“So can anyone tell me where emperor Nero went wrong?” I asked the seventy-some odd students seated in the auditorium.
“You mean besides not dying as an infant?” Someone snickered from the top left of the cramped chairs. Daniel Radcliff, most likely, due to the cackles that his troupe always followed his semi-witty comments with.
And just in case you’ve forgotten already, there aren’t very many twenty-four year-olds teaching to college students. Or any other students, for that matter. Almost half of my class is made up of people between twenty to twenty-two. The rest being the kids who actually did good enough in high-school to make it to my classroom before their nineteenth birthday. I know. God bless America, right? Some kids actually did graduate. There also was the occasional thirty to forty-something men and women deciding to better their education later on in life. If I had to choose between these three classes of students and pick the hardest to teach to I would have to go with the older folks. Mainly because most of them aren’t keen about the idea of their professor being almost twenty years younger than them.
“Please bestow upon us your great knowledge on the death of infants, Danny.” I said, sweeping my hand over the class. “I’m sure the rest of your fellow Democrats would love to hear about it.” This brought laughter from most of the classroom. The ones who didn’t laugh I’m thinking were Democrats. Oops.
The best perks about being close to their age was being able to talk to them the way most teachers really want to talk to their students but don’t feel adequately young enough to do so. Not to mention the occasional date I allow myself from one of the fifty-four girls winking their heavily lashed eyes at me while holding up a sheet up paper with their cell number on it.
I leaned back in my desk chair, placing my laced fingers on top of my head and tried not to sigh. “Look, guys, we all know about Nero being this horrible emperor. But can anyone in this room please tell me at least one good thing that he did?”
I pointed to the first hand that went up.
“Mona, if you please.” I said to the bright eyed brunette sitting on the front row. She looked up from her notes frowning in thought.
“Well if he would have been proven guilty on setting Rome on fire then he would also be responsible for getting more land available to the southern farmers.” Mona said, adjusting her glasses.
I stood. Wow. I didn’t think she would’ve even thought of that. “That is, oddly enough, the most satisfying answer I have received all day. Thank you, Mona.”
Of course, being a history teacher with the ability to travel back in time, Nero had been one of the first of historical figures I had tracked down. I had already proven that he was, in fact, accountable for the great fire. Mona’s stating about Nero’s one good accomplishment had been dead on. Had the fire not happened the fall of Rome would have happened almost two-hundred years earlier by my calculations than our records show.
Oh, and incidentally, Roman historian Edward Gibbon was right. It did happen in A.D. 476 just not on September fourth. It was sometime in late June.
Also I will never want to meet Nero again. Ever.
I talked on a few more minutes about how Rome was, even with all it’s wanton and bloodthirsty ways, one of the greatest civilizations to date. When the bell rang and everyone started standing I reminded them about an essay that was due by late next week and bid them all a warm journey home.
Most of the time I was the first to leave the classroom. Mainly because teacher paperwork is extremely boring to do at a desk. But at a coffee shop? Now that‘s a great place to do paper work. These were my thoughts when I climbed into my black Mercedes Benz. The SL class, by the way.
What? You think I’d have the ability to know what happens tomorrow and drive a busted Gremlin? I mean, I can see the winning lottery numbers today, go back to tomorrow and punch them in.
That’s just an example. I’ve actually only did that twice.
Knowing the end score of the Super Bowl is nice, too. Not to mention knowing what the weather in Australia is going to be like on the next day. Without going into too much detail let me let you know what my status to the world was at the time.
After I had had my glove for almost two months I had won the Illinois jack pot lottery, predicted a severe blizzard that hit early, even for Chicago, and had appeared on a live interview with CNN about my innate ability to somehow predict the future.
Graduating high-school at the age of twelve and entering college at fourteen-ish was the reason most people thought me awesomely successful. Prodigies get away with a lot more bizarre things than your average Joe. Such as fooling the entire world that I had enough gray matter in my brain to foretell the future.
