“Excuse my interruption Professor, I was just a little unclear on something we discussed last week.”

I looked up from my desk to see a wiry boy with tousled hair and loose-fitting clothes walking toward me down the steps of the lecture hall. I recognized his face, like all my students of course, but he was especially distinct. The boy had a strange look about him, a certain weariness in the scrunch of his eyebrows and lines on his face that made him look far older than he probably was. And he spoke in class as though he had read far too many books.

“Professor, I was just confused about your argument regarding time as a nonlinear concept. Because, “ he flipped his hand through his hair and rested it on my desk, “Time must be linear. Physics tells us it can be compressed and stretched but there is no manner of traveling other than forward.”

I leaned back in my chair and took my pen from my mouth. “But there’s your problem my boy,“ I pointed at him and smiled, “You think in terms of physics in attempt to make sense of graduate philosophy. In this course, we attempt to tackle issues with regard to human nature.”

“So, we must think of time with the lens of human perception?”

“Precisely. Though time may be linear in actuality, in the human mind, it is an interwoven web of disparate moments.” I stood and began drawing a diagram of nodes and lines on the chalkboard. “Take this example,” I pointed at a node and then rolled up my sleeve to show him. “My tattoo here. I must have gotten it when I was around your age. But when I got it is unimportant.”

“Why did you get it?”

“It’s a node, a moment. It represents something both past and future. When I see it, I am transported to a different time, a nonlinear jump you might say. The human characteristics of memory and forethought obfuscate the linearity of time. I hope that might clear up some things for you, boy. I am an old man and philosophy is mostly nonsense. I enjoyed our meeting. Have a good day.”