Two weeks since I've last spoken to Harlan have come and gone.
I half expected him not to put in his notice, but he does.
It is strange, reading the email that he sends to my class, that another professor will be taking over in two weeks' time. For the entire duration I've been at college, I know Harlan to be the brooding and foreboding English department head. It is nearly impossible to picture him as anything different.
The two weeks go by in a daze. I don't speak after class. I barely look at him. Every time I sense his eyes on me, I feel as though I'll crack under his gaze. I avert his eyes under all costs, waiting. Waiting silently for him to come to me, to tell me that he's been wrong, that he's been cruel, and that he won't leave, and that he wants me by his side.
He never does.
