Forty-five minutes later, we’re walking up the stairs to the front entrance of the College of Arts and Sciences. My thesis defense will happen in a classroom on the third floor of the venerable nineteenth-century gray stone building that dominates the university hill. I grab Monie’s hand and we march up the marble tread stairway, our heels clicking and thumping, issuing rippling echoes across the lofty hall. When we get to our floor, we turn and head for my advisor, Dr. Gregory, who’s waiting for us down the broad corridor. It’s funny that after all the time I’ve spent in this building, today I’m humbled, feeling as if I don’t belong in these hallowed halls. Monie squeezes my hand and I squeeze back, wondering how she knows I needed that one little gesture right now.
When Dr. Gregory sees
