Anthem's Fall

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Eleven

Ryan

           

Ryan pushed open the door to Kristen Jordan's apartment building and paused before pressing the doorbell to her third-floor studio. The entrance hallway was warm from the sunlight beaming through the glass doorway. Ryan stopped to check his appearance in the dusty mirror nestled between the rows of narrow mailboxes and grid of doorbells. He was wearing a dark gray button-down shirt and jeans. Turning slightly from side to side, he decided the attire looked appropriate—neither dressy nor unkempt. After an encouraging nod to his reflection, he pressed the buzzer to her apartment.

"Ryan?" Kristen's tinny voice sounded from the ancient speaker.

He pressed the button. "Yeah."

"Hi, I'll come right down."

Ryan turned his attention to some stacks of catalogs that were too big to fit in the mail slots. Kneeling down, he saw one of the stacks—addressed to Kristen Jordan—was comprised mostly of scientific journals, the majority old editions, some dating back to the previous winter. There was a sound of feet descending the stairwell, and the locked door opened.

"Hey there," Kristen said.

"Hi." Ryan rose from his haunches. "Just looking at some of your old mail here. I take it these journals don't interest you?"

"Um, no. Not particularly." Kristen's lips turned in a smile. Her hair fell below her narrow shoulders and rested weightlessly against the curves of her chest. "They keep sending them though. Columbia must subscribe their graduate students or something. I certainly never signed up for them."

"Cool," Ryan said, returning her smile. During their recent text correspondence, he had been caught up in Kristen's intellect and forgotten how attractive she was. In a simple faded chambray shirt and shorts, she was remarkably attractive. Kristen pushed her shoulder against the heavy door and let the cool outside air into the balmy atrium as she held it open for him. Ryan buried his hands into his pockets as he walked out to the sidewalk. He noticed a fruity scent, probably her shampoo—her hair was still damp.

"How did your essay go over?" Kristen asked.

"Eh, mostly how I thought it might."

"So . . . not well?"

"The class pretty much shot down my ideas," Ryan said. "They're critical of any perspective that hasn't been hashed out to them in detail during Professor Hilton's lectures. You have to love it when people laugh off your views as naive just because it differs from the ones they've been taught."

"I know it." Kristen reached out a hand and languorously dragged the tips of her fingers across the coarse bricks of an old walk-up. "I've found people often disregard views that differ from their own, especially at the highest echelons of education. The more you think you know about something, the more stubborn you tend to be."

Ryan nodded. "Totally. But what really bothered me was that they relegated my stance as not only unrealistic, but outright impossible. I mean what kind of one-dimensional thinking is that?"

"It can be scary, that's for sure," Kristen said, casting him a sidelong expression of admiration. "I think the most rational outlook is the one that isn't convinced of its rationality."

"Yes. True intellect is doubt."

"I couldn't agree more. But I wouldn't sweat your classmates. They're just trying to get A's, not break any philosophical ground or earn a Nobel Prize with a midterm paper. You shouldn't let them get to you." Kristen took in a long breath and let it out slowly, her arms folded against her chest. The autumn trees lining the sidewalk were roused to life, their branches swaying at the caress of a breeze rolling off the Hudson. "Beautiful day, huh?"