He who seeks shelter from the storm shall find eternity...
Brodie Banks stopped to exhale. Her breath hovered in a formless cloud of mist, dissipating quickly in the dry, frigid air as she adjusted her long woolen scarf. The slim butch woman's eyelids fluttered momentarily as she gazed up at the thick blanket of rolling gray clouds overhead. It snowed the night before and the temperature plummeted, glazing the ground beneath her feet with a glittering crust of ice. Crunch, crunch! The world stretched before Brodie, dreamlike, closing the distance between her and an eerily static thicket of trees; the outer reaches of Seaton Dells.
There once was a trail here somewhere, but slowly over time, nature had taken its course and reclaimed the land. Seaton Dells was never a popular spot to visit according to the locals, although it was beautiful—breathtaking—as far as Brodie was concerned. The land made up part of an almost 3,000 acre tract of dense woods, freshwater ponds and streams, and dolomite cliffs that once belonged to the local forest preserve district. But the lack of visitors restored the sprawling landscape to an unparalleled natural beauty. Lately, it had been Brodie's refuge; a place to search for peace and solace. Alone.
Brodie paused for several seconds to admire the dense, dark canopy of trees when she entered the woods. She stood in the nave of this winter cathedral, taking it all in. A twisted network of bare branches reached towards the heavens, and somewhere she could hear a hollow ghostly wail. Brodie pulled a bit of her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose, shuddering against the intense chill.
The butch woman paused for another few seconds, propping herself against the trunk of a stately old birch tree. Brodie's once slim, athletic frame was noticeably pale and gaunt. Her very short tapered brush cut turned silver gray seemingly overnight. It's been three, maybe four days since the last time she'd eaten anything, but Brodie didn't care. Not anymore. It seemed like a lifetime had already passed since she last saw Grace, her partner of over 10 years. But what was the point of sitting down to a meal these days with no one to share it with?
Brodie Banks was a Phys Ed. and Wellness professor at Darby College in Hanover. For 27 years she called the idyllic campus her home and the small student body and faculty her second family. They'd been very good to her. They did what they could to soften the blow and ease the pain that, in a matter of moments, transformed her into a bottomless withered vessel of misery and inner frost.
"Hello, Brodie. Why don't you have a seat? Here, take the high back and make yourself comfortable."
Brodie closed the office door behind her. The Phys Ed. professor's spindly frame settled tentatively into the only other chair in the department head's office.
Amos Stanieck cut a tall, strapping figure of a man. He was in his early 60's and had been teaching at Darby College for longer than anyone else in the athletics department. "I know you've been extremely busy today, and I wanted to respect your valuable time—" The man's voice was cut short by a volley of raps against the office door. "Ah, Dr. Geddes, thank you for coming. I understand Dr. Kjellstrom is busy tending to...the matter at hand." He said. He was referring to the chaplain, Dr. Norbert Kjellstrom. Brodie knew the man, but she rarely spoke to him besides the usual greetings and small talk.
Brodie stared straight ahead. "Afternoon, Helen." She delivered this neutral greeting, wondering what this was all about. Her hazel eyes watered, becoming glazed behind the frames of her glasses. Dr. Geddes softly returned the greeting. The woman stood beside her now, next to the desk.
"Brodie—how long have we known each other?" Amos snatched up a pile of papers on his desk, shuffling them mindlessly before tossing them aside.
"For almost thirty years now..." Brodie's voice trailed off as she struggled to fight the feeling of dread rising from the pit of her stomach. Her colleagues could scarcely hide their strained expressions. And why did they mention Dr. Kjellstrom? Something wasn't right.
Amos turned to the bookshelf behind him. "Care for a drink?" He reached for one of three crystal decanters and produced a small glass from the bottom desk drawer. "If you ladies would forgive me, but...I certainly could use one."
"No, no thank you." Dr. Geddes replied.
Brodie also declined. "You said something about Norbert Kjellstrom. Did something happen recently?"
Amos eyed his seated colleague in grim silence for several seconds, thinking about what he was going to say. He liked Brodie and thought she was a damn good teacher. He wanted to choose his words carefully, but...what was he supposed to say? "Helen, would you like to tell her, or—"
"I think that would be for the best." Dr. Geddes replied. There was no denying the somber tone of her voice, and that God awful feeling of dread grew in the pit of Brodie's stomach. "Something about Grace, then." Brodie's voice had an obvious edge. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She felt trapped.
"Dr. Geddes called me over to Kimzey this morning." Amos paused. He reached for the decanter and replaced it back on the bookshelf with the others. "Simply put, there was an accident in Hanover, on 12th Street near the J.C. Penney downtown." Amos stared directly at his bespectacled colleague, and there was another seconds long pause. "Shit...might as well come out and say it." He sighed audibly. "Grace was on her way to campus and her car was—ah—broadsided..."
The corners of the butch woman's mouth twitched spasmodically. She glanced down at her lap for a moment, not knowing how to answer—or if she should at all. A hand closed over her shoulder, delivering a sympathetic squeeze from Dr. Geddes. "The other driver ran the stop sign." She said plaintively. "Grace was pronounced dead at the scene."
