Professor Jackson rose from a deep slumber. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and he began to rub them with the knuckles of his index fingers as he assessed his whereabouts. He noticed an empty whisky bottle next to the mattress which laid on the floor. He looked around, breathing deeply and brushing his fingers through his thick hair. His elbow brushed warm skin, and he suddenly recalled the previous night. Rosalie lay there, in a deep sleep of her own, a deep sleeper by nature, and even more so after a night such as they’d had. He brushed the auburn hair from her face and gazed at her simple beauty, then he climbed from the warm cocoon. She’d be gone when he came home.

He walked into the bathroom, and stared bleary eyed at the unfamiliar face in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved in days, and dark bags had formed under his eyes. He opened the lid of the dirty toilet, urinated profusely, then washed his hands and face in the sink. In the corner of the bathroom lay a pile of yesterday’s clothes. He picked them up, sniffed the shirt where the sleeve met the body, and shrugged to himself.

Eleven minutes after nine a.m. he entered the lecture hall. The students were mostly present, though some were yawning, and staring blankly at their various screens, and a few were likely asleep. Jackson coughed as he walked to the podium, and then slammed his leather binder down against the finished wood. A resounding smack filled the hall. A head sprung up in the second row with eyes that looked wildly around for danger. 

“Nothing to fear Alex, it’s only me.” Jackson looked at the boy and forced a smile, the kind you see from strangers on sidewalks. He pressed the power button on the projector, and unfolded his laptop. 

“Has anyone here ever heard of Marcus Aurelius?”

Professor Jackson pulled into the BP station near the college. He pulled the small lever that released the gas cap, and opened the door of his small blue sedan. He walked to the pump and inserted his card, then waited for the machine to talk. The small screen rebuked him, displaying the message “Declined, See Cashier”

“Fuck you” Jackson kicked the pump a little, then looked around to see if anyone had noticed his tiny outburst.

He sauntered into the station, shoulders slouched, bothered by the failure of technology. He waited in line while the woman in front of him bought a Diet Pepsi and a pack of Marlboro Menthols. He shook his head lightly at her as she walked past and exhaled audibly through his nostrils. Then, he extended his card, without looking at the cashier, and opened his mouth to speak, when he was cut off.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” He looked up and squinted at the cashier. He was an old man, with dark skin and a questioning look on his face. The man raised one eyebrow above the other, and slightly pursed his lips. 

“What-is-the-matter-with-you?” He pointed an old finger at Jackson. “What is the problem with you? You walked in here all angry about something, and shook your head at Barbara there as she walked past. Something is wrong, and I’m asking, what is it.” The words what is it, came out breathy and sharp.

Jackson was taken back by the cashier’s grit, though immediately he felt a sense of respect for the old man. He gathered himself, and sighed before he spoke. “Well, that pump out there wouldn’t process my card, but, other than that, nothing else is really-on my mind. I suppose I just let myself slip into anger.”

“That’s a shame. That’s how it gets ya.” The man shook his head, then extended a weathered hand to Jackson. “My name is Earl. What’s yours?”

“Greg. It’s a pleasure to meet you Earl.”

“The pleasure is all mine Greg.” Earl noticed Jackson’s clothing, not quite nice enough to be a lawyer’s or a doctor’s, and not quite casual enough to be anything else. “You must be a professor at the university.” 

“Yes, I am actually, Philosophy-Professor of Philosophical Studies” 

Earl grinned from ear to ear, displaying a full set of healthy teeth.

“How about that? I’ve been standing here all morning philosophizing, and here you are, a certified professor of philosophical studies, walking in here angry about a gas pump.”

Jackson chuckled deeply. “I see how that seems strange.” He instinctively stroked his chin.

Earl raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “So what do you tell those kids? Do they learn anything from you?”

“That’s the idea-” He paused, pondering for a moment how much of his inner man to share with Earl, then decided quickly that he was fond of Earl and that he deserved the truth, he continued, “but lately it seems like they just don’t care.”

“Well, do they know how to think?”

“No, no. It doesn’t seem that most of them do. Interesting you should ask, this has been a burden on my back for some time now. I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Teach them how to think!” Shouted Earl, waving his hands as he spoke. 

“Yes, that’s right, but I have requirements, curriculum requirements, and rules of conduct, if I take a wrong step, I could lose my job.”

Earl sighed deeply, and adopted a solemn expression.

 “Son, you have lost your way.”

Jackson looked deeply into the man’s ancient eyes, then conceded. “Yes, Earl, It seems I have.”

“It’s gonna be alright, my friend. We all lose our way at some point. Let me ask you something, think it might help you out. Have you read from The Golden Sayings of Epictetus?”

