Charlotte tossed and turned all night but when she woke up bright and early the next morning, she did not feel tired at all. She anxiously awaited by the clock, watching the minute hand inched closer and closer until it hit nine o'clock. She picked up the phone and dialed with shaky fingers. The line rang five times before someone picked up.
"Department of Archaeology and Anthropology." A woman's elegant voice answered on the other side. Although the woman's voice seemed uncertain at first, Charlotte couldn't believe her ears when the lady told her the position was still open and asked her if she would like to come in for an interview that very afternoon. When Charlotte got off the phone, she immediately changed into a brown skirt, a white cotton blouse and her best peacoat. She checked herself in the closet door mirror to make sure she looked decent before she rushed out to catch the next bus to the nearest underground station.
She got off first at the Upper State stop and went into the public library. She had spent so much time here over the past four years she was sure she could make her way around even blindfolded. Unlike other students, she couldn't afford her own computer so she had to use the ones in the library to work on her assignments throughout college. The moment the librarian Mrs. Hawks saw her walked through the door, she signaled her to the back, her face stern as ever. Though sometimes Charlotte wondered if Mrs. Hawks knew how to smile, she knew she was the kindest woman she had ever met. They met one Sunday evening during her first year in college. The computer room at the college had closed that day and her assignment was due the next day. Unfortunately, when she got to the library, she found only one station functioning. She remembered waiting fretfully behind this kid hogging it, surfing for video games tips. She tapped her feet, cleared her throat and clicked her tongue many times but the rotten kid still did not get the hint. She remembered checking her watch every other minute. Great! Only half an hour left before the library closes. Just then someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was Mrs. Hawks. At first, Charlotte thought that she was being kicked out and the library was closing early that day. But Mrs. Hawks motioned Charlotte to follow her. They went to a room in the back. There was a small student desk and a desktop computer sitting idle. "You can use this. I'll be staying for another hour after closing." Mrs. Hawks told her, her face emotionless, and then she went back to the reception desk. From that day on, Mrs. Hawks continued to let her use the back room whenever she needed, especially whenever the college computer room became overcrowded before term papers were due. She later told Charlotte that the computer in the back room was for cataloging but it was idle most of the time because they couldn't find any volunteers for the job. So Charlotte started helping out whenever she could, sort of returning the favor. From then on, they had developed a silent arrangement and an odd friendship. Even though Charlotte had become a customary visitor, she had rarely heard Mrs. Hawks speak if not spoken to and never even once saw her smile. In fact, she still felt quite awkward around her.
Charlotte hurried to the back room, flicked on the monitor and looked at her watch as she waited for the computer to boot. Eleven o'clock. It would take half an hour on the train to Metrocity. The interview would be at twelve-thirty. She still had about one hour. She sat down and began to work. She needed to revise her resume. She hadn't elaborated on her college major and tutoring experience on her resume when she had applied to other jobs previously. No one in their right mind would pay attention to them when they were just hiring a simple store clerk. She worked feverishly until her back started to feel a bit stiff. Finally, she let out a sigh. It was done. She glanced at her watch. Ten past twelve. Oh no! She quickly hit print, snatched up the papers at the printer, grabbed her coat and ran. But even in her hurry, she took a second to sneak a peek at the reception desk and saw Mrs. Hawks frowning briefly, shaking her head disapprovingly at her running but at the same time flashed a faint smile. Charlotte beamed. She could feel her luck turning. Today was going to be a good day.
The Westminster University looked very different from the Upper State College. The moment she stepped through the gates, Charlotte felt like she had been transported in time. The Upper State College she had attended was a modern cement building that looked somewhat like a military base and it felt like an oversized high school compared to Westminster. The campus was enormous, spanning two whole blocks in the center of Metrocity. Most buildings were built during the eighteen hundreds, composed of breathtaking towers and blackened mortar amazingly still holding the red-brick structures together after two hundred years. Charlotte found the Department of Archaeology and Anthropology at the north-east corner of the campus. It was a red-bricked rectangular Richardsonian building five floors high with two rows of tall Gothic pointed windows lining each floor fanning the north and south sides and two tall tower pavilions about eight floors high at each end. Sky scraping trees surrounded the building and strangely enough even though she was in the middle of Metrocity, Charlotte could hardly hear any sound as she stood outside its main entrance, except birds chirping in the trees. Charlotte's footsteps echoed in the vast foyer as she stepped through the arched doorway. Voices from lectures could be heard filtering out from auditoriums along the hallway. She lightened her footsteps, followed the signs to the west pavilion and hiked up the marble winding staircase to the administrative floor. Typing sounds on a keyboard could be heard through a door standing slightly ajar. Charlotte took in a huge breath to calm her nerves and carefully pushed the door open. The round wooden door creaked on its hinges and she winced. She carefully peeked inside. A white ceiling fan hummed serenely as the sounds of keystrokes stopped and a woman behind the desk peeped over her spectacles.