I pulled onto the freeway and blew the horn at a Jeep that seemed to be having a Sunday drive on a dirt road while in the middle of a five lane highway on a Thursday. After a few minutes of speeding and cutting into traffic I turned on my exit. I decided that I wouldn’t stay at the small coffee shop long. Even though my three-storey Goliath house was basically right across the street, I really needed to hit the hay. I had a big day ahead of me tomorrow, this being the day I had been planning for the past month to make an expedition back to Rome. Not to see Nero, though. I’m thinking Nero’s father will be around five and a half when I go this time.
I parked my Mercedes and quickly ran to the coffee shop door with my briefcase in hand. Mikey’s Place was pretty much my favorite joint on this side of town and I confess that it was one of the reason I purchased the condo across the street. The first and foremost being that I was able to easily remodel the basement into a maximum security facility that housed my glove. But I’ll get to that in a bit.
“Good evening, all.” I called to the usual occupants that I saw basically every time I came here. I hung up my coat and scarf before breezing to my booth. I say my booth because that’s literally what it was. After moving in across the street I came to the coffee shop and told the owner that if he made sure that no one -and I mean no one- sat in the back corner I would personally give him two-thousand dollars a month in cash. I had thought about giving him a time frame as to when people could sit there and when they couldn’t, but figured that at two grand a month he could keep it free all day.
So after he had eagerly agreed, I had moved in an expensive leather booth to replace the old one and had even thrown in a chaise lounge to match because I got them on sale.
What? Billionaires can’t get good deals on furniture?
I walked back to my section and dropped my briefcase on the table. The owner, Mr. Hartz, had at first installed a curtain to keep people out but I had shut this down after a few visits. It was cool and all but completely defeated the purpose of going to a coffee shop.
I clicked open the black briefcase and pulled out my boring teacher papers. I tried not to groan as I flipped through them, trying to decide which one to tackle first when my coffee arrived.
“Two shots of espresso, two mint leaves, one sugar cube and three Reese’s Pieces.” The cute waitress said, setting my cup down. “Will that be all, Mr. Johnson?”
“Yeah.” I said, looking up from the lame spread sheet in my hand and noticing it was Charlie, my favorite waitress. I forgot I had been needing to talk to her. “Uh, no, wait.” I gestured to the booth opposite me. “could you join me for a second, Charlie?”
She sat and looked at me hopefully. “So what’s up?” She asked, letting one side of her mouth raise into a smile. Or was that a smirk?
I took a sip of my espresso first and had to resist the urge to let my eyes roll back in my head in ecstasy. Man, that stuff was good. It was on the menu for anyone else who wanted it. ‘Jericho’s Mix’ was what the sign read underneath it and the owner decided that it was worth almost twenty dollars a cup. I don’t know what was worse, him doing that, or people actually buying it.
I decided not to trademark the name because it was kind of cool, I guess, having a drink named after you and all.
“First, Cha
rlie, I feel compelled to tell you that you’re about to receive a promotion.”
“Really?” She gasped. “When?”
“Two days from now the manager will obtain the flu and you will be runner up to take his spot while he’s out.”
She seemed to deflate. “Oh. But he’ll come back, right?”
“He will.” I said, taking another sip of my coffee. “But the owner will keep you on as manager. Especially after I tell him that the business seems to have improved under your guidance.”
Charlie beamed, eyes wide with shock, anticipation, and all the other ways people look when I reveal their future. “I’ve never… well, I mean- er…”
I smiled, “Heard about it. Thought about it. But never actually seen it.” I said, dropping my papers back into my briefcase and clamping it shut.
“Yeah, I guess.” She said, letting her eyes drop in embarrassment and hooking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I watched her for a second when she raised her face back up. “And what, if I can ask, do you enjoy most about knowing the future of someone so clueless about it?” She asked, smiling and trying not to laugh-out-loud in excitement.
I finished my coffee, stood, and dropped a five-hundred dollar tip on the table. “Knowing.” I said, and then left.
Chapter 3