“So, what does one do with a degree in cognitive science?” She told me her area of study last November and I looked it up when I got home. All I know is that it’s a science involving humans, animals, computers and probably other things. I’m just not sure what kind of job it leads to.
“All kinds of things, actually.”
“Really?” I kind of find that hard to believe.
“Seriously.” She laughs. “Hotel management, archeologist, psychologist, lawyer, sales manager, creative director or urban developer. There’s a whole list of things I can do or continue to study.” She holds up her phone. “I can google it for you.”
She’s grinning and I laugh. “Okay, so, what does Deirdre O’Brien plan to do with her degree?”
“That is more difficult to answer.”
“No set dream job yet?”
The waitress returns and puts the Cokes on the table, and Deirdre takes a sip.
“I’m torn between psychology, being a counselor, and becoming an advocate for children, either in the court system or as a social worker.”
I’m impressed. “Those are all great career choices.”
“I just need to decide on a focus before the end of May.” She makes a face as if she’s not looking forward to having to make that decision.
I can relate to that. “I hated having to decide on what I needed to do.”
Her eyebrows rise. “I figure you always knew it would be art.”
“I did,” I laugh. “But, I had to get a degree that would also feed me in case sculpting failed.”
She nods. “I get that.”
The waitress returns and puts the food on the table in front of us.
“Can I get you anything else?”
I look over at Deirdre and lift an eyebrow. She shakes her head.
“We’re good,” I tell her.
“So, what degree did you pick to feed you?” She bites into the burger and chews, waiting for my answer.
“I double majored in education and psychology.”
Her eyes go wide. “Not art?”
“It’s a minor, but all I really cared about was working with metals. I added ceramics and sculpting for fun, but I didn’t take any of the other art classes.”
“Yet, you’re an art teacher at Baxter.”
“Alexia teaches most everything. I’m just the clay guy.”
“It probably helped that you had a psychology degree when you applied there.”
I’m sure the combination of education, art and psychology is exactly what got me the job. “They have some of the most talented kids I’ve ever seen. I’d love to introduce metals and see what they can do, but welding, flames and sharp objects aren’t exactly the safest materials to work with.” I shove my sleeves up and show her my various scars on my hands and forearms from being cut and burned on occasion. I don’t mind them at all and could probably list which art piece belongs to which scar, but the kids at Baxter already have enough scars, inside and out, and don’t need anymore.
“Or, it’s better those kids aren’t working with them,” she adds.
I just nod. I don’t discuss details of Baxter, none of us associated with the school do, but if she’s lived here all of her life, or at least most of it, and her brother and his girlfriend are connected with the school. Deirdre probably already has an idea of the type of students that are at Baxter.
“My students wouldn’t be a problem though. They are all about art. It’s their happy place.” I grin. At least that’s how it feels when they’re in the classroom creating. And, while there is some competition, it’s all friendly. Every one of those kids support each other, and offer honest critiques or suggestions if something isn’t turning out like planned.
“Wednesday was the first time I’d been to Baxter. I didn’t even know the gallery was open to the public.”
The art gallery is only one of two buildings that has direct access from a parking lot. The other is the theatre on the separate side of campus. Even though a guard is on the door, anyone can come in during normal operating hours, but any of the doors that lead to the campus are locked and alarmed to protect the kids.
The theatre is a different matter. Patrons still can’t get to the campus, and you can’t walk in off the street expecting to see a show. Tickets must be purchased at least two weeks in advance. This is also for the protection of the kids because students are the performers and Baxter is very picky about who they let near any of the kids.
Dierdre barely eats half of her hamburger before pushing it away. “I forgot how big they are.”
I can’t finish my tenderloin either. “But so good.”
The waitress comes back and cleans the table and I ask for the check. I could sit here and talk with Deirdre longer but it’s getting loud. The late dinner crowd is disappearing and those coming to the bar just to drink are showing up and the place is getting rowdy.
When the waitress returns, she’s carrying two more shots and a cupcake with a candle. She places the ticket upside down on the table.
Seamus walks over with a shot in his hand. Deirdre closes her eyes for a minute, then opens them and blows out the flame.
“Happy Birthday!” Seamus yells and we toss back another shot. We need to get out of here before he has us both drunk.
“Thanks, Seamus.” Deirdre’s smiling up at him. “But I’m taking this with me.” She points to the cupcake. “I can’t eat another bite tonight. You really should think about making a smaller burger.”
He laughs. “I’ll get ya a box.”
I flip over the check and reach for my wallet. Happy Birthday is written across it and the tab is zero.
“Wow!” Deirdre says.
“Wow, is right.”
The waitress returns a minute later and puts the cupcake in to a small box so Deirdre can take it with her. I still calculate the tip on what the bill should have been and leave a ten on the table. She shouldn’t be screwed because our meal was free. It’s
