Page 25 of Surrender to Love

“You don’t have to.”

“It’ll be something easy. I’ll make tuna,” she insists.

“Alright. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you when you get here.”

We end the call and I sigh. What the hell does she need to show and tell me? My mind is all over the damn place as my anxiousness builds. Because my meeting is in twenty minutes, I get up to try and shake it off. As soon as I walk out of my office, Lexie stops me.

“Kierra Williamson should be here shortly,” she says as a reminder.

“Yeah. At noon. I’m just going for a quick walk. I need to get my steps in. I’ll be right back,” I assure her.

I take a quick stroll through the cubicles then the main foyer on the first floor. As I pass through, I’m greeted by several people and I hear my name in the distance.

“Dean Morris.”

“Dr. Morris.”

“Miss Dean Lady.”

“Miss Dean.”

I answer and respond to all respectful variations of my name. What’s interesting is that most of the undergraduate male students call me Miss Dean Lady. I don’t know how the moniker started but it’s stuck and I hear that more often.

My stroll is short and quick but does the job. My mind is temporarily clear and my anxiousness has subsided when I make it back to my office. Kierra is sitting in the waiting area looking how I was just feeling and it’s warranted. She is facing academic dismissal due to not meeting satisfactory academic progress standards three semesters in a row. It’s a little before noon but I greet her and wave her into my office.

This is the hardest part of my job, tough love on an academic level.

As suspected, she starts crying the moment we are both seated. While I let her cry, I print her transcripts and circle the terms she was on warning and probation. I also print her attendance records that show she has been absent for thirty-two percent of her time here as a student. I’m understanding and fair, but at the same time, college is about educating the whole student, so I always bring the issue back to personal accountability.

“Please. What can I do? I can’t go home, Dr. Morris,” she pleads after I highlight each term’s grades and attendance.

“We’ve told you what you needed to do for the past three terms but nothing changed. You made two Ds and missed twenty-seven percent of your classes last semester. If you can’t make it to class, how do you expect to pass?”

“I guess… I don’t… Dean, I don’t know. I try but it’s hard. I can’t do those early morning classes.”

“Kierra, you picked that schedule.”

“Ugh! I know. I registered late and that’s all that was left.”

“It sounds like you have a lot of outside forces preventing you from registering on time, getting to class, and completing assignments, even after we have offered and provided you a mentor and tutoring. Your last meeting with your mentor was in April and you had summer courses. At this point, sitting out a year, going back home to reevaluate things and getting yourself together, is the best option. Take this dismissal as a lesson and learn from it,” I say and she starts wailing. After passing her my tissue box, I add, “You can definitely reapply after a year and we will carefully review your readmittance application.”

“What about my classes this term?”

“The registrar will withdraw you today and you will not be charged. I spoke with housing and they will give you two weeks to vacate your dorm. And you won’t be charged for that unless there’s damage to your single,” I tell her because some students don’t take dismissal well and damage their dorms before leaving.

“Shit,” she sighs, then slumps in the chair. While shaking her head, she utters, “My momma gon’ kill me. I can’t tell her this. She graduated from here. Damn. There’s nothing I can do? Nothing?”

“No. Unfortunately, the summer term was your last chance.”

“Okay,” she says, defeated. “Do I need to sign something?”

“Just your housing exit form the day you leave. Just let your R.A. know. She has to inspect your room and you’ll both sign. Failure to do that is a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar penalty. Your official dismissal letter will be emailed today and sent via certified mail to your permanent address on file.”

“My momma’s house,” she exco, then exhales loudly. “Alright.” She grabs a few more tissues, covering her eyes, then says, “Okay.”

Kierra stands and so do I. After stepping from behind my desk, I stand in front of her and place my arms around her.