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Uptown, in a small shared apartment near Columbia University, thirty-two year old Tyler Jones woke up with cold beads of sweat on his light brown skin. Another strange dream, and he’d been having more of them lately, but didn’t know why. They were violent; he wondered, “Why was this happening”? Despite the troubling dream, he felt a sense of peace. He wasn’t sure how to rationalize that.
His father Henry had talked to him about stuff like this, and always tried to get spiritual with him, which Tyler resented. Let me come to my own conclusions, he had told his dad. He showered and took his pills. If he told his dad about his nightmares, his parents might have Tyler committed to the mental hospital again, but the hospital never helped. Working was what helped. He did appreciate his counselors, though.
He got ready to meet one of the students he tutored.
The next morning, Tyler finished working with Cami at a Starbucks; he packed his things and got up to leave. They had worked on some basic algebraic equations, and a light went on in Cami’s mind. She had been struggling with her high school math, and Tyler was effective in helping her to see how the different pieces of complex problems could be broken down into smaller, more manageable sections: “That was a great session, Mr. Jones, it really helped!”
“Thanks for the latte!”, Tyler said, as he made his way to the door.
“Take care, Mr. Jones!”
“You too, Cami!”
©2008-2013 By Brendan Shea (FitzGerald Press, USA)