Concrete Island by Anita Davis

Author:Anita Davis [Davis, Anita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

*6*

Chris

“DuSable Building, where is the DuSable Building?” I mumbled the words to myself as I stood in the center of the campus. The information desk must’ve given me the wrong directions because I still hadn’t caught sight of the building.

But maybe they weren’t to blame. My frustration that led me to go there may have muddled my sense of direction. But at any rate, I was dead set on finding the building and the room that she was in.

Looking at my watch, I realized I couldn’t afford to lose any more time, so I grabbed the attention of the first person nearing me. “Excuse me. Do you know where the DuSable Building is?”

“Ugh, right behind you,” the young woman answered me with a perturbed look on her face before she walked away from me as if my question where absurd given my proximity to the building I was looking for.

“Thank you.” I ignored her dismissive tone of voice and headed towards the DuSable Building.

After that, it didn’t take me long to find the classroom since it was on a schedule at the front door.

I slowly pulled the door open, hoping to quickly take a seat since I heard her talking to her students, but she looked up towards the door and her words faltered as we locked eyes. A bit of shock covered her face before she looked back at the projector behind her to seemingly regain focus on what she had been saying.

I hesitantly pulled my eyes away from her beauty and scanned the lecture hall for a seat. I was somewhat surprised to see the room was packed. Not because she wasn’t captivating with both her looks and the way she exuded confidence and commanded attention with her words, but because it was a Tuesday night class during the summer, and it was full.

In regards to some college courses, students don’t show up to class. They rely on the notes from their friends, but clearly, people wanted to be in her class. Not because she was administering a test, but I gathered it was because she knew her stuff. Her delivery was engaging and evoking.

I temporarily forgot the outrage that had sent me there. I found myself nodding my head a little in agreement with her dissection of a point as I squeezed past people down a row to sit in the only empty seat available at the back of the lecture hall.

“…I’ll end it with that note on Pan-Africanism.”

Judging from the rustling bookbags, her telling the students what chapters to read for their next class, and the eager chattering of those nearby, things were coming to an end.

I watched her pack her messenger bag as the lecture hall emptied and she talked to the few students who had approached her. I briefly reflected on how convicted she was about the subject matter she discussed that night and how she pushed her students’ critical thinking. Was I becoming a fan of hers?

When the room was fully empty, she made her way towards me and stopped just short of the row I endcapped.

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