on the repaired instrument was exact. It remained to check the others after making the adjustments. As he dismounted the polarimeter, Greta startled him.

“Hi, Roy.” She stood beside him, and Heather stood near the aisle. Both held lab notebooks and p-chem texts in their arms against their bosoms.

“Greta, Heather.” Roy looked at Greta and dwelled on Heather’s face, which held a slight smile. Heather then approached, looking at the polarimeter.

“Is there any instrument you don’t know how to work on?” Roy passed up the opportunity to brag and instead answered honestly with the facts.

“The infrared spectrophotometer in the organic lab and the emission spectrograph in the minerals lab are beyond my abilities.”

“Come on, Heather. We’ll be late for our plant design class,” Greta admonished, stepping toward the door.

Heather hesitated, seeming to want more conversation with him. Finally, she walked sideways toward Greta, maintaining eye contact with him before leaving. Roy sighed at the implications that might hold.

****

When the women occasionally shed bulky winter garb in March, Roy’s dorm buddies made remarks about their anatomy. Well, Roy’s interest centered on one woman: Heather. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her slender physique, and the way she dressed, but it didn’t stop there. Her intelligence, her focus on college studies, her unwavering eye contact, even her outspoken manner, all served to rev his feelings like a sluggish engine reacting to a shot of nitromethane.

It thrilled him that she lapsed into an occasional lighthearted conversation with him. He took that as a signal that he could make a brief, tasteful comment about her hair or the way she dressed. On those occasions, intense affection, certainly ranking as love, must have emanated from his face. He discussed that privately with Greta, who verified the look on his face. She rooted for him in his quest to win Heather’s heart but warned him to prepare for disappointment. He sensed that Greta wasn’t telling him something.

Roy looked forward to the help session one night a week, and he shared a soft drink and piece of pie between classes at Sal’s Soda Shop with Heather and Greta one other day. He was on the verge of asking Heather to a movie when she started growing more distant toward him. She no longer responded to his efforts at non-college talk. His compliments on her high marks in her engineering classes had no visible effect. Her eye contact remained when she talked physical chemistry with him, but her behavior scared him.

Panic grabbed Roy as he wondered whether she’d found some sharp graduate student in the engineering department or maybe an interesting man in one of her engineering classes. Roy despaired. He wouldn’t stand a chance against some brainy, good-looking chem E. type. Had he offended her in some way? That nagging feeling that Greta harbored some secret about Heather, something Heather wouldn’t want known, continued to haunt him.

He soon learned her increasing coldness toward him wasn’t his imagination. It happened in early April after another p-chem help session. He helped Heather and Greta with their jackets, dismayed that Heather had hardly spoken to him.

“Roy, I don’t think you need to study p-chem with us anymore. Your grades have forged into the high B range,” Heather said, zipping up her jacket, her expression set in stone.

A great dread swept over Roy, as though she had proposed a walk through a cemetery on a foggy night.

“I like your and Greta’s company, and you continue to be of great help,” he said. The quiver in his voice betrayed his wrecked emotional state. Greta’s expression, her down-turned lips, the set of her jaw, echoed Roy’s stress. Her support consoled him.

“I wish you the best in your studies,” Heather said, picking up her books, ignoring his plea as she turned to go.

“But Heather…” Roy was devastated at the finality of her statement, but quickly, before she could turn, Greta caught his arm and gave a negative shake of her head, warning him not to pour out his heart.

He took Greta’s cue, and he swallowed.

“If you need any help with lab problems, let me know. I hope you continue to do well too, Heather.” Roy’s words were broken.

“Thank you,” she answered, and he knew she noticed how difficult it was for him to swallow. She swallowed also, grasped her glasses by the bridge to shove them up, took a deep breath, appeared sad judging by the downward curve of her lips, and then turned and headed for the Union Building’s entrance.

Greta put her arm around Roy, whispered that she was sorry, patted him on the chest, and followed Heather out. Greta had warned him to prepare, but preparation for this wasn’t possible.

****

Roy, like a zombie, shuffled through the coming days. He couldn’t forget about Heather, especially since he saw her in p-chem lecture once a week. He penned disguised prose for his creative writing class, pouring his heart into the recent happenings, so much so that the instructor, Doctor Hughes, nearly sobbed and even the most bored students in class shed tears during his reading. Netting an A on that paper brought no relief to his troubled mind. Doctor Hunter and Mr. Cortessis gave him extra lab work, showing their appreciation for his lab expertise. That boosted his p-chem grade to an A. He threw himself into his studies in an effort to get Heather out of his mind. It didn’t work. Thankfully, his grades didn’t suffer, despite his emotionally wrecked state.

Heather’s sincere encouragement to do well in his studies rang in his ears. Besides her “Thank you,” after his well wishes, those were her last words to him. With his grades on the rise, his arrogant, unsupportive advisor, Professor Baker, treated him better, although warning him that the second semester of p-chem would be tougher. Roy credited Heather with teaching him focusing techniques that allowed him to concentrate under dire circumstances.

