It was late in the semester, late in the day when Tom walked in ten minutes late to his 45 minute writing assistance appointment. Kev had nearly written him off and upon his initial assessment of Tom, thought it would not have been the first time in Tom’s life.

Kev found he was more forgiving of tardy, part-time students that he coached in writing skills every Monday night in the learning center of his local community college than he was of his corporate co-workers in his 9-to-5 job in the city. Though he did get paid for the few hours that he coached, Kev thought of the experience as more of a service project; giving back a little of the 25 years of corporate marketing and communications experience he had under his belt to students who needed all the help they could get

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. He held out his hand in both salutation and apology.

Kev’s dad always said that a handshake is a good way to size a man up. Tom’s was firm, succinct without seeming abrupt. Professional. It did not match his skinny, rough exterior, though his hands – especially the fingernails – were a little grimy. Not dirty but worn with work, as if clean was a fantasy remembered from a long ago youth.

Tom sat down and ran his grimy right hand through his unkempt hair. “I need some help formatting sources for a paper,” he said. He wasn’t old, but seemed seasoned, nineteen going on forty-five. His scruffy, worn jeans matched his hands. Not designer denim bought pre-torn and faded, the kind that came by the condition honestly.

“No worries,” Kev said, and joined him at the desk. Kev tapped the mouse to wake the computer up, clicking on the college home page. “What class is your paper for?”

“Pre-med bio,” Tom said. “I just came from the library. I got two sources for the paper. Is it okay if I call them up here?” he asked, pointing at the screen.

“Absolutely,” Kev said.

Tom navigated to the college library site, checked a text on his phone, and transferred that into the computer. An article appeared and Tom let out a little laugh, like he couldn’t believe it actually worked. “I, uh, need help citing this article,” he said. “This one and another one.”

“No problem,” Kev said and opened a Word doc so they would have a place to create Tom’s citations, which they did.

Tom marveled at how Kev copied, pasted, and formatted his reference material. “Could, could you show me how to do that?” he asked. 

What exactly he was referring to, Kev didn’t immediately grasp. Kev suffered from the bias of assuming all young people know more about the internet and electronic media than he does, even though he has worked in it since its existence. Control-C. Control-V. Highlighting with the slight move and click of a mouse. It was like magic to Tom. Kev was genuinely confused. Was Tom pulling his leg? 

“Do you have a laptop?” Kev asked, expecting Tom to produce one from his bag. 

“Oh,” Tom laughed, “Noooo. No, not me.”

“A computer at home?”

“No.” He shook his head like Kev had suggested he had a Maserati parked in the lot. “We got one at the shop! But it’s pretty worn out. It doesn’t have those things.” He pointed to the keyboard.

“No…keyboard?” Kev asked.

Tom laughed again, no malice, he wasn’t being clear. “No, of course it has a keyboard.”

Kev laughed a little. Duh. Of course.

“Just not any of those letters and numbers and stuff,” Tom said.

“No letters?” Kev asked. WTF? Was Tom kidding?

He was not.

“Yeah, it’s real old. All that stuff got worn off. You gotta remember which key to press for what.”

“Wow,” Kev said. “That’s gotta be tough.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tom said, then sobered a little, looking at the unmarked keyboard in his mind’s eye. “Yeah, it is.”

“That’s what you type your paper on?” Kev asked.

“Oh, no!” Tom laughed again; Kev was full of ridiculous questions. “I just use this.”

Tom pulled his smart phone back out of his pocket. Not the newest model, slick with the same grime that covered the rest of him. 

“You write your papers,” Kev tried not to betray his utter disbelief and borderline horror as he said, “on your phone?”

Tom shrugged Yeah. Like, of course.

Okay. Well, Kev thought, I guess that’s better than using a character-free keyboard. He imagined thumbing an entire research paper on his phone and got a little sympathetic carpal tunnel cramp. 

Tom noticed the time on his phone. They had accomplished what he had come for with a few minutes to spare.

“Can you help me with my introduction, too?” Tom asked, suddenly realizing there might be more Kev could assist him with here.

