walked to the front of his desk and put my toes next to his. To be honest, I was too scattered to have said it the way I should. My body may have been in that classroom, but my heart was lying next to Maggie.
I took a deep breath. "Marvin, if you want the title of Class Clown, I really don't care." I waved my hand across the class. "I don't think you'll get much of a challenge. What I do care about is whether or not you can pass my class. Your ability to make everybody laugh is secondary to your ability to think well and learn to write even better. Do we understand each other?" I leaned over, laid my hands on his desk, and put my eyes about two feet from his.
Marvin half nodded and looked away. I had called his bluff, and everybody knew it. I had also embarrassed him, which I wouldn't recommend. For the first time that hour, no papers were ruffling, nobody was trying to outtalk me, and nobody was looking out the window.
I let it go.
I backed up, walked to my desk, and leaned against it because I needed to. I then made a few procedural announcements and mentioned the syllabus. Everyone followed along. Point made. That's probably enough for one day.
My introduction had taken, at most, four minutes. Once finished, I said, "It's too hot to think in here." I gathered my papers and began packing up. "See you Tuesday. Check your syllabus, and read whatever is printed there. I have no idea because I didn't write it."
My class beelined for the door, shooting glances at one another and whispering as they left.
Funny. What had taken ten minutes before class now took less than thirty seconds. Maybe it was something I said.
The only student to stop at my desk was Amanda Lovett. She rested her hand on the top of her tummy. "Professor, are you the one who's been at the hospital the last week, sitting next to the coma patient on the third floor? The pretty woman, um ... Miss Maggie?"
When I first learned to drive, I always wondered what it would be like to throw the gear shift into reverse while driving down the highway at seventy miles an hour.
"Yes, I am."
Amanda chose her words carefully. Her eyes never left mine. "I work the night shift at Community as a CNA. I ... I was working the day you two-I mean three-came in." She fumbled with the zipper on her backpack. "I'm real sorry, Professor. I help to look after your wife. Change her bed linens, bathe her, stuff like that." Amanda paused. "I hope you don't mind, but when you're not there, I talk to her. I figure, I would want someone to talk to me, if... if I was lying there."
I now knew how the emperor felt with no clothes.
"Professor?" Amanda asked, looking up through her glasses, her face just two feet from mine. I noticed the skin right below her eyes. It was soft, not wrinkled, and covered with small droplets of sweat. It startled me. I saw beauty there. "I'm real sorry about your son ... and your wife." She swung her backpack over her shoulder and left.
I stood there. Naked. The only comfort I found was that she didn't even realize she had done it. Her eyes had told me that.
Going out the door, she stopped, turned around, and said, "Professor, if you want, I won't talk to her any more. I should've asked. I just thought ... "
"No," I interrupted, rummaging through my papers. "You talk to her ... anytime. Please."
Amanda nodded. As she walked away, I noticed that the shirt she was wearing was one Maggie had tried on in the maternity store. I sat down at my desk, stared out the window, and felt absolutely nothing.
FEW FOLKS KNOW THIS, BUT BRYCE MACGREGOR IS probably the richest man in Digger. His dad invented a gadget, something to do with how railroad cars hook together, that made his whole family a bunch of money. I know that doesn't sound like a gold mine, but Bryce said that every train that's been produced in the last fifty years uses this contraption. I guess that would add up. Bryce gets a royalty check about once a week. Sometimes more than one.
Three years
I took a deep breath. "Marvin, if you want the title of Class Clown, I really don't care." I waved my hand across the class. "I don't think you'll get much of a challenge. What I do care about is whether or not you can pass my class. Your ability to make everybody laugh is secondary to your ability to think well and learn to write even better. Do we understand each other?" I leaned over, laid my hands on his desk, and put my eyes about two feet from his.
Marvin half nodded and looked away. I had called his bluff, and everybody knew it. I had also embarrassed him, which I wouldn't recommend. For the first time that hour, no papers were ruffling, nobody was trying to outtalk me, and nobody was looking out the window.
I let it go.
I backed up, walked to my desk, and leaned against it because I needed to. I then made a few procedural announcements and mentioned the syllabus. Everyone followed along. Point made. That's probably enough for one day.
My introduction had taken, at most, four minutes. Once finished, I said, "It's too hot to think in here." I gathered my papers and began packing up. "See you Tuesday. Check your syllabus, and read whatever is printed there. I have no idea because I didn't write it."
My class beelined for the door, shooting glances at one another and whispering as they left.
Funny. What had taken ten minutes before class now took less than thirty seconds. Maybe it was something I said.
The only student to stop at my desk was Amanda Lovett. She rested her hand on the top of her tummy. "Professor, are you the one who's been at the hospital the last week, sitting next to the coma patient on the third floor? The pretty woman, um ... Miss Maggie?"
When I first learned to drive, I always wondered what it would be like to throw the gear shift into reverse while driving down the highway at seventy miles an hour.
"Yes, I am."
Amanda chose her words carefully. Her eyes never left mine. "I work the night shift at Community as a CNA. I ... I was working the day you two-I mean three-came in." She fumbled with the zipper on her backpack. "I'm real sorry, Professor. I help to look after your wife. Change her bed linens, bathe her, stuff like that." Amanda paused. "I hope you don't mind, but when you're not there, I talk to her. I figure, I would want someone to talk to me, if... if I was lying there."
I now knew how the emperor felt with no clothes.
"Professor?" Amanda asked, looking up through her glasses, her face just two feet from mine. I noticed the skin right below her eyes. It was soft, not wrinkled, and covered with small droplets of sweat. It startled me. I saw beauty there. "I'm real sorry about your son ... and your wife." She swung her backpack over her shoulder and left.
I stood there. Naked. The only comfort I found was that she didn't even realize she had done it. Her eyes had told me that.
Going out the door, she stopped, turned around, and said, "Professor, if you want, I won't talk to her any more. I should've asked. I just thought ... "
"No," I interrupted, rummaging through my papers. "You talk to her ... anytime. Please."
Amanda nodded. As she walked away, I noticed that the shirt she was wearing was one Maggie had tried on in the maternity store. I sat down at my desk, stared out the window, and felt absolutely nothing.
FEW FOLKS KNOW THIS, BUT BRYCE MACGREGOR IS probably the richest man in Digger. His dad invented a gadget, something to do with how railroad cars hook together, that made his whole family a bunch of money. I know that doesn't sound like a gold mine, but Bryce said that every train that's been produced in the last fifty years uses this contraption. I guess that would add up. Bryce gets a royalty check about once a week. Sometimes more than one.
Three years
Similar Books
