The Laughter by Sonora Jha

I suppose I am a fortunate man. Sometimes, when I feel like all is lost, things turn around, look up, sort themselves out. Perhaps fortune has nothing to do with it. Perhaps I have worked my way to this fortune. Stepped in, stepped up, stepped to it. Fortune favors the bold and all.

I had spent the rest of the day wondering whether I had lost Ruhaba now, given that we were on opposite sides of the picket line. I had to endure Meyer spewing all over my office. He asked if I would coauthor an op-ed with him on the nature of racism. I tried to talk him out of it. He looked injured, so I gave him some talking points, some guidance. I said I did not want coauthorship, that he could go it alone. I didn't tell him I was certain no one would publish it. I excused myself and walked him in a convivial fashion out of my office because I had to lend an ear to the Dean, edit his statement to the press, which came to me after a round of edits from the woman at University Counsel. Her grammar would have been the last straw for me, but there was another straw waiting.