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Tuesday, 24 January 1989, McGill
Jan. 24th, 2010 08:48 amIt’s the point in the term when things aren’t quite still new, but they’re also not yet routine. In another week or so, Meg’s days will proceed down well worn paths, but for now, she’s still finding the best way to get from point A to class B, what the breaks and rushes and rhythms are.
It makes her both more and less aware of her surroundings, in different ways. More because she has not yet seen them all. Less because, with no ordinary established, there’s no out-of-the-ordinary to catch her attention.
And yet.
And yet today she has an odd little feeling, like a prickling at the back of her neck, an awareness of something, though she can’t find anything to be aware of. She can neither bring it into focus nor completely ignore it.
Something is just . . . off. Not necessarily wrong, but not right. Out-of-the-not-yet-existing-ordinary.
And she hates it. It’s distracting her from her professor’s lecture, it makes her feel on edge and paranoid. There’s no evidence, no reason for it, nothing she can see or name or quantify that should be picking at her attention like this.
And yet.
In simplest terms, Meg Ford feels like she’s being watched.
And no matter how many times, or how sternly, she tells herself to focus on her class, stop being ridiculous, she can’t quite shake it.
So, in some ways, it’s not a surprise to step out into the hallway after Professor Tousignant’s class and see Roe-bear McCrory standing opposite the door.
And in others, many many others, it’s the most startled Meg’s been in ages. It’s stop-breathing-and-stare, train-of-thoughts-just-utterly-derailed, Holy-God-in-Heaven levels of startled.
Followed by rationalization. He could have a class in this building. He could be waiting for someone else. He could . . . he could . . . he could . . .
“Meg.”
He could be waving and calling her name.
He is waving and calling her name.
Meg decides to pretend she hasn’t heard him and just walk away. There should be plenty of people between here and the library right now, she can hole up there as long as she needs—wants to, as long as she wants to, because she doesn’t need to because it’s not like he’s going to actually follow her.
And then there’s a hand on her shoulder, and she stops automatically because that’s the way Alain tends to greet her, because even if it weren’t, you stop when someone puts a hand on your shoulder.
Even if, a split second later, you’ve shrugged that hand off your shoulder.
Even if stopping was almost the very last thing you meant to do.
She knows who she’s going to find when she turns around, and it’s not going to be Alain.
“Meg, hey. Didn’t you hear me call you?” Roe-bear asks.
“No, sorry,” Meg says, and a voice in her head says, Dammit, Meghan, do not apologize to this guy.
It sounds oddly like Parker.
“Oh,” Roe-bear says. “Well, I’m glad I caught you.”
Caught you. Not caught up with you or caught your attention. Just caught you and she might be over-analyzing, and she might be over-reacting, but the phrasing makes her tense even more.
“How have you been? Did you have a good Christmas break?”
“Fine, thank you,” Meg says.
“I was really hoping I was going to run into you again,” Roe-bear says. “You know, our last meeting had a real negative vibe, and that’s not cool.”
Their last meeting, which had been more than a month ago, and at which she told him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone.
Trust your instincts, Parker said, and what Meg’s instincts tell her right now is that she does not want to be anywhere near this guy. She’ll worry about the rest of it later.
“Excuse me,” she says, cutting off whatever it is he’s going on about, “but I’m meeting someone, and I need to go.”
(It’s a lie, this time, she’s not meeting anyone. Not Alain, not anyone.)
“Oh?” Roe-bear says, looking around the now emptying hallway. “Where?”
“The library,” she says. It’s the first place that comes into her mind.
“I’ll walk with you, then. We can talk on the way.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“I don’t mind,” he says, and puts his hand on her bag, like he expects to carry her books or something.
Meg tightens her grip on the bag, and looks around.
And there is one place, and only one place, she can see that she thinks there’s even a chance he won’t follow her.
“Excuse me,” Meg says, tugs her bag free, and steps through the ladies’ room door.
It makes her both more and less aware of her surroundings, in different ways. More because she has not yet seen them all. Less because, with no ordinary established, there’s no out-of-the-ordinary to catch her attention.
And yet.
And yet today she has an odd little feeling, like a prickling at the back of her neck, an awareness of something, though she can’t find anything to be aware of. She can neither bring it into focus nor completely ignore it.
Something is just . . . off. Not necessarily wrong, but not right. Out-of-the-not-yet-existing-ordinary.
And she hates it. It’s distracting her from her professor’s lecture, it makes her feel on edge and paranoid. There’s no evidence, no reason for it, nothing she can see or name or quantify that should be picking at her attention like this.
And yet.
In simplest terms, Meg Ford feels like she’s being watched.
And no matter how many times, or how sternly, she tells herself to focus on her class, stop being ridiculous, she can’t quite shake it.
So, in some ways, it’s not a surprise to step out into the hallway after Professor Tousignant’s class and see Roe-bear McCrory standing opposite the door.
And in others, many many others, it’s the most startled Meg’s been in ages. It’s stop-breathing-and-stare, train-of-thoughts-just-utterly-derailed, Holy-God-in-Heaven levels of startled.
Followed by rationalization. He could have a class in this building. He could be waiting for someone else. He could . . . he could . . . he could . . .
“Meg.”
He could be waving and calling her name.
He is waving and calling her name.
Meg decides to pretend she hasn’t heard him and just walk away. There should be plenty of people between here and the library right now, she can hole up there as long as she needs—wants to, as long as she wants to, because she doesn’t need to because it’s not like he’s going to actually follow her.
And then there’s a hand on her shoulder, and she stops automatically because that’s the way Alain tends to greet her, because even if it weren’t, you stop when someone puts a hand on your shoulder.
Even if, a split second later, you’ve shrugged that hand off your shoulder.
Even if stopping was almost the very last thing you meant to do.
She knows who she’s going to find when she turns around, and it’s not going to be Alain.
“Meg, hey. Didn’t you hear me call you?” Roe-bear asks.
“No, sorry,” Meg says, and a voice in her head says, Dammit, Meghan, do not apologize to this guy.
It sounds oddly like Parker.
“Oh,” Roe-bear says. “Well, I’m glad I caught you.”
Caught you. Not caught up with you or caught your attention. Just caught you and she might be over-analyzing, and she might be over-reacting, but the phrasing makes her tense even more.
“How have you been? Did you have a good Christmas break?”
“Fine, thank you,” Meg says.
“I was really hoping I was going to run into you again,” Roe-bear says. “You know, our last meeting had a real negative vibe, and that’s not cool.”
Their last meeting, which had been more than a month ago, and at which she told him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone.
Trust your instincts, Parker said, and what Meg’s instincts tell her right now is that she does not want to be anywhere near this guy. She’ll worry about the rest of it later.
“Excuse me,” she says, cutting off whatever it is he’s going on about, “but I’m meeting someone, and I need to go.”
(It’s a lie, this time, she’s not meeting anyone. Not Alain, not anyone.)
“Oh?” Roe-bear says, looking around the now emptying hallway. “Where?”
“The library,” she says. It’s the first place that comes into her mind.
“I’ll walk with you, then. We can talk on the way.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
“I don’t mind,” he says, and puts his hand on her bag, like he expects to carry her books or something.
Meg tightens her grip on the bag, and looks around.
And there is one place, and only one place, she can see that she thinks there’s even a chance he won’t follow her.
“Excuse me,” Meg says, tugs her bag free, and steps through the ladies’ room door.
