Professor Walker

         Outside of his door, I paused to calm my stomach. I felt like a tuning fork, everything around setting me vibrating. I took a breath and knocked on the door.
         "Yes?" his distinctive voice was still the same. It was years since I had last heard it, but I remember fellow students practicing their imitations of it, the way college students make fun of their favorite professors.
         I popped my head around the corner. "Hey, 'fessor Walker, you got a minute?" I asked, the same way I used to ask it, whenever I wanted to bug him about some book I had read or poem I had written.
         He looked up, surprise plainly written across his face, surprise and...pleasure? Yes, pleasure, he was happy to see me. My day, heck my year had just been made and he hadn't even said anything yet.
         "Heather! Come in! Its good to see you, how are you?" Those words look so plain written down now, but the way he said them, the wide smile on his face, the way he straightened up in his chair and gestured with his crippled hand, my eyes filled with tears.
         "Hey, 'fessor Walker," I said again, "how are you?" and I walked over and bent down to give him a gentle hug. I went on before he could say anything, "I know you don't have much time, you have a class at two, right?"
         "Yes, I'm afraid I do," he said, casting a regretful look at the clock on his desk. It was 1:40.
         "That's okay, I'm just passing through town, I have to be back at the airport at three. This is just a layover." I took another breath, assailed by doubts, but I ignored them and pressed on. "I just wanted to drop something off for you real quick..really quickly." One should watch her grammer with an English Professor.
         I held out the wrapped package. He took it, carefully holding it between his two crippled hands, one below and one on top, balancing it. He set it on his lap, on top of his ever-present yellow legal pad and pens. He looked up at me.
         "A book?" He smiled. "One you think I should read? I can't unwrap it, would you?" He nudged it a bit closer to me. I panicked for a second. I hadn't meant to be there when he opened it. I had meant to drop it off and run, leaving him to see what it was on his own. Stupid idiot, I KNEW he wouldn't be able to open it.
         On the outside, I simply raised my eyebrows and shrugged. "I've given up on trying to get everyone to read my favorite books till I read every book I want to first. You could take it home and open it there. You don't have much time now."
         "It will never happen." We both smiled, well aware of the hopeless task of reading all the great books in the world. "Open it now." He nudged it closer to me again. "I have enough time to see what it is."
         I picked up the gaily wrapped package and carefully took the paper off, concentrating on keeping it nice. I don't usually care that much about wrapping paper. My hands weren't shaking, but they should have been.
         "Here you go." I laid the book back on his lap and fought the urge to run. I couldn't believe I was doing this. Why hadn't I just mailed it? Then I would never have to talk to him again, it would all be over. I leaned casually against his desk, trying to figure out what expression my face should wear.
         He manuvered the book on his lap, lifting it closer to his face to see the cover better. It was a plain cover, dark green with gold letters. The letters said, "With What I Have," by Heather McWhorter.
         He looked at the cover for a moment. Then he looked at me. "You wrote this?" he didn't sound surprised.
         "Yep. My first book. Not all that great, but better than some of the stuff out there." Carelessness and bravado. No wonder so many people thought I was arrogant. I stood up hurriedly. "'fessor Walker, I have to go. I hate rushing in an airport. I'm so glad I got to see you and all, I hope you like the book," and with a few other hurried comments I escaped the room.
         Outside his door, I squatted below his window and peered through a small crack in his blinds. This is ridiculous. I am spying on Professor Walker after dumping him so abruptly. I am really pathetic but I couldn't just leave after coming so close. I could see his face smiling at the door, and then looking back down at the book. He looked as his clock on the desk, standing next to candles I had given him for his wedding. Looking back down at the book in his lap, he opened it to the first page.
I saw his face go blank as he read it, and I ran out of the building before I could see what expression replaced it.




To Professor Walker, my first english professor,
Who from his wheelchair walked me through worlds I'd never dreamed of.
He taught me the love of reading, the mystery of language and the courage of writing, and if there is any small thing good in this it is due to him. Thank you 'fessor Walker.


This is not a true story. I have not published any book. Yet. When I do, however, the above dedication will be on the first page. How I will ever show it to him don't know. I'll probably mail it.

It's amazing what you can do when you must.---H.C.M.D.