Office Hours

[Sammy]

“My name is Professor Davis,” she corrects, “And you’re fifteen minutes late. Take a seat.”

I do exactly as she orders. I immediately sit down,  hard,  on the aisle steps. Some of the students in the class laugh.

“In a chair,” she clarifies. The other students continue to chuckle as I move from a seated position. Looking around, I find an empty seat near the door. Perfect. Maybe I can die in shame where nobody can see me. Scooping up as many of my pens as I can find, I keep my body low, almost crawling towards the back of the room, trying to avoid any more attention.

It doesn’t work.

“Today, if you don’t mind,” her voice is laced with displeasure as she continues to draw diagrams on the board in brightly colored dry-erase marker.

“Yes, Mamí…Ma’am!” Oh God! I just called her mami?!

Head down, I walk quietly to the empty seat. As I pass, some idiot jock in an Alpha Beta Gamma fraternity jacket mocks me in a sing-song voice.

“Yes, Mami!” he coos.

I turn and glare at his idiotic face with his stupid-looking buzz cut as I take my seat. He raises an eyebrow daring me to do something.

So I do, I pull out my notebook, open it, pull it up to eye level, and hide my face inside it.

Professor Davis, continues to explain the expectations of the class, her voice a soothing balm on my frayed senses. I start to relax as I listen to the rhythmic cadence of her sentences and how her vowels are rounded, not sharp, as she speaks, as if English might be her third or fourth language and the one she spoke first involved sounds that looped at the end. She uses eloquent adjectives when simple ones will work, adding a touch of class while also making every sentence sound like poetry.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I hear is a shuffle of feet and the scraping of desks and chairs as laptops snap closed as tablets and notebooks are stashed away in backpacks. As other students begin to mill around, I try to pull myself together. If I’m lucky I can make it to my next class without incident. I don’t think I can handle any more embarrassment in one day.

Professor Davis’ voice vibrates in the emptying lecture hall as she shouts. “You, the one who got here late,” I turn to see her staring directly at me, her eyes small and dark. “In my office. Now.” She grabs her briefcase and motions for me to follow her.

Not sure of what else I should do, I pick up my bag and chase after her.

Despite her professional attire that borders on being obscene, with extremely tight leather pants and sky-high stilettos, she moves at an impressively rapid clip, each step making an impressive click as she saunters out of the room and into the main corridor. Still half drunk and exhausted from the night before, I stumble after her, watching as she makes a sharp right turn, the staccato sound of her heels on tile floors before guiding me along, leading me towards a narrow hallway lined with doors.  I’m panting by the time I reach the hallway and she turns once more to climb up a set of steep stairs.  Thankfully this slows her down a bit as glides in front of me, her soft curves pushing beneath the supple white fabric of her tight leather pants. I can see each muscle as she flexes, her calves high and tight as she balances on her four-inch heels.

Just as I am sure one more step will make me fall over dead, the professor makes one last turn before stopping before a solid wood door. On a brass placard placed at about eye level, the word with the name 'Dr. Delilah M Davis is engraved. The number 225 is listed just above it with smaller, matching bras. Pulling a key from an inner jacket pocket, she jams it into the lock, twists, and with a quiet little click it swings open.

Without saying a word, Professor Davis disappears inside.

Crossing myself, I take a bold step forward, following her in. I don't know what to expect on the other side of the door, but something tells me she doesn't want to discuss the syllabus.

Even now, with a name to attach to the face, hands, and body from three weeks ago, this woman remains a complete mystery to me.

Waiting just inside the door, she slams it shut behind her, locking it from inside before placing the key back in her pocket, sealing us both in.

"Now I have you exactly where I want you, " she sneers as she pushes me up against the door. "And you're going to tell me everything, starting with how you managed to find me."