"Yes? Can I help you?" The woman said, her voice with full of composure and a hint of authority. Charlotte recognized it right away. She had heard it on the phone this morning.
"Sorry. My name is Charlotte Branson. I called this morning?"
"Oh yes, yes." The woman said. She must be about Charlotte's mother's age but unlike Mrs. Branson, she looked poised in a white fluff-necked blouse and a long twilled skirt with her grey hair neatly swept back into a bun. She immediately stood up and walked around the desk to greet her. "You're here for the assistant position."
"Come, come. Come over and have a seat." The woman motioned her to the other side of the room set with two Renaissance-styled armchairs and a worn-out cherry wood coffee table. "I'm Professor Hannigan, chair of the department. Did you bring your résumé with you?"
"Yes. Yes, I did." Charlotte produced the papers and handed them to the professor with slightly sweaty hands.
Professor Hannigan adjusted her glasses so she could read properly and nodded periodically as she went through Charlotte's résumé.
"Very good. Very good. I see you've taken Archaeology and Anthropology courses at college. That's certainly a plus to have someone who actually knew something about the subjects." Charlotte heaved a silent sigh of relief and flashed her brightest, most confident smile.
"Very well. Unfortunately, I have a meeting to catch." Charlotte looked up, surprised. What? That's it? The professor hadn't even asked her a single question! She hung her head as Professor Hannigan showed her to the door but stopped short when suddenly the professor spun on her heels to face Charlotte, "Professor Brinkley will continue the interview."
Charlotte followed the professor down the hallway towards the east pavilion, their heels clicking loudly on the marble floor and the sounds from the lectures downstairs vaguely audible. They arrived to a round wooden door similar to that of Professor Hannigan's office except this one had a pane of frosted glass as a window looking into what seemed like a sun-filled room inside. The words etched in the glass read "Department Office". Professor Hannigan turned the door knob and pushed the door open without knocking.
The department office was a long narrow room about two times larger than the director's office. The afternoon sun was pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the length of the room, drenching everything in golden light and dust particles in the air looked like golden sparkles dancing in the air. There was a desk and a chair underneath one of the windows near the door, empty as if expecting. There was a large gothic-styled table to the left of the desk taking up the rest of the room's space. Like a giant monster, it squatted on a faded Persian rug, with six Victorian armchairs tugged into its sides. The rest of the room was quite bland save for the expanse of ceiling-high bookcases all laden with books opposite the windows, making the room feel even narrower than it really was.
Professor Hannigan motioned Charlotte to stay put as she crossed the length of the room. She passed the long table and bookcases to the end of the room. Charlotte couldn't understand where she was going until she knocked on one of the bookcases and realized it wasn't a bookcase after all but a small door dwarfed by the towering shelves and the monstrous table. Charlotte heard someone answered and saw the professor disappeared through the door. Dare not to make any sounds as she might appear rude, Charlotte waited quietly. A minute passed then two, then three. She was too far away to make out the conversation in the corner office and she was starting to wonder what was taking so long. It began to feel very warm, with the sun turning the room into an oven and she the roast. Unsure whether it was from her nerves or the sun, she was starting to perspire under her thin cotton blouse and it was starting to clang in the wrong places. Her legs had also started to feel numb from standing and she shifted her weight from one leg to the other to make herself comfortable. Finally the door to the corner office burst open making her jump.
"Thanks, Sue. I'll take it from here." A man in a navy blue shirt and khaki trousers stepped out and gave Professor Hannigan a nod. Professor Hannigan flashed Charlotte a smile before she left. Charlotte looked at the man curiously. Professor Brinkley had a young face, Charlotte would have guessed he was in his thirties but his tousled hair was laced with grays. He pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose before sticking out his right hand. He was wearing an unusual thin black ring on his thumb. "You must be Charlotte." He flashed a faint smile.
