The Open Road

“So, you understand the nature of our predicament, don’t you Jeremy?” The Dean of Students peered over his small, round eyeglasses. I sat with my backpack slumped over my lap on his conformable leather chair, enclosed in stale plants, shelves of pungent old books and certificates of education hung carefully on the wall. Sweat formed in tiny beads on my forehead. Wiping them away seemed an impossible move. I kept stealing glances at the small plastic zip-lock bag deliberately placed at the centre of his desk.

An hour before, it had fallen out of an unknown hole in the bottom of my bag while talking to my professor of developmental psychology. I had heard a small thud behind my feet. Silently, I prayed to every deity, powerful alien race and ghost of my dead grandfather to let it be a pen, a notebook, a condom. Anything other than that. But I knew that it was as soon as I observed professor Jenkins’ calm smile melt into a troubled frown. The hairs on my arms prickled as the air conditioning washed over them. Too cold. Always too cold in these hallways.

“Jeremy, what is that?” She had asked, an accusatory finger prodded the air in its direction.

“It’s- um,” I stammered. Stupid, stupid. ‘Run,’ I thought, ‘run now’. Get out of her sight. Maybe she’ll choose to forget, maybe she’ll take pity on me, such a small amount of psychedelics can’t possibly be new to her. She must have gone to college in the 70s, for god’s sake. There was no way she could be so uptight. “It’s just some dried mushrooms for soup I was planning to make, professor. I have to go to a lecture now!”

I snatched up the bag and spun on my heels. Half-running, I glanced back, briefly locking with her stern eyes. A beastly glare that burned a hole in my back the length of the corridor.

I had been intercepted before entering the lecture theatre. One of the TAs laid their hand on my shoulder and instructed me that the Dean wanted to see me, right now. I was knocked out of that doorway and into a hole eight-feet deep, my parents and professors staring down at me with morbidly sullen faces. Professor Jenkins was standing next to me, and reached her long, manicured fingers into my chest, closing them around my heart and ripping it through the hard bone, snapping tendons and muscles fibres, splintering and splitting open my breast bone with a agonising crack. Maniacally laughing, she presented it to my superiors as I collapsed to my knees.

Deep crevices formed along the length of the Dean’s forehead as he raised his eyebrows. “You understand, don’t you, that we must adhere to our zero-tolerance policy on drugs?”

I swallowed. Bullshit. This is bullshit. Surely just a warning would suffice? It’s not as though I had enough to sell. Panic and anger bubbled in my gut. Anger at myself for not remembering to put them into the zip pocket. Panic that he might decide to call the police who would give me a criminal record. Or worse, prison. Anger at my backpack, which had been my trusty companion for years, holding my expensive textbooks and overnight clothes and a number of different illegal substances throughout my educational career. How could it have forsaken me now?

“I understand that, sir. I want you to know that this is not an accurate reflection of who-,”

“I’m not interested in your excuses, Jeremy.” He silenced me with a wave of his hand. My lips pursed in frustration, “I am interested in the reputation of this school. We are a religious institution with certain… expectations for the type of students we admit here. We simply cannot be seen to allow our students bringing illegal substances to campus.”

He pushed forward an official-looking pile of paper.

“Do you know what this is?”

Glancing down, I recognised it from the start of the previous year. Naturally, I had not read it. “It’s the student handbook, sir.”

“Very good, and do you know why we give this to our incoming freshmen?” He leaned back on his chair and looked down his nose at me.

“To introduce them to the university?”

He took a considered breath. “Clearly you never took the time to read it. These are the rules we expect our students to comply with as part of our agreement to teach you. Could you read out for me, please, page twenty-three, section two?”

I picked up and opened the handbook, passing dry looking sections on ‘Administration’ and ‘Responsibility’. I vaguely recalled my eighteen year old self flicking through and tossing it into my bedside drawer before heading out for a night of heavy celebration. Page twenty-three. Section two. I cleared my throat:

“Illegal Drugs: Possessing, distributing or selling illegal drugs as defined by… um… as defined by state and federal law is against University policy,” I paused and lifted my gaze to his, met with a nod of encouragement. “Students who choose to violate the illegal drug policy will be subject to disciplinary actions. Sanctions may include removal from on-campus living and, or suspension… or expulsion from the University-,”

“That’s enough. Thank you, Jeremy.” He let a few moments of static silence fall between us. Leaning forward, he clasped his large, wrinkled hands together and set them on his leather-topped desk. His old, extravagant chair creaked under his shifting weight, “This is not the first time you have been in this office. Do you remember the first?”

