WARREN
As October brought about the golden and fiery leaves of fall, I found it fitting that it was the spookiest month of the year. I had a ghost following me around. She had brown eyes, heartbreaking curves, and her name was Millie Jackson. I hadn’t been able to approach her since that day in Caleb’s office. I didn’t have the words to explain myself, to maybe even apologize for causing her discomfort, but more than anything I didn’t have the time.
Midterms were filling up everyone’s plate. The libraries were packed, and essays and papers were piling up in my office. After another long test, I took the blue books of test paper from the empty classroom and stepped out into the chilly air. My feet followed their usual path back to the humanities building, and along the way, I could have sworn I smelled something sweet.
I looked up, half-expecting to see Millie and breathe in another hint of her perfume, but it was a coffee shop across the corner. The day’s special was a chai vanilla latte.
That doesn’t sound too bad,I thought to myself.
One large latte later, I wandered back to my office where I worked on my latest project for a few hours, letting the campus empty. Fall break was just around the corner, and I wondered if those few days would finally give me my chance with Millie. I didn’t realize how much time passed between grading and thoughts of her. When I next looked up, it was already past five, and I was eager to get home. It was only then an email popped into my inbox.
Five seconds from shutting down for the day, my eyes stopped at the name.
Millicent Jackson.
I didn’t know what to think for a moment. The subject line was vague, but I had to click it. I couldn’t drive home safely with this email hanging over me. With the way she had my mind wandering, I’d likely find the front of my car smashed into a tree.
Warren, I know it’s been some days since we’ve spoken, but I didn’t know who else to ask. It’s been two days since I’ve seen Caleb. The department will only say he’s taken leave. Nobody is willing to offer me details, and the few texts I got from Caleb are vague. I didn’t know if you had heard anything or knew what was going on. Based on the way the department chair spoke about it, I don’t think he’s sick, but I think that worries me more.
Can you at least let me know if he’s okay?
Millie
Her phone number was listed below.
I stared at the email, wondering what it meant. If Millie was genuinely concerned, then I knew I needed to be too. I quickly called up Caleb. All I got was a voicemail.
Should I go home, like normal, or should I go check in on my friend?
It wasn’t a hard decision. Packing up, I texted Caleb to let him know I was on my way. That actually got a response.
Why?he answered.
I only gave him two words back.
Blame Millie.
He should know why. He was my friend. I didn’t know what had happened, but his lack of contact galvanized me to check in on him. I didn’t know what he might need or if he needed anything at all. Worst case scenario, I might need to offer my colleague some liquid comfort. I stopped for a bottle of scotch just to be on the safe side. I didn’t listen to music as I drove over to the neighborhood close to the university. Parking in the designated visitor’s spot, I grabbed the brown bag and headed up into the renovated Brownstone building. I knocked on the door, standing back to wait for Caleb to respond.
He didn’t.
“Caleb!” I called through the apartment door. “You knew I was coming!”
I knocked again, and finally, he came to the door. His face was colorless and haggard, and I could tell he hadn’t slept at all. With his eyes looking at nothing, he wore a bathrobe and sweatpants with no shirt. There was a five o’clock shadow on his jaw. His hair was in disarray, and his feet were bare.
“Holy shit,” I swore under my breath, easing my way past him. “What happened to you?”
“Why should I blame Millie?” he asked flatly.
“Because nobody’s told her why you haven’t been into the office, so I had to come here and find out for us both.”
“You talked to her?”
I shook my head. “She sent me an email this afternoon.”
Caleb didn’t answer. He let the door drop without bothering to close it, shuffling back to the leather couch. This was worse than I thought. Something was seriously wrong. The apartment had always been a little untidy. It was part of Caleb’s charm, I guess. He had books in his windowsill and plants in his kitchen. People liked that sort of thing, but his place now… I didn’t know whether to call it depressed college kid or brooding hermit.
Takeout boxes littered the kitchen beside piles of paperwork. The air smelled musty yet stale. Nothing about this felt good or healthy, but I said nothing about it. Instead, I went to the kitchen, found two clean glasses, and fixed us both a scotch on the rocks.