The Young Old Soul

There I was. I had prepared for class the night before, as I always did, and was giving it some finishing touches and final revisions in my office.

It was time to go meet my new students.

Despite having already had a lifetime of experience and training in my field of study, I always got a little nervous before facing a new class. Will they like me? Will they hate me? Am I looking okay? Is my accent too obvious?

Every class was different. Just like with any other professor, some years my connection with students was simply fantastic, sometimes not so much. So, it was not unusual for professors to feel slightly anxious before each new cohort arrived.

However, when I entered the classroom, that anxiety soon began to dissipate.

This seems like a nice group.

The class composition was very similar to other classes—the eager ones who sat upfront and absorbed every word, comma, and period, and copied every drawing. Then there were the more timid, quiet ones, who tended to sit toward the middle to my left, and the group of inseparable friends, also in the middle, but to my right. Finally, there were the ones in the very back who either preferred anonymity, or wanted the freedom to disconnect from class, do work for another class, or just preferred sitting at the back for a variety of reasons.

That year was not any different, except for one interesting, and a bit surreal, detail.

At the back row, to my right, there was this light, this aura that was different. A group of students gravitated toward one particular person.

As was customary, I had students introduce themselves, and when it got to that person, he said, “Keir. My name is Keir.”

“Keeyar?” I was not certain I had heard him correctly.

“Keir,” he repeated with a disarming smile, “like beer, but with ei instead of ee. Keir.”

I smiled. “Oh, Keir. OK, then.”

That brief interaction at the beginning of that semester stayed with me forever. He was young, twenty-one or twenty-two, with green eyes, a luminous smile, and a mischievous expression—as if he knew his special brand of charisma could get him out of any trouble.

I liked him.

As time passed, on a few occasions I felt he was not meeting some expectations, and he tended to be chatty at the back.

I’d talk to him, but he always had that shine, that disarming smile, and the words, “I’ll try harder.”

He and his followers got in the habit of chatting a bit with me after class, but he always stayed longer, and we began talking about different things, like the paranormal, the unexplained, and mystical things.

“You and my mom have a lot in common,” he told me once.

“How’s that?”

“Oh, she likes all that stuff too.”

And so, the days continued to pass. Classes were going well and were uneventful. Students were rushing to get their permits, or some other documentation required for the program.

One day, Keir stayed behind and we started to talk about the quantum world, multiple realities, and the strange manifestations of nature. I mentioned to him an interesting video—the double-slit experiment—from "What the Bleep Do We Know?" He got very interested. I was going to talk more about it, but he had to leave for another class, and I had to go back to the office.

I told him I’d find the segment and bring it to class.

As he was leaving, he looked over his shoulder at me.

“I love this stuff…” He smiled again. “You should meet my mom.”

Then, he left.

At home, I found the movie, the exact sequence I had been talking to him about in “What the Bleep Do We Know?” I saved it.

I’m going to show this to Keir tomorrow.

Keir had a familiar energy, a goodness—as though he were someone I had known all my life. It was unusual, really.

The next day, “What the Bleep Do We Know?” sat in my computer files as I stared at the college news on the screen in complete disbelief.

Keir was gone.

That soul that had come from the ether to his earthly parents twenty-two years prior, had abruptly returned, leaving behind an impression, like those that remain after a flash hits your eye. A nearly invisible impression, an aura, an energy that lingered, touching every one of his friends, his family, and his teachers.

I was particularly affected. Our conversation the previous day about multiple realities, the spirit, energy, where we come from, and where we are going… And his last words to me, “You should meet my mom.”

All of it felt so ominous, in hindsight.

I had had the feeling when I was getting the movie to show him the next day. The familiarity, the old soul or old friend from another time, a sudden melancholic feeling. The same feeling I had before my brother and one of my best friends died.

Keir was gone, and I had to go to class, see my students and all his friends. I had to teach. However, I decided, and warned the students, that we would spend some class time honoring Keir.

I showed the video in class, I talked about his nature and his interest in the paranormal and the unexplained. I was not able to contain my tears. No one was.

The Dean had shown up and sat with the students. The class was full. Suddenly, through the glass wall, I saw his father. I walked toward the door and welcomed him inside. He looked defeated, hugged me tight, and sobbed.

It was a very emotional moment for everyone.

Afterwards, I also connected with his mom. Her devastation and deep sorrow also ripped through my soul. There is no pain like that of losing a child.

In his short life, probably imperfect, like all of us, Keir had touched the lives of so many people. Like a tree in a garden that gathered nature's life around it—birds, squirrels, butterflies… and even the invisible and unexplained.

His life ended in a bleep, just as it had started. I’d like to think he entered another reality, or that he is up there still smiling mischievously.

To this day, so many years later, I retain the expression and smile on his face imprinted in my mind. His favorite color, green and its variations, began to prevail in my drawings, in the descriptions of characters I create for my books, and in my short stories.

I have no idea why.

And today, out of the blue, this memory came to me.

I am here, once again, reflecting on this young man’s soul, who left this earth so soon, and so unexpectedly.

Bleep.