Infectious

Weight of the World

Eight months earlier (Pre-Pandemic):

I glanced down at my wrist, eyeing the gold watch that was attached there with a grimace.

At the rate that I was going...I was definitely going to be late for my meeting with Riley.

Since she's a renowned and established Microbiologist professor, she was a no-nonsense type of woman. She had taught at this university ten years before I had even graduated college myself. Riley Ong had already self-published a multitude of books, whereas I was currently in the process of writing my first.

She was someone that I looked up to...and, in most ways...I was the complete opposite of her.

Her desk was organized and everything had been put in its rightful place. My desk was on the other end of the spectrum, most files tossed about here and there, although I would call it more of a...organized chaos.

Based on my personality type, most of the time I was really stretching her limits of acceptability; whether it be my tardiness, or completely forgetting to reply to her emails. But, in my humble defense...her emails are formatted as though she were writing a full, professional dissertation. I would more often than not have to reread her emails multiple times and sometimes I would have to pull out a notepad and decode what point she was trying to make –

Riley Ong was truly an expert at her craft.

Whereas I...

I took in a shaky breath -- I might not even be able to catch up to --

"Professor Hartman," I stopped in my busy stride at the sound of a possible student calling after me.

I turned my head to see a younger student – they didn't seem to be the type to attend any of my lectures. I taught at the 4000 level and above, and I wasn't sure if I had ever seen him in the small student body that I usually teach. The classrooms were small since the student body taking my courses were so specialized...it was hard to not know my students by their faces and names for each new semester.

I raised an eyebrow, a little curious on what they needed to speak to me with. It was clear to me that they weren't in my class, but yet they were familiar with who I was. I didn't know I had a reputation at this university and was surprised that they came to me instead of other professors in my stead.

"Ah, yes," I cleared my throat in nervous anticipation.

I was a younger professor, and compared to my other colleagues, the youngest one teaching in the college of sciences – I was twenty-six, and had only been teaching classes for a year now. I felt the unyielding need to constantly and consistently prove myself – to prove that I was just as educated and well-versed in my craft as the rest of them.

Even though I wasn't --

"What can I help you with?" I asked, smiling gently over at the student, doing my best to not seem over eager.

It was best to not scare him off, since he had already looked reluctant to talk to me. I could tell in the way that he shifted his eyes and how he displaced most of his weight on his rear foot, no doubt about to make a run for it as a second's notice.

Perhaps I did have a notorious reputation in the school-?

I would need to check that Rate My Professor website when I remembered to do it...Clearly someone left an unfavorable review about me to warrant this type of reaction from a student that never took one of my courses...

He scratched his wrist, in what I assumed had been from social anxiety, and my eyes were instantly drawn to it. I could see that it had been irritated to some extent, the skin had turned red and was enflamed from his lingering scratch marks that remained on his skin.