Chapter Six

[November 15th, 1968]

“The James-Lange theory was proposed independently by two men,” Professor Drosselmeyer began his lesson, “William James and Carl Lange. The theory states that an emotion can be induced by an action. The following example is based on observations made by James.” 

Knowing Professor Drosselmeyer, he had his own unique way of teaching us these subjects. Especially when it came to teaching my father when he was a student in his classes. It was kind of obvious on why I would take said-course but also because the way that he explains subjects is really hilarious yet informative

“Now, imagine this. You see a bear in a forest,” he continued to explain his lesson, “Common sense tells you that if you run away, the action of running is motivated by fear. On the other hand, according to James, common sense tells only half of the story. It is equally true that running makes you feel fear. At first presentation this does not seem reasonable. On the other hand, reflection suggests that the act of running has the effect of increasing arousal. If you were simply to get up now and run in place for two or three minutes, you would increase your pulse and heart rate; there would be increased arousal.”

Looking around me, I did notice the majority of the students in the class either paying attention and taking notes or they were too busy reading the latest issue of Superman or Batman to even care about what was even going on in the world. Indeed, I was in the middle of those two opposing sides. At one point, I was taking notes and paying attention to what Professor Drosselmeyer had to give us but at the same time, I was not as focused as I usually am. 

It was because of that event happening on the last night in Vegas. With the monster through the looking-glass and the fact it was midnight when it occurred; mentioning my past along with the “little toy” protecting me. There were many things that were said the fateful night; Teresa found me on the floor the next morning and took me to the nearest clinic in Vegas before we left. It was a wonder why Drosselmeyer was eyeing the bandages and bruises that were stapled onto my body like I was just reconstructed. 

The small sketches on my notes didn’t help leave the imagination and memories away from my mind. I kept glancing at the clock before eyeing back at my paper, trying to remember the forbidden memories that I never wanted to remember. 

“Is Silberhaus still thinking about that stupid mouse?” a voice from behind me exclaimed. My eyes trailed behind me to see her.. Darna Darnell with her idiotic posse, “it’s just common knowledge that no matter where you go or how you change, you’ll still be nothing more than a child, Silberhaus.” Of course, father always told me to pick my battles but even though I shouldn’t be fighting this one, something in my gut told me not hold back.

“I don’t know, Darna,” I retorted, “it seems to me that you’re dressed up like one. Are you sure you’re an adult?”

“More adult than you, Silberhaus!”

“Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

“Why you little–” Darna was about to charge at me before Drosselmeyer glared daggers at her, prompting her to sit back down. I could still feel the tensions rising between the two of us, especially when it came to Darna’s stubbornness for control and retaliation.

“You got off easy, Silberhaus,” she whispered in my ear before going back to reading the latest issue of Archie Comics. If thinking about the certain characters from those series, I would on a high level think she’s a more imbecilic version of Veronica Lodge. That’s putting it lightly too. After the clock ticked to the final minute of the class, everyone got up from their seats and began walking out of the classroom either to head to their next class or to go do what they all think needs to be done.

I packed up my notebooks into a satchel that I would usually carry with me, hand-crafted by me and me only. The moment the bag goes over my shoulder, I pause to hear: “Ms. Silberhaus.” I turn around to see Professor Drosselmeyer, slouching by his seat. By the looks of it, he’s giving me the look of seriousness. When he makes that face, he’s possibly about to give me nothing more than a good talking to. Maybe it’s about my recent essay or the fact I keep nodding away in class. Whatever the case was, I walked over without another moment to spare. At least this can save me some time away from Teresa. Knowing her, she’s trying to be sexual with the bong again, imagining that it’s another man which she will never receive in the long run.

I pull the chair closer to his desk before my body proceeds to slouch on the wooden chair. Drosselmeyer looks at me up and down; my head began to feel like it was spinning a tad bit but the movement never sufficed in what was going on. There I see him, flipping through the papers that were in his hands with the silence creating tension between the two of us. My foot continued to tap against the floor as my ears picked up more sounds. Clock ticking slowly and the soft winds from the window, portraying an outdoor breeze slightly throughout the room. After a while, the silence was broken.

“So, Vegas?” Drosselmeyer put his papers down, his eyes averting to my surprised gaze, watching as my expression changed from boredom to surprised shock. All I could respond with was a slight nod.

“Teresa told you?” I responded after another pause of brief silence.

“Considering she has my English Composition class,” he continued, “we have our daily check-ins. I know the both of you have been struggling as of late and it shows in your performance.” When he said that, he laid out the papers which were technically my essays I wrote about nearly the same subject, talking about that shadowy figure with the robotic voice. Each essay though was still on point based on the assignment given and still received high markings but the way that it was about the same subject concerned him. I could tell just by looking at the way he’s looking at the papers, his eyes moving up and down before twisting around to the same six words in the paper.

“I highly doubt,” he continued, “those injuries were an accident; there must have been some motive behind them.”

“Motive?! You think I intentionally hurt myself?” I exclaimed, my voice rising in disbelief before I was silenced by the piercing intensity of his glare. The way he looked at me sent a shiver down my spine, compelling me to shrink back into my seat. My feet began to tap restlessly on the floor, each rhythm sounding like a woodpecker pecking absentmindedly at a tree trunk.

In that moment, his expression shifted. With a gentleness that contrasted the tension between us, he placed his soft palms on top of mine, cradling my hands as he spoke soothingly. “Do you remember the tale I told you when you and Nathan couldn’t sleep on that hollow night, just days before Christmas morning?”

“Years ago, but the story you told was just fantasy,” I responded, shaking my head slightly, trying to dismiss the notion that it could hold any bearing on my current struggles.

“Do you remember what happened on that day?” he pressed gently.

“Of course... Father passed away. Nathan and I couldn't sleep as we were still processing everything—” I began, revisiting the heavy weight of that loss when he interrupted me again.

“Well,” he said, pausing thoughtfully, “a way to know if the mind is young and fresh is to give it reminders, recollections of the past, so we can grasp what truly motivates a person in their actions.”

“Drosselmeyer, if I may—” I attempted to interject, yet he stopped me once more with an unwavering gaze.

“It is office hours, Nancy,” he replied firmly but not unkindly. “Now try telling me the things you remember about that specific day, from after we had to deal with the situation regarding your father.”

I froze in silence, lost in thought as I avoided his gaze. I could feel the encroaching memories, sharp and painful, ready to stab at my heart and unravel my composure. But what choice did I have? I was here to seek help, though I still struggled to understand how delving into those memories would clarify what had happened in Vegas or why Drosselmeyer’s nutcracker was brought up in my nightmares so relentlessly.

In any case, Drosselmeyer had a way of knowing more than I wanted to reveal. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I let it out in a slow, deliberate exhale and began to speak.