A long chain of events complicated the coordination of Carols of Care Night. But before we explore that, I am extremely anxious to tell you about a young man I met through my writing.
Before the events of the previous issue, I was writing essays, as mentioned before, to submit for competitive scholarships. Each time, I would take advantage of Bryan College’s Writing Center. And this year, for one of the first appointments I made, I decided to work with someone new.
Now here, I must pause and be honest. Any time I encounter someone new, I quickly form a picture of what I think that person is like. If I meet them in person, this picture is based on their demeanor, and on the things they do and don’t say and do. If it is a virtual meeting, on the phone or via video, I base that picture entirely on their words and their voice.
But a large portion of that image, when I meet someone virtually, is often made before I meet them, by seeing a picture. This was the case when I was selecting a tutor on that particular occasion. I had nothing but faces, and this particular one was the only one who had added a picture. So that’s what I chose by.
Within the first five minutes of my session with Alex, something remarkable started to happen. I had always disliked the idea of going to editors, because even though I know they help me improve my writing, I am never quite so happy with my writing after an editor has gotten involved. But Alex had a way of seeing my work through my eyes, an the advice he gave me resulted in a paper which, for the first time, I truly liked much better after it had been edited by someone else.
The second essay we worked on together was a bit different, but in a good way. Alex read the prompt, read the paper, and told me in a very comprehensible way that the last two-thirds of it needed to be completely reimagined. But unlike in a similar experience I’ve had in the past, he did not send me away to figure it out and get back to him. He stayed right there with me and walked me through a very effective process of figuring out how to rework the paper to answer the prompt.
Alex made one more impression on me, but this comes later.
Carols of Care Night was an ambitious goal. At first, I was not very confident that anyone at Bryan College would be interested. But I was determined to make it happen, and so I convinced my mom—and myself—that I could make it work.
I began by posting flyers. Then, I contacted the Student Life office to ask if students could receive a special type of credit for participating, and they said yes. So I updated all the flyers, created little handout slips to place in stacks around the campus, and waited.
As people started signing up, I kept them informed and coordinated the details with their help. Then, as even more people signed up, I became hopeful. And at about this time, I began hearing that the news of my event was spreading across campus, and it was a regular topic of conversation.
One week before Carols of Care was scheduled to take place, I was warned by one of the people helping me that a possible issue had arisen with regards to the credit that would be given to participants. This drew me into a slightly unrelated conflict because even though it turned out to not affect my event, a few people observed my approach to settling the issue and asked for my help.
Carols of Care Night turned out to e a success. Thirteen students showed up besides myself, and we all went to the hospital near Bryan College, stopping to sing outside of each open door with someone inside.
One encounter in particular made it all worth it. At one of these doors, I saw two older ladies standing at the foot of a bed, as well as the feet of someone I could not see in the bed. As we sang, one of the ladies was moved to tears. When we finished, she came to the door and thanked us, saying that the man in the bed had been asleep all day, but that he had woken up to sing with us.
After we were finished at the hospital, we all went back to Bryan College an sang carols across the campus before gathering for a sort of after party where we enjoyed cookies and hot chocolate in a room called the Lion’s Den.
Now I mentioned the fact that Alex left an impression on me in ways other than as an editor. This actually began on the Friday prior to Carols of Care, when Alex came to see me at Bryan. As we discussed things like school and writing and Christmas, I noticed a few little things about him that intrigued me. But when we went our separate ways, I did not expect to see him again. He was a senior at Bryan College, and his time as a writing tutor had abruptly ended right after I discovered him. He was older than me, easy-going, charming and good-looking, and he had a lot on his plate for the next semester.
But I did see him again, at the get-together we had after Carols of Care. Some of the girls were talking about Christmas movies, and I was about to join a smaller group to discuss campus politics.
I don’t know why Alex was in that building, and I suppose it doesn’t matter. Perhaps he was leaving the cafeteria, in which case he would have had to pass the Lion’s Den. But he hadn’t come caroling with us, even though he had wanted to, because his workload had become too heavy.
Nevertheless, he stopped by the Lions Den to pay me a visit, and we talked some more about school and writing an Christmas—mostly Christmas this time.
I doubt that this meant anything to him, but it meant a great deal to me. As I have told you before, I am not used to people actually wanting to be around me. Even though I have been experiencing it for sixteen months at Bryan College, it is still an anomaly to me.
The last time I saw him was on Monday, while I was at Bryan that morning. I told a part of this story in the previous issue, but I did not tell you much about the time I spent with Alex because something more pressing was heavy on my mind.
I am pretty sure that Alex was going somewhere. He had stopped along his way to chat with a group of about eight people nearby, and then he went on. But instead of continuing on his way, he stopped and sat down by me.
At first, we talked a bit about writing. He told me that he was looking forward to reading my new revision of the re-imagined essay, and that he would be happy to help me with other writings as he had time. But then, after we stopped talking, he did not get up and leave. He just sat there as we each did our own thing.
Now that I think about it, that was the first time that someone stayed longer than for conversation, and I felt more at home in that moment than I had ever felt, even at Bryan College.
That same day, I asked him to pray for me because I sensed that something was wrong. I opened this story in the previous issue, and now I shall set about telling you more of it.