He spent two or three nights a week studying at the Union Building. Heather and Greta never showed. A few times he spotted the romantic couple he’d seen around campus so involved in each other they never noticed anyone else, it seemed like, and he was saddened that the likelihood of that happening to him was dismal, at best.

The chemistry library or the p-chem lab consumed Roy’s other nights. Mr. Cortessis allowed him to study in his cramped office at night. He enjoyed having alternate places where he could work. Back at the dorm, the double deck pinochle games and associated loud laughter in the nearby lounge distracted him.

Roy didn’t try to contact Heather after lecture. She never looked at him and always rushed out, while Greta would wave and smile each time.

An assignment in advanced analytical chemistry required digging into a rare text that was always checked out from the chemistry library. Willie told Roy what other chemistry majors didn’t know. A copy was available in the chemical engineering library. As the librarian checked it out for him, he heard somebody call his name. That was followed by several admonishments of “shh” from those studying. Roy looked across several tables and spotted Greta waving for him to come over. Heather seemed distressed at Greta’s commotion. Roy, with his rare text in hand, walked that way, noting Heather was watching him.

“I’m not crashing your study session, Heather. I just wanted to say Hi.” He directed that to both Heather and Greta.

“How are your classes going?” Greta asked.

“Very well, thanks. I’m really busy. Doctor Hunter and Mr. Cortessis trusted me with higher-level lab work, there are always instruments to fix, and my other classes are going well. Heather, your concentration techniques help me to remain focused.” Roy made eye contact intently, giving his best smile. His breath caught as she looked up at him with a hint of a smile and her soft-spoken thanks.

After more exchanges, mostly with Greta about their engineering studies, Roy prepared to leave, his face no doubt radiating his undimmed feelings for Heather. When Heather met his eyes, he tried to read her expression. Was it remorse, sadness, hidden affection she broadcast? He didn’t know.

****

It happened in early May. Roy’s extra lab work turned into a disaster. A combination of equipment failure, unavailability of chemicals, and the glassblower off sick stymied his lab work. Frustrated, he left and headed for the Union Building, intent on finishing reading
Madame Bovary
, but even that novel promised an unhappy ending for the main character, Emma.

He entered the building at eight o’clock. After searching and finding all the study rooms taken, he spotted Heather. She sat alone on the sofa that was usually occupied by the romantic couple. Oh, how wonderful to see her after a dismal evening, thought Roy. He didn’t see Greta anywhere. He stood watching Heather. She had a book open but didn’t seem to be concentrating. She closed her book, laid it aside, and rubbed her nose beneath her glasses as if she was exhausted either physically or mentally, or both. In a desperate act, Roy sat down beside her.

“Roy!?”

The way she said his name reminded him of a connotation put on a chess move by a chess analyst. A good move warranted an exclamation mark and a bad move a question mark. However, a move of unknown quality rated both an exclamation and question mark. He would soon know which mark would win, hoping for the exclamation mark.

“Please allow me one question, and then I’ll leave,” Roy said, intending to stop her possible exit or a “Get lost,” response.

“Of course,” she replied. Her gentle answer warmed his heart.

“Why have you put distance between us? I thought we were becoming good friends. Did I offend you?” Roy held his breath. After her previous soft answer, he wished he’d not limited himself to one question but made it a dozen questions, anything to stretch this encounter longer.

“You’ve not offended me, Roy. You’re a true gentleman.” After that compliment, Roy forgot about the bad luck in the lab earlier. Her answer, tempered with a smile, seemed to contain an underlying sadness.

“You don’t want to tell me, do you?”

“No. I know you have feelings for me, Roy. I didn’t miss that reference to beauty in obvious places and all the other signs from you.” She made direct eye contact, her face displaying a pleasant smile of gratitude.

“Yeah. I’ve not been subtle on that. It remains for me to put it into words, though.”

“Don’t,” she said, with urgency, putting her forefinger lightly on his lips for a second. The contact thrilled him. She dropped her hand and continued.

“Why couldn’t you seek a relationship with Greta? She’s beautiful, smart, a radiant personality, and she likes you a lot. Remember how she came to your rescue when I put you down about grades?” Roy wondered why she was trying to force him into Greta’s arms.

“I like Greta a lot, but you’ve got my interest. That isn’t going to change. Say, you look tired. I had to ask that question, and let you know my feelings,” Roy said, tapping her lightly on the back of her hand. She didn’t want him to say those wonderful “I love you” words, so he’d let it go. He started to get up, but she spoke again, this time emphatically.

“You don’t want to get mixed up with me,” she said, her face drawn, her look one of defeat as she attempted to discourage him.

“I want to, and I am,” Roy replied, seeing her give an “I knew it” sigh.

Heather looked at him, a great sadness spreading across her face. He could see tears forming, not quite ready to break into rivulets down her cheeks yet. She looked away, seeming to fight what she didn’t want to say.

“Heather, I’m making you so uncomfortable. I don’t want you talking about anything that upsets you.” Roy squeezed her hand.