"I'm Not Crazy"

XVIII.

"Charlie, can you stay behind for just a moment?"

Her name was Dr. Renault, and I had only just recently committed her name to memory. She was the psychology and human relations professor, the one that had given me the identities assignment.

I thought about ignoring her. I wanted to pretend I was dumb, or deaf, or even mute. It was the last day of our class, which would effectively end our time together. I wouldn't have to see her again afterwards, so feigning ignorance wouldn't have put much of a damper on things. I could have just lied. I was good at that. It was documented.

Curiosity got the better of me, so I did not become an actor, at least not in that sense. I was still acting technically, although my character was already long decided, and that character had ears. I'd been acting for more than a week. I'd gone to therapy. I'd briefly met with my caseworker. I had gone to school. I'd written finals and taken tests. I'd even filled out the identity worksheet that she'd assigned so long ago, although I'd pretended to be someone else when I'd done it. I'd made a character in my head. She was a familiar one that I knew rather well, and I'd written about her in all the detail I could muster. She was religious in her identify; a member of the church or Latter Day Saints... a Mormon like my mother and Franklin. She didn't much agree with anything Riley said, and I'd made it known in my analysis as I compared us. I had only turned it in a few days before this final class, and the professor had said something about it that I could not decipher now, but I still responded in the moment. It was all an act, and I was playing it to the best of my minds abilities.

I hadn't been alive for a week. I'd never learned how to breathe. I hadn't been anyone at all, and in doing so, I'd been whoever I needed to be.

The actor possessing me stopped for the professor when she asked. She ignored the sounds of scraping chairs as everyone filed out, and she stayed planted in her desk with her eyes forward while Dr. Renault said her goodbyes to the other students before she made her way over. If I had not been acting, I'd have looked out the window in search of a distracting bird. I would have pretended the bird existed even if it didn't; even if my brain was simply making one up to help me feel safe as it so often did.

Dr. Renault sat at the desk next to mine. She'd never sat down to speak to me before, which felt alarming. Somewhere in my brain a tidal wave of questions washed over me at the action, but I didn't move to verbalize any of the anxieties. Instead I looked at her with my face neutral and awaited whatever her criticism would be.

"I wanted to know if you had time to discuss some things about your assignments before you left today," she said to me.

"Of course," I agreed, because that's what functioning students did.

Dr. Renault paused. The last of the other students finished filing out. The room became quiet with nothing but the echos of the hallway.

"I really enjoyed the papers you wrote for me this term," she said, finally. She smiled warmly.

In a far away thought I remembered thinking about her in a motherly way some weeks ago. I remembered how she taught things in a conversational tone that I quite enjoyed. I had other classes and other professors. I'd done well in those other classes too, but I'd always preferred this one. The readings were more engaging. The professor was more obviously kind. I didn't let myself think about mothers for long. That was the work of a different me, not this one.

"Thank you," I said what I thought I was supposed to say.

"When I have students who don't speak out as much in class, I try to be very accepting of that as long as their work speaks for them," she added. Her tone became more explanative. I nodded and tried not to search her face for hidden meanings. "And yours did— does," she said. "Your essays are insightful and personal, and it makes it clear that you're engaging. It helps because when I feel as though I don't know a student very well, I can get to know them through their writing."