“Yes of course, it’s one of my favorites, it’s sitting on my bookshelf in my apartment.”

“Do you recall when Epictetus writes of the necessity of a student to possess the skill of hearing, the talent to listen to a philosopher, and to move the speaker?”

“Yes, I do. That’s very true.”

“Yes it certainly is. See, hear me a little. If you love this life, the life of a philosopher, you must teach, but if your pupils do not hear, you must go within them, and prompt them deeply, yet still only they have the ability to change their will.” 

Jackson thought for a moment, and they stood there looking at each other. 

“Excuse me” A small woman appeared from behind Jackson. She sighed irritably and waved her little arms at her sides, clearly flustered by the length of their conversation.

“Can I buy some gas!?”

“Yes, ma’am, you may, right after my friend Greg here buys his.”

The next day Jackson was right on time. He waited for every student to enter the lecture hall and take their seats, then nonchalantly walked over to the light switches and flipped them all to the downward position. Darkness filled the hall, and a gasp traveled through the crowd of students, followed by a few giggles and questioning remarks. 

After a while, one bold student spoke, “Professor, why did you turn the lights off?”

“Good question, uh, whoever you are.”

“It’s Jamie”

“Good question, Jamie. Would you like me to turn them back on?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you want the lights to come back, why must there be light?” Jackson’s energy was rising.

There was a pause, and then the student spoke hesitantly. “So I can see?”

Jackson flipped the lights to the upward position, and the room was once again illuminated in a sterile academic light. 

Jackson walked emphatically back to the podium.“That is the first lesson of the day. We need light-to see.”

The giggles continued, and a murmur moved through the hall, from one friend to another, “What’s gotten into him?”

“I want you all to leave your seats. Leave your laptops behind, and come to the front of the hall, all of you, and sit on the floor.”

The students, some excitedly, some reluctantly, left the comfort of their familiar habitation and moved out into the vulnerable new space. Jackson motioned for them to sit all around the front of the hall.

“Some of you sit in the first row there, so we can all fit.”

Once the students had taken their places, and were looking around at each other, Jackson sat down in the center of the group.

“I want you to ask why. For the rest of this class, I will not require reading, I want you to wonder, and if you’re moved to read, and to write, then I will accept your work. To receive a passing grade in this class you will do one thing, you will genuinely ask why, and search your hearts, and the hearts of others, to find your answers. My aim is to make good people out of you, to give you something more valuable than any material possession, knowledge, and understanding that you may hold fast to, when the storms beat upon your door. So let’s begin right away, who has a question.”

A hand shot up out of the corner of the group.

“Yes Mark.”

Mark grinned, excited to be doing something out of the ordinary. “Why do we feel pain?”

“And just like that we’ve asked a question that people have been pondering since the beginning of history. What is pain? Does anyone have an answer?”

Another hand, this one slowly rising from behind a curly headed student.

“Yes”

“Pain is the sensation of hurting.”

“Hmm. Lewis would say that you are partially correct, though pain seems to exist on a spectrum. What sensations we enjoy, may easily turn to pain if exaggerated. So is pain only the exaggeration of a pleasant sensation?”

Now the students were beginning to think. One spoke without raising her hand.

“Not all pain is physical, what about emotional pain?”

“Yes, yes, now we are going somewhere, you see how each question, though simple at first, gives birth to another, and to another, and each demands an answer.”

The class had awoken from its thousand year slumber.

Over the next month, the students grew into an organic machine. They left the conventions of college and regular life at the door, and focused primarily on thought, on truth, on answers. They monitored their phones, waiting for the clock to read nine a.m., and entered the hall with smiles on their faces. Some students had begun to bring in unassigned materials, books on theology, natural science, philosophy, in answer to a specific question. The projector screen had been rolled up, and Jackson had requested a rolling blackboard and chalk. Each day they would ask a question, and write their thoughts on the board, until a magnificent picture emerged, and there was something to be taken away. 

Jackson was alive again, and the energy that he found in the hall seeped into the rest of his life. He cleaned his apartment, mopped his floors, and bought flowers for Rosalie. When she arrived at his door, she saw a man she knew long ago. They spent the nights together, howling with laughter, making art, making love. 

Jackson pulled into the BP station. Filled with life, and excited to share it with Earl, he walked confidently from his sedan and through the glass and aluminum doors into the little station. 

“Greg, you’ve got a pep in your step today!”

“Hey Earl, I was hoping I’d see you here.”

They shook hands and smiled at each other. The music of Ravi Shankar was quietly playing through the small black speakers in the corner of the room.

Jackson noticed the unusual rhythm .“Is that a sitar?” 

“Yessir, that’s the Shankar groove, gets me thinking differently”

“It’s wonderful.”

 They both tapped their feet to the eastern music, trying to find the timing. 