"Yes. Nice to meet you." Charlotte took his hand politely and was about to retrieve it when she realized that the professor was still holding on to her hand. Charlotte peered into the professor's face and found a pair of piercing hazel eyes examining her thoroughly but without expressions. Charlotte felt her ears turn red and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. What should I do? If she jerked her hand away it would be rude but this prolonged handshake was getting extremely awkward. Thankfully when she was still deciding what to do, the professor suddenly let go and motioned her to sit opposite him at the enormous table.
"Professor Hannigan mentioned that you had taken some Anthropology courses when you were in college."
"Yes." Charlotte knotted her fingers uneasily underneath the table. She did not know what to do, the professor continued to fix a dissecting stare on her. What's wrong with this guy? Is there something on my face? She swallowed hard, gathered her nerves and stared back. "Yes, I did. Actually, I majored in Anthropology in college."
"Why did you choose Anthropology?"
"Um...well," Charlotte hesitated, feeling the tips of her ears growing hot again but she couldn't tell him the truth. The real shameful truth. She took a deep breath and said, "I've always been curious about humanity and our past, how our ancestors lived. Civilization would never advance if we didn't know about our past." Which wasn't a lie.
"True." He paused, "I believe you've done a dissertation then? Before you graduated? What was the topic?"
"Yes, I have." She flashed a smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little but the professor kept his blank face on. "The Mayan Civilization."
"I see. On the civilization's sudden demise, I presume?"
"Um...yes, actually." Whatever little confidence Charlotte had when she walked in had diminished. The professor surely did not sound very impressed. Charlotte could already guess the reason. Charlotte had picked the easiest one from the list when she was picking her topic. How she regretted that now.
"Well," Professor Brinkley shifted in his chair and crossed arms in front of his chest, "Tell me about it. Your paper."
"OK." Charlotte cleared her throat as quietly as she could. "Well, the main question was what suddenly drove those people out of their population centers? There were many theories behind the collapse. War, invasion, volcanic activity, drought. The popular theory is that overpopulation and over-farming caused the gradual destruction of the forest, making it inhabitable." The professor took off his glasses and started wiping them with a handkerchief. "Yes, I do not need a recitation of the textbook. So what were your thoughts?"
Charlotte's heart skipped a beat and she flustered, clearly embarrassed. "Um...well...my theory was," she took in a deep breath and continued, "my theory was that the Mayans were skilled farmers. Mayan religion grew primarily out of the need to predict cycles of life in the rain forest. So it was illogical that they suddenly abandoned their practice and destroyed their habitat by over-farming. So I took on another perspective."
"The Mayans were also talented astronomers. They accurately calculated the exact length of the solar year and on numerous counts made predictions about drought, flood and other events that would affect their agriculture."
"What if, what if someone made a prediction about their decline? The prophecy might have predicted a natural disaster, plague or a combination that were to happen. Perhaps it was a prediction so fearful that the kings, priests and noble family who were devoted to their religion believed it so firmly that they fled. Without their leaders, the society slowly crumbled, and eventually resulted in the decline."
"Interesting." The professor pushed his glasses up his nose, crossed his legs and leaned back against his chair, looking opposite of what he just said. "So you believe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy?"
"Yes." Charlotte shifted slightly in her own chair. She knew how she sounded. Even though her essay had received an "Original" remark from her teacher, the grade had just been mediocre.
"And you don't believe in supernatural forces at all?"
"Well, no. Of course not. After all, the subject is based on scientific facts, analyses and testing of hypothesis."
"Right." Charlotte was surprised to see the professor suddenly stood up and extended his hand to her across the table. "Thank you for your time. It was nice meeting you. We'll give you a call when there's a decision."
"You are not going to ask me anything else from my résumé? About the position?" Taken aback, Charlotte blurted out before she could stop herself.
"No, I don't think that's necessary. That'll be all for today."
Charlotte reluctantly rose from her chair and shook his hand. Fortunately, this time the handshake was brief and he just sort of brushed her fingers. The professor walked her to the door and said, "We'll let you know." before shutting it behind her.