And just like that, Brodie Banks felt the world crumbling and slipping away in a cloud of ash. The corners of her mouth twitched again, and she suddenly let loose with a ferocious cry, startling Dr. Geddes who stumbled back a couple paces, bumping against the wall. "I ah—discussed the matter with Dr. Kjellstrom. That is why he isn't here. He...suggested that it would be best if I relayed the news to you myself...in light of your...living arrangement."
Dr. Grace Kruse, English professor, shared space with Dr. Geddes and four others in Kimzey Hall located next to the Condon Arts Center. For over 10 years, Brodie and Grace had been lovers, sharing a large two story house together in Hanover. Dr. Geddes leaned in to extend her hand across the desk to Amos. "I need to get back to Kimzey...there's some administrative things that need my attention, you understand."
Amos Stanieck replied with a stoic nod. The man's mouth stretched thin as he took the woman's hand and exchanged their goodbyes. "If you need anything, Brodie...someone to talk to..." Dr. Geddes' voice trailed off. It was clear that Brodie wasn't listening.
It was at that explosive, traumatic moment when Brodie realized the strange similarity of time and water; that it can pass slowly, one drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by, sweeping everything away. The arrow of time is measured and constant; a comforting reminder of a world both ordered and deliberate. But now the arrow meant nothing. It was now a weapon of destruction and torture, gouging the seated professor as shock provided a momentary reprieve from physical pain. Amos sensed the shock and emptiness that gutted his bespectacled colleague. He wanted to say something. He knew he needed to say something, but what?
"Brodie, you're one of the kindest, most dedicated instructors on this entire campus...we can't turn back time. It is what it is." The man's mouth stretched in a grim line across his face. "I saw Grace yesterday. Just said 'Hello' and that she was running late for class..." The man stopped. He knew he was rambling and it wasn't helping the situation.
Brodie sat there, unresponsive. The otherwise masculine features of her face distorted in a mask of horror and what Amos guessed was agony. The man was telling the truth, and although he always tried to be diplomatic, the man rarely minced words. Amos and the rest of the Phys Ed. department were used to Brodie and they were aware of her "unconventional"—their words, not hers—relationship with Dr. Kruse. Same sex relationships were unheard of, and it would go without saying that it was forbidden. It could easily have ended her career, and depending on where she traveled, she knew it could just as easily land her in jail. But thankfully, Brodie and Grace got along very well with their colleagues, and as far as she knew, there had been no complaints from the students.
"She—she was still at home when I left this morning..." Brodie whispered, and Amos had to strain to hear his colleague. Several more seconds of mournful silence passed between them. Brodie removed her glasses, and with a visibly shaking hand, held them in front of her face. Her colleague offered her several tissues. She took them and gently rubbed at some imaginary spot on the lenses before putting them back on. "I—I don't know what to say...I can't..."
"You don't have to say anything." Amos replied. "But I think it would be best for you to head home. Dr. Kjellstrom and Dr. Geddes will be by later this evening to check on you." He stood up and offered his hand. Another few seconds passed and Brodie reluctantly took it. "I'll walk you down to your office."
*****
An errant gust of icy wind blew through the canopy of naked trees, and Brodie felt the sting of tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She stopped to lean against the trunk of an ancient oak. She'd pulled off her mittens and jammed them into her coat pockets. The tips of her fingers gripped against the crevices that ran through the bark. Her eyes followed along the chaotic pattern to the base and the snow covered ground of the forest floor. Her eyelids fluttered and a tear escaped, streaking down her hollow cheek until it was lost somewhere in her scarf.
Brodie opened her eyes again, and now she knew she was in another world; a world of suffering. The wind blew across her face again, pricking her skin with a thousand icy needles. She pulled the scarf away from her mouth and gasped, feeling a frigid dryness surround her, filling up her lungs with a feeling of scorching sand. She let out a cough and continued on her way.
Love is two sided; they never warn you of loss. And on that terrible day when she lost Grace, Brodie's entire world collapsed. Amos Stanieck dutifully found a replacement to take over Brodie's classes. She was a graduate student from nearby Western Illinois University. Brodie emptied her mind when she cleared out her office several days later and left the Forslin Athletic Center behind. There were too many memories and she needed to get away; far, far away. But where would she go? Did it matter anymore? As far as Brodie Banks was concerned, when Grace died, her soul died too. In one fateful day, she'd lost everything. Her time to be alone had come.
Grace, my love...
My life,
My...everything!
They shared their first real kiss in the library next to Metcalf Hall. There was a forum assembly about James Joyce's Ulysses. Brodie struggled to recall exactly what went on during the forum. She remembered that Grace was one of the speakers, and although Brodie preferred sports over reading, she was enchanted with the young English professor's presence.
Dr. Grace Kruse was indeed a fine figure of a woman. She was blessed with a statuesque frame and thick, dark auburn hair. Her classic feminine features charmed the Phys Ed. professor from the moment she first set eyes on her. A sexy, youthful fragrance of jasmine and bergamot lingered in the air wherever she went, and Brodie was compelled to follow the radiant young woman through the bookshelves to the back of the library when the forum concluded.
