Just when I think classes are done for the day, I hear a knock on the door. At this hour it’s gotta be either a timid student or a concerned parent— either would feel like they don’t belong, because otherwise they would have come earlier, when people besides me would be willing to see them.

“Come on in!” I yell in the direction of the door, not wanting to get up. Professors get lazy too, especially when the clock moves towards five. I glance up and immediately recognize the halting step and unsure expression of a concerned parent.

“Hi,” she says-then pauses-looking over the room. “Are you Professor Talbot?”

I finally do get up and walk over to shake her hand. “Yep. Call me Izzy.”

“Hi, Izzy, I’m Marion Daniels. Luke’s mom.”

I notice then how much she looks like her son, whom I’ve taught for a few semesters now. Quite a painter, he is. She looks very put together, very prim— not the type you’d expect to produce a artist, but you never know.

“Nice to meet you, Marion. Has Luke been complaining about me?”

She starts in reaction to my question. I’ve thrown her for a loop. She regains her ground.

“No, no, of course not. I just wanted to— to check on him.”

I nod, but don’t say anything.

“He’s— well, he’s taken sort of a— a downward swing, and I know he knows you well and respects you, and I just wanted come in and ask if you could keep an eye on him for me,” she says, slowly, carefully, as if she’s had it memorized for a while.

“I have noticed a shift in his paintings,” I tell her. I only see him twice a week. I really don’t know what else to say.

“A shift? What kind of a shift?” she asks. She must not look at his work on a regular basis, I figure. I know it gets harder once they get to college, but with Luke’s painting, it’s really very noticeable.

“The colors in his paintings shift. A few months at a time they’ll be really bright, really colorful, and then they’ll shift to darker, more muted tones. Mainly grays and blues.”

She nods, and her face tells me that something’s just clicked. Not for me, though.

“Is there a reason for that, Marion?”

She looks down, wrings her hands a little, then moves her eyes back up to me with something like an apologetic look on her face.

“Luke is—” she pauses. I won’t push her. “He has his own shifts.”

Now it’s my turn to nod, as it’s finally clicked for me.

“And right now he’s on a— a downward shift. The mood stabilizers help some, but of course there’s only so much they can do.”

“It makes sense, then, that his paintings would come out that way. He does beautiful work, Marion, beautiful landscapes.”

“Landscapes?” She really must not have looked at anything he does. I’ve tried to get him to do figures before, but it’s like trying to get Jackson Pollock to do Renaissance art.

“Yeah, almost all landscapes. With that cat of his in them. I’ve never seen him paint a person without being forced.”

She winces for a minute, then looks confused. “Just landscapes and cats?”

“Yep.” Now it’s my turn to pause. “Does he have anyone to talk to about— whatever he needs to talk about?”

She smiles a little. “Of course. He has a girlfriend.”

“Alright, well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

She looks satisfied. “Thanks so much, Izzy. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem. He’s a talented kid. I hope things work out for him.”

“Thanks again,” she says, then turns to leave. I hear the door click behind her, but I’ve already gone back into my mind. Poor kid. It makes so much sense, but you wouldn’t wish that upon anybody. I hope he gets back to those bright paintings again soon.