I am gliding through the alleys of this university campus. It’s pretty late, I came here to drop a package off at a mailbox as I live across the street, but it was just an excuse to go for a walk after dinner.
I know this place better than most, I used to work here, briefly, for my doctorate, and I never imagined I’d still be around so many years later. It was more than a job, it felt like a calling. In the end it was not all that, just a tiny step towards somewhere else, but it was my world for a time.
I see some people working late, their outlines hunched over their desks, or staring at their computer screens. Their windows are bright islands on an otherwise dark canvas. Their offices are basic, utilitarian - scratched drywall, stained carpet, desk, chair, coat rack, ornamental plant, painted metal door. I had an office like this, too.
I still remember how it was. The drive to get a new result - sometimes any result would do, the joy of working with a purpose, the freedom to focus on your work, the time pressure, the empty page, the loneliness, the uncertainty, the desire to give up, the need to make it to the end, the emptiness when it was all over.
I should move, make my way back home. I only need to cross the street, but my life is worlds away now. I’m prone to melancholy, but I have no big regrets, only memories. It wouldn’t be me here thinking this, otherwise.
I turn to leave, the corridors and halls and cafeterias are silent behind me. The buzzing of the electric lights is fading now, and in a few minutes I am back in the present.
I open my front door and see her. Sleepy, but still awake, she was waiting up for me.
St-Sulpice, July 2025
