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Rebecca unlocked her office door and pushed it open with the toe of her boot. She sighed. Another class out of the way. Two more to go. The air conditioning ruffled her hair as she entered the space. She dumped her book bag, laptop computer, a composition textbook, a pencil, and a sweater that she had had to shed during her last class onto a small table near her desk. She felt almost delirious with hunger. Grasping her bag lunch from the mini fridge below the sagging bookshelves, Rebecca resisted the impulse to rip it open, like a raccoon discovering dumpster treasure.
Rebecca flopped into her office chair and peeled off the plastic wrap from her smashed peanut butter sandwich. Visual aesthetics aside, the first bite of the sandwich immediately silenced her growling stomach. She was onto her second bite when one of her colleagues knocked on her door and leaned in. It was Dr. Keening, or "Dr. Keen," as her students called her. Dr. Keen had been with the department since the earth cooled.
"You having lunch with us today, Becca?"
Still chewing, Rebecca raised her index finger, indicating her mouth was full of peanut butter sandwich. Crap. It's Wednesday. She glanced at the sad-but-still-appetizing peanut butter sandwich and baggie of baby carrots and then looked up again at her colleague. These weekly lunches were almost a mandatory practice for new faculty, and Rebecca had only been part of the department full time for less than two semesters, but they were fraught with an obligation that she personally resented.
It made her stomach ache thinking about sitting stiffly on an ancient desk chair at the makeshift dining area in the hallway, politely making small talk with her colleagues. Be charming. Be agreeable, she'd think. But don't say anything too personal. Dr. Keen or some other professor who was tenured before Rebecca was conceived would ask what her weekend plans were. Oh, arranging for hospice care for my 57-year-old mother. She's got cancer. You? she wouldn't say, stomach clenched. Instead, "Nothing much. Lesson planning, probably. How about you?" Rebecca would try to smile like a normal person and not rush through lunch so that she could make excuses to go back to her office for a bit of a break before dashing to her next class.
Lunch is a time out. I need a time out.
Rebecca swallowed. She began wrapping the cellophane around the sandwich.
No.
"You know what? I can't this week. I've got a stack of papers to get through," she lied.
"Oh, OK. Next week, then." Dr. Keen tapped on the door lightly. "You want this open or shut?"
Rebecca smiled. "Shut, thanks." Secure in her office for most of an hour, Rebecca sat back in her chair and tucked into her peanut butter sandwich.
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