In the Language of the Flowers

| 10 |

✾ Begonia ✾

The room was buzzing. No one looked up. There were too many people for them to notice I'd walked in. I clutched the strap of my bag for dear life and wondered how the hell Ren had convinced me to come here. 

It had seemed like such a miracle. I'd been so late to accept my admittance that I'd assumed Ren's insisting that I could still make it here, to this room, was nonsense. It was impossible, and yet I was here. 

I'm sure I looked like a lost deer. I only know this because I felt like a scared Bambi. I sat down at the closest seat, pretending that I felt like I belonged there. It was the first day of classes and I was falling back into my old rhythm: pretend like you don't care, care a lot, keep pretending not to. Always on the outside, always making it seem like I felt fine about it. 

The professor looked nothing like I'd expected him to. He was a younger man with brown hair cut neatly against his heart-shaped face. Round, Potter-ish glasses perched on the end of his nose which made him look older than he really was. He couldn't have been more than twenty...seven? But he wore an ancient, ratty blazer and scuffed shoes like he was fighting against his own youth. He plopped a messy pile of papers down on the desk in front of his students and looked at us, his eyes scanning the classroom. 

For some reason, I found myself sitting up straighter. There was something in his face that told me that I'd like him. He had the beginnings of smile lines. I think that was it. Maybe he was older than I thought?

"Who amongst you has thought about death?" he said loudly, clearly. His warm, crackly voice carried throughout the room, silencing the entire space like magic. "Stand up."

I blinked. My heart beat faster against my own will. I felt my face heat up. Death. It felt like he wasn't asking the class. He was asking me. I couldn't get my legs to move. I didn't want to stand. I didn't want to admit anything or be the kid who thinks about death all the time. No one else stood, so I wasn't going to be the first one. 

"Oh, come on!" he said. "Is every single person in this room going to look me in the eye and tell me that you, not once in your whole life, have thought about death? Maybe I don't know about youth these days, but I can't be the only one."

I felt my limbs go stiff and glanced nervously around the classroom. When I looked back to the professor, he was frowning. It was strange that even his frown didn't seem particularly threatening or off-putting. He still seemed friendly. But then the frown transformed. His eyes lit up behind his glasses. "Ah. Honesty."

I turned around in my seat and saw that a boy had stood up. He looked about my age and had incredibly shaggy hair. He was scrawny and short but seemed content to be the first one to stand. He seemed care-free. "If we're going to get anywhere together, we need to be honest with each other. Good discussions only start when someone decides to start them, to be vulnerable and speak their mind. And I don't know about you all, but I want to have good conversations with you, to learn from you," the professor said. 

I swallowed hard and my legs moved without my brain realizing it. I was standing up shakily right at the front of the class. I nervously bit my lip, looking around. The other boy was staring directly at me, grinning happily. I frowned. I wasn't happy that I was standing. Who would be? He'd asked if I thought about death. Yes, of course I did. I thought about my parents' deaths. I thought about my own death. 

Death was like my shadow. 

Slowly, more and more people stood. "And how about God? Do you think about that?" More people stood. It was easier now, I think. I lost the other boy in the crowd as more people stood, concealing him from my sight. "The nature of consciousness? Existence itself?"

I swallowed hard, still reeling. I hugged my stomach awkwardly, hoping no one was looking at me. "Well, since most of you are standing now, it suddenly makes sense, yes? You're all here for a reason, and I refuse to believe that it's just for a credit because the thought haunts me and invalidates my purpose in life."

There was a vague chuckle from the students. The professor smiled. I could have imagined it, but I think he looked at me. "You're here for a reason, and it is precisely because you've thought about these things. Now, if you'll oblige me, please stay standing if you know what happiness is." 

I sat immediately. It hurt me to do so because it felt a little bit like I was lying. I had an answer. If the professor had been asking me, and just me, I might have told my truth. 

Happiness is other people, wasn't it?

But I wouldn't have told him that it was Ren's face that flashed through my mind. Some people stayed standing, but one by one the professor would annihilate their answers. Some of the answers were half-assed. "Happiness is love." Some of the answers were intriguing. "Happiness is impossible. It's music. It's birdsong."

Some of the answers were juvenile. "Happiness is sex." Some of them were stupid. "Happiness is my dog."

I was glad I hadn't given him my answer because he refused to accept any of them. Finally, everyone was sitting again. He smiled at us, friendly and yet clearly attempting to destroy any remaining childish innocence we clung to. "Happiness exists, right? It must. Otherwise, we wouldn't have a word for it. But none of you can define it. Clearly, all of you have a different idea of what it is. Most of you aren't even confident enough to hazard an answer. Or perhaps I've just intimidated you by tearing apart your classmates." 

The students offered another round of laughter. The professor rested his hands in his pockets and came to stand in front of his desk. "The reason you're here is that you've thought about the big things, but it's also because you've asked the big questions. We're here because we have these questions that are impossible to answer. And what's more intriguing than asking a question that doesn't have an answer, going on an adventure that will never end, that you'll always be able to return to?"

I smiled a little bit. It was a beautiful concept to me. Something that never ended? I suppose I was somewhat afraid to start things because I'd experienced too many endings recently. I was scared of NYU. I was scared of trying to make friends. I was scared of making repairs with my family.

I was scared of Ren. 

"Welcome to this incredibly strange philosophy class. My name's Miller. I'm technically a professor here, but I'm sort of more like an assistant. Basically, I'm here to judge your writings skills and dub you original or trite. Your head professor, Brown, generously decided to let me do the incredibly enjoyable work of getting you up to speed. I'll hand out the syllabus now, but despite what it says on these papers about showing up to classes or completing assignments, what we want most from you all is bravery and honesty. I want to pry the deep thoughts out of you, the ones you didn't even realize you had. I hope you stick around to find out what they are."

For some reason, I felt like I would.