Acropolis

Domain Private

This thought lingered, stalling her movements. She cast herself into the warmth of the musky stairwell and careened toward the private classroom. Before entering, she threw off her frock. The professor raised a furry eyebrow, curious in his black, white, and brown tweed uniform and salt and pepper hair.

He stopped in the middle of retelling his incident with the rain and lawn mower and smiled—" and then my wife revved it up, but it started smoking," but his smile quickly turned to a frown. Professor Mallard changed the subject back to Greek mythology but hesitated again the moment he saw Acacia, the drenched rat holding a full, brown paper lunch bag. "But it can't compare to the smoke and thunder of the Gods!"

The clack of the door interrupted his climax.

"Acacia you were late hearing my lecture. You will be excused if you have an extra donut." His voice edged with concern over the honeyed sarcasm, but his words told another story. His lips pulled upward in amusement. He added an unnecessary note, "and I've talked to your parents. You're allowed extra courses."

The students couldn't erase their pained expressions of emphatic embarrassment as easily as wiping a blackboard and no more could Acacia.

Change jangled in her black waistcoat pocket. She was convinced enough to smile, showing her slight amusement and irritation. "I do, but only if it's enough. This is my dinner," she said doubting he would care but adding words only to break the static-charged air.

Despite Mallard's good humor, his eyes were gaunt and his skin pale. Maybe it was the rain wearing down his eyelids or maybe it was newcomers like her. Acacia set her tea down. She nervously sifted through her backpack for a syllabus, a pen, a notebook, or whatever they needed that day. She felt a few bugging eyes of classmates distracted from the lecture poking into the back of her head. For this, she wished the university wasn't so dinky to the point everyone watched each other's backs. She finally set her backpack down swiftly and smoothly turned around, but it wasn't the backpack which caused the tipping of her tea—her elbow flung the brown liquid across her desk, leaving a waterfall cascading to the wooden floor. Large blots of tea inked all over her papers. She winced and tried desperately to find a place for her teacup, maybe some napkins, maybe some help, or at least, a chance to salvage papers. Some classmates sprung up in a late attempt to help.

"Oh no! I'm fine."

Other, less mature freshman let out suppressed giggles. After she salvaged her papers she banged her head on the desk not caring about the wet puddle or the staring.

"Alright, if that's enough for you, then turn your attention." Mallard almost envied the attention.

Acacia shook the rain from her umbrella and left a second puddle under her chair. She shivered, still glowering at Professor Mallard, who seemed to be in an unusually boggy mood. The students raised some eyebrows either at the professor or the incident but quickly forgot the quick entertainment once someone handed her some tissues and toilet paper and turned their attention toward the lecture.

She snuck sleep medication out from her furry thrift store jacket and then took a sip of the remaining tea to calm her down. As soon as she settled down she was certain the Professor seemed as lost as the students, but that didn't seem unusual for Professor Mallard. His character assumed tired strength, but his thoughts were tangents. Suddenly the night class gave her a creative motive which made her momentarily forget the incident. The more she thought about the rain, the squabble of her family and their finances, the professor, and the other highfalutin authorities in town, the more ideas ignited for her journal assignment and the more she became aware—almost enlightened.

The professor stopped and cupped his ear. "Listen," he paused. "I've read myths about the rain—myths that only occur under this type of downpour. 'Sometimes rain cleanses our sorrows, sometimes it drenches them. The water spirits are held captive in the clouds only to fall from the heavens. Soon we would return to the heavens,' wrote Hyas." His words faded in and out like a lullaby. Acacia was still aware of what was happening around her, but if she didn't take her medication in night class, it could take hours to fall asleep and once fallen asleep, the thought of her dead grandmother and her hidden will, and the loss of her family's church, Dominium, stayed in her journal.