I nodded. Last year I had been caught bringing beer into the student accommodation. I had narrowly missed being evicted, getting away with a caution from the house master.

“Good. Now, I’m going to make myself very clear. In this handbook, it outlines the procedure of student tribunals. They are long, tedious things. If you choose to go down that route, I can assure you, the presence of this evidence-” he indicated towards the baggie of mushrooms, “-Alongside your previous run-in with underage drinking will ensure the result. You will be expelled. The tribunal and all of its transcripts will be a permanent mark on your record. We may even have to get the police involved.” He paused. The room held its breath. “On the other hand, if you choose to unenroll from this university of your own volition, we could avoid all of that, and your record will simply state your grades at the time of your departure.”

The space between my face and skull began to heat up. On the border of rage and torment, my fingers clenched into fists. Hot, short intakes of air dried and parched my mouth. I was a desert without oasis. I was a forest fire wreaking disaster. His superior gaze I could no longer take, so I locked eyes with the grotesquely ornate rug, its blooming patterns unravelling in front of me as I digested his request.

“Jeremy, I understand this must be hard to hear, but until you clean yourself up, I have to-”

“I’m not a fucking drug addict.” I blurted before my thoughts were able to catch up, but with this renewed volition I lifted my head again, “I get good grades. All A’s so far this year. My mother is working her ass off to pay for me go to this expensive fucking school,” I stopped, unsure where I was going. “This is…” I stammered, searching for the right words. “This is bullshit!”

I almost shouted. He flinched a little. I felt good about that.

“Look, if you continue to raise your voice with me, I will have to call security. Maybe your mother’s money would be better spent in a rehabilitation centre-“

“Rehab?!” I cried, “you think I need rehab? Dean, you really need to understand your students a bit better than this.” He began reaching for the phone beside the desktop computer, “No need. I’m leaving. And don’t worry, I’m not coming back.”

He let me have that last word.

I nearly flew out of his office, unintentionally slamming the door behind me. My long, silk shirt fluttered with my momentum, a pen dropped from the hole in my bag and clattered onto the floor. The Dean’s office was in the fanciest building on campus. In my peripheral vision, the garish stone pillars repeated tauntingly as I hurtled towards the beautifully engraved university motto, ‘Hoc est Enim Orbis Terrarum’, above the doors at the end of the hall.

“Hey! Jeremy- are you alright?” My friend Kayleigh was walking the opposite direction, she reached for my arm to slow me, “what’s going on?” I snatched my hand to my chest, nearly pushing her out of my way.

“Don’t follow me.”

“Jer? We’re supposed to study later, will I see you then?” she yelled after me, I wanted to reply, but I couldn’t say another word. I couldn’t bring myself to face her, to face the disappointment that she would try to disguise as shared resentment. She would still go here, she would still grovel at the Dean’s feet and create playful banter with Jenkins to better her grade. The doors gasped noisily as I lurched through them. The scorching sun cut into my eyes. I squinted through it, looking over the picturesque, green campus, with its looming glass buildings and idyllic wooden benches.

The path darkened and turned to black, the scene melted away and I was running towards the gaping centre of a volcano. I leaped in, falling through burning hellfire. A vision came to me. My father, slapping me on the back with is his leathery, work-hardened hand:

“An acceptance to a private university. My boy, I am so proud of you. Me and your mother,” he picked up the letter from our old kitchen table and gave it a satisfied smile, “you will do great things, Jeremy, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” The image shattered into tiny, callous shards.

My body twisted and spun as it plummeted towards the hot lava. A huge rendition of the Dean’s face, a perverse smile and furrows bulging disturbingly across his forehead: “We cannot allow stupid, scum like you onto our campus of good, Catholic students,” his voice boomed and echoed around the chamber of the mountain.

Hitting the scalding liquid, my limbs and torso and face melted grotesquely before turning to ash.

I had reached the edge of campus. Slowing to a stop, I leaned against a towering streetlight, panting and sweating. I drew my hand around the back of my neck, moving the hairs that clung to its dripping skin. Looking up, the open road of the highway stretched endlessly out in front of me. I dropped into a limp pile, put my face between my knees and finally allowed the tears to fall.