Fourth Floor

Fourth Floor. The view from my office door, looking north, There's Tyler's rolling cart--a custodial bin  and all the necessary paraphernalia. He must be just inside the office--a small, tucked-away space with janitorial sink and stacks of supplies. The custodians come in at about 5:15, ready for the evening shift. There were years when all the students knew their names--that was Jude's time, I think--he managed to be as much a part of their lives as any of the faculty. Certainly if we go by day-to-day connection. Glances exchanged, a word here or there. Jude  being such an extrovert, that part was easy. But he also took an interest in the kids' lives--listened to what they'd tell him at 1 or 2AM... A confidant.

Tyler is young--not much older than the students themselves, which must set up a different psychology. Not the father-figure or sympathetic uncle, but an unknown peer. So that he tends to stay within the charmed circle of his own employ. Better that way, for him, no doubt. Or maybe he's just reticent--probably more aware of all these fine-grained distinctions, and the ways they've played out in his own life.

However, he always likes it when I remember his name--and I do make it a point, so that when I come in myself, about that time, we often arrive together.
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Above--the unadorned heating pipes, ventilation ducts, fluorescent fixtures. The building was intended to reveal these things--it's own workings, so to speak. Just as we reveal our own as well...

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