In the Language of the Flowers

| 20 |

✾ Hydrangea ✾

"Beau, would you stay behind for a second?"

I froze up a little. My mind was still reeling from class, deep in consideration of where reality ends or begins or whether it really exists at all; I barely registered Professor Miller's voice until I realized he was staring directly at me.

"Yeah, sure," I said, approaching his desk at the center of the auditorium as my classmates filed out. I caught Amory's eye briefly as he left. He raised an eyebrow at me. I gave him a half-shrug. It struck me as strange that the professor had called me out. NYU was a big school. I could normally fly under the radar.

"You're not in trouble. Promise," he said, smiling.

"I didn't think I was." I was unsure how to act.

"I'm not keeping you from something, right? You're not in a rush?" he asked, picking up a folder. He opened it, peering at me from behind his glasses. Old, grouchy Professor Brown had already left. He had a habit of zipping out of the classroom before the students even could. Miller and Brown couldn't have been any more different in both their ages and their dedication to their students. 

I shook my head. "No."

"Well, in that case, I just wanted to talk to you about your most recent essay. The one on Descartes' theory." He pulled my essay out of the folder and stared at it.

I couldn't help it. I got a little bit nervous. "What about it?"

"I wanted to ask you why you focused on the line that you did. Your entire essay is about gratitude, but that's not the core of the argument in Passions of the Soul. Did you read the theory?"

I nodded vigorously. "Of course, I did!"

Miller nodded. "I figured you did. You don't seem the type not to."

"I always do the reading, Professor."

"Glad to hear it. Couldn't say the same for some of your peers," he commented, clearly a little bit grouchy about it. "Anyway, I suppose before I give you a grade, I wanted to know why you chose to write about what you did."

I swallowed. "You wanted me to write about the entire theory."

He shook his head. "Not quite. That's what the prompt said, I suppose. But I like to encourage creativity where I can. That's what education is about, in my opinion. I don't mind that you went outside the box, as long as I can understand why."

I exhaled, relieved. "It just spoke to me, I guess."

"Spoke to you how?"

I rubbed my arm awkwardly. "I recently lost my mother. I was in a really rough position for a while there."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Beau," he said softly. I could tell that he meant it. His smile lines made his eyes look soft and caring. Professor Miller was young but he had an old soul. It felt like he'd been teaching for ages despite how he must have been new at it. He just knew what to say. I appreciated it. 

"Thank you," I said because it was all I could say. No one really seemed to know how to talk about death. Maybe I'd figure it out someday. "But the reason why I wrote about Descartes' theory of gratitude is because when I was in that dark place, someone helped me out. I thought an exploration of generosity and gratitude would help me to understand how I felt."

He looked pleased with my response. "I have a proposal, then."

"What's that?"

"Do some research. I'll send you an email later with some links and some books you can get from the library. There's a really good article, a recent one, that you might find helpful."