Alice

7

"Why don't you like Gabe?"

The pencil paused, and then fell against the desk. Charlie slowly raised his head until his eyes met mine. "I thought I said—"

"What if I don't want to leave you alone?"

He sighs heavily and for a moment, I felt like an irritating child. My confidence faded and in turn, so did my determination. I meekly slid into the seat next to him and looked down at my lap.

"Why do I feel like I'm bothering you?"

"Because you are." He spoke calmly, his eyes now back on his paper. He picked up his pencil and began writing again.

My face fell. "Oh. Sorry."

I immediately turned around and faced forward. The professor was late so everyone was talking amongst themselves. I shrugged off my bag and let it fall on the floor before facing forward and drumming my fingers on the table.

Mr. Ranagan walked in seven minutes later, a coffee in his hand and a stack of papers tucked between his arm and side. He muttered his apologies for being late and rushed to his desk to organize himself. We watched on as he murmured to himself, flipping through papers until he finally exclaims "aha!" and pulls a sheet out. He glanced at it before putting it back down, nodding to himself.

"Who can tell me what a trigger is?" He asks, looking around the room. "Anyone?"

"You mean on a gun?" Someone calls out.

"No, Stewart. Not the trigger on a gun. Anyone?"

A few students raise their hands.

"How about you, Charlie? You want to give it a shot?"

Heads turn to look at the boy he'd just put on the spot. Charlie doesn't seem to care, though, and sits up in his seat. "It's—" he clears his throat. "It's, like, the cause of something to happen."

"Sure. You want to use a word other than something?"

Chris scratched the back of his head. "Like a circumstance or something."

Mr. Ranagan smiled. "Yes. Or something. A trigger, my students, is what causes an event or circumstance to happen."

Charlie crossed his arm over his chest.

"Now psychologically, anything can trigger a reaction. A sound, a word, a smell, a place—all of those can be triggering." Mr. Ranagan leans against his desk now, hands gripping the edge. "For example, many soldiers back from war suffer from PTSD. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I know a man who fought in World War II. Any loud sounds – a door slamming shut, gunshots on t.v., the microwave timer going off – can trigger him into believing he is still at war fighting for his life and for his country."

"I believe everyone has a trigger." He picks up a stack of papers and hands it to Shirley. She takes one and passes it down. "So I want you to write about a time something triggered a memory. Explain what it was, how you felt, and what you think it meant. You have twenty minutes. When you're finished, bring it up to my desk and then you may leave."

He sat down and perched his glasses on his nose. Chris handed me the stack of paper and I realized it was just looseleaf. I took one and handed it to the girl behind me.

"And guys?" Mr. Ranagan looked up at everyone before flashing a mischievous grin. "Make it interesting."

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