“Absolutely,” Kev said. “Do you have the rest of your paper printed out?”

“Oh,” Tom said. “Um, no.”

Kev thought they were about to start swiping through the grimy screen on Tom’s phone. They weren’t.

“I haven’t written anything yet,” Tom confessed. “That’s why I figured the intro would be a good starting point.”

“It can be,” Kev said, thinking that a thesis statement or a prompt from the instructor might be better. Before he went there, Kev thought to go even more basic, “When is your paper due?”

“Tomorrow,” Tom said very matter-of-factly. Almost duh-implied.

“Tomorrow?!” Kev said, a bit more animated, struggling to keep the surprise suppressed.

“10am,” Tom said, like it wasn’t exactly fifteen hours and fifteen minutes from that moment.

“And you’re starting now?” Kev asked.

“I got the sources,” Tom said. Chipper. Optimistic. In his mind, half the battle was won.

You are going to fail, Kev thought. He thought it very loudly. So much so he was sure it came through to Tom, even unsaid, loud and clear. Not just this assignment. This course.

Aloud, Kev asked, “How long does the paper have to be?” Perhaps he was making a lot out of nothing. Maybe the assignment was to find two sources on a topic and write 500 words. Fairly easy. Totally do-able in a couple of hours, even on a cellphone.

“Seven to ten pages,” Tom said.

Fail.

There was no pulling this guy back from that abyss. He was going down. Going down hard. And he seemed utterly unaware of what was so completely obvious to Kev.

“Oh, I got this,” Tom said. Maybe some of Kev’s thoughts did seep through. “I’m gonna stay up all night. Pull an all-nighter. No biggie. Lots of coffee and Redbulls. I’ve done this before.” 

Had he? With success? With a cellphone? Pre-med? Pre-MED?! 

Kev looked at the clock. The session had about five minutes remaining. Why panic the lad. He clearly had a caffeine-laced plan. “Pre-med?” Kev said out loud…’cuz he just could not believe this guy would be going into the medical profession. 

“I know, seems crazy,” Tom said. “Me. Going into some kind of medical field. I work full time at this aluminum extruding plant. Good money, but its long hours, tough on the body. Not so much on the mind, though. I stand there for hours on the line thinking ‘Is this what I want to do for the next 30 years of my life?’ Benefits aren’t that great. Plus automation keeps taking jobs away. That and Mexico.” He looked at Kev suddenly and added, “I’m not racist or nothing!”

Like Kev had accused him. Kev shrugged: Of course not.

“My girlfriend’s from Mexico,” Tom said. “Illegal,” now he shrugged. “But her life there was horrible. She was literally escaping a life of hell. I don’t blame her for having the courage to do whatever it takes to make her life better. She is amazing. I have so much respect for her. Her English, is not exactly…” He laughed again. “Well, she’s getting better!”

“Anyway,” Tom said, “I heard there are lots of jobs in like nursing homes and stuff. Aging America needing more people to take care of the Baby Boomers, and all that. There’s plenty of mopping and bedpan changing jobs, but the better paying ones require some pre-med education and experience. So, that’s what I’m going for.” Then he winked at Kev.

 “Good for you,” Kev said.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled, then looked at his dirty phone again. “I guess we are outta time. Can you email that page to me?”

“Of course,” Kev said, and turned back to the computer to send Tom his references.

“So cool how you did all that,” Tom said again. “Can I take a class in how to do that?”

“Computer skills?” Kev said. “Oh, yes. I’m sure we have those.”

“Cool,” Tom said. “Well, gotta hit Starbucks then the library!” He held his hand out for a handshake of thanks.

“Good luck,” Kev said. He meant it for so much more than just this paper.

Perhaps some of Tom’s grimy enthusiasm rubbed off on Kev, for now he, too, was sure that Tom would be successful. Not with this paper and probably not this bio course, there’s only so much caffeine can do. But for the longer-term course of life, Tom seemed fully primed.  

Such confidence. Certainty. Pride. It’s possible Kev had mistaken the stuff oozing out of Tom for grime, when actually it was grit.