Greg spoke, his feet still moving with the notes. 

“Earl, what you said to me, it fixed me right up. The kids are learning, and they want to come to class, and talk about everything.”

Earl chuckled happily and clapped his hands together. 

“That is wonderful. Praise God.”

“So I was thinking the other day, would you want to come join us for a few classes, the students would ask you more than you’ve ever been asked before.”

Earl was elated, and his wrinkled eyelids opened wide over the yellow spheres beneath. 

“Well, heck yes I would, that sounds like a damn good time. I’m going on break, wanna come with me?”

“Sure thing.”

The pair walked outside, and sat on the curb together, watching the cars move swiftly past. Earl took a half of a cigar from his shirt pocket, and held it between his lips as he pondered something. He lit it and nodded his head.

 “I want to know what you think about this. I’ve got this woman, lives in the same building as I do. She bothers the hell out of me, she’s always making noise, and she doesn’t seem to care about anyone else but herself. She’ll talk your ear off for an hour without you getting a single word in sidewise. Now, I’ve ready plenty of books, and I know what Jesus would say, and I’m still bothered. I get so bothered I go outside and curse at the pigeons. She downright spoils me when I see her. Her ignorance, it seeps into my bones, the ugliness of her pride, and it follows me out, and tells me what to say.”

Greg grinned, and laughed a little. “Yep. Sounds like my sister. Never thought kindly of her naturally, it was hard work. She was selfish, but didn’t seem to know it, and yet she acted like a cancer in our family, and in all her relationships. She died, and I feel a little better about her, but I think that’s cause I don't see her anymore.” 

Earl nodded again, then he put his hands out and raised his palms.

“So what can I do? I feel like I’m lying to myself if I give her a big dumb smile and a thumbs up and say uh-huh whenever she takes a breath.”

“I’d say bake some cookies, and give some to her, but don’t stick around. Assert your boundaries while being kind to her. That’s the only way I’ve found, maybe pray about it too.”

Earl nodded and took a drag from his cigar. “That’s good.”

A few months passed, and the class grew closer, though the consequences of the newly opened minds were beginning to manifest. Teachers had been complaining that some of their students had been asking too many questions, and talking too much in class, and a few had stopped going to the rest of their classes altogether. An administrator had stopped by to talk to Jackson, and was appalled when she saw all of the students lounging on the floor, drinking cups of coffee together, asking questions to an elderly man who sat in a chair, waving his arms around wildly as he spoke.

There were so many complaints from parents that the class was put under official review. Some of the students had been disobeying their parents' wishes, and giving good reasons for doing so, which the parents had no way of responding to. One student called Martha told her parents that she no longer wanted to be a doctor.

“No, Dad, I don’t think it’s a rash decision. I don’t think I ever wanted to be a doctor, it just seemed like the natural thing to do, you know, because you and mom. What’ll I do instead? I’m thinking of going to the Amazon, you know, to help save the rainforest, well actually it is very important.”

Professor Jackson was placed before a panel of administrators.

The first admin spoke, a thin bird-like woman who wore a baggy floral pantsuit that hung from her tiny body. The staff called her The Buzzard behind her back.

“Professor, what on earth is going on in your class?” She shrieked. “There have been various-” She held enunciated the word various sharply, and then paused for emphasis before continuing “-complaints, and, you,” She pointed directly at Jackson, “seem to be single handedly corrupting the young minds of our esteemed college.”

Jackson nodded respectfully, then responded.

“Ms. Johnson, I plead guilty.” He raised both of his hands in the air, and smiled at the panel. “I have had the best month of my teaching career. I am overflowing with life, and I could get up and dance. I met a wonderful man named Earl at the gas station down the road, and took some of his advice, and since that day, my students have begun to enjoy coming to class, and now, they’re actually learning and contributing to the world. My ex wife is living with me again, and my house is clean. I’ve got nothing else to say for myself.”

Another member of the panel spoke. He was an older man, dignified and respected at the college. “Professor, although your new methods are, well, far from, well, traditional, I, um, have noticed that, that their impact has not been solely negative.”

“Why, thank you, I think that must be a compliment.” Jackson responded.  

The panelist, charmed by Jackson, stifled a laugh, and then continued.

“Though some of your students have stopped attending class altogether, I’d say, that the majority of them, have, become, more vocal, and also, embraced leadership in their classes, not to mention demonstrating a, high level of virtue. I am very impressed by the rapid change which I have noticed.” The voice in the room which held the most weight had spoken. 

After the trial, Greg went to Earl’s apartment behind the station and picked him up, then picked up Rosalie, and they drove together to the five dollar movie matinee listening to Marvin Gaye, grooving with the windows down as a light rain began to fall.