separately as I read and re-read the email and thought about my reply. My mom had once told me I would get arthritis if I kept cracking my knuckles. I was sure it was an Old Wives’ tale meant to scare like if a toad peed on you, you'd get warts. Or how masturbation gave you hairy palms.
What was an appropriate, professional response? How should we meet so she could give me back my book? Troian’s voice popped into my head: “Oh, I know how she can give it to you.”
I thought about Hunter’s offer to drop the book off at my house. It was an unnecessary and out-of-the-way gesture; she could just as easily put the book in my faculty mailbox, and she’d never have to actually see me. It reminded me of other unnecessary acts – taking her jacket off in my faculty office for a 15-minute meeting, checking on Sylvia when she heard a crash in the back of my house, touching and turning my book at the coffee shop. They were all small gestures and I’d unnecessarily fixated on them as meaning something.
I knew what I had to do. I needed to stop this ridiculous, fantasy relationship with a student nearly 10-years my junior, who was most definitely straight. I moved my fingers over the track-pad on my laptop. I watched the little arrow scrawl across the screen, and I clicked Delete.
+++++
CHAPTER SIX
"Another pale ale?" the blonde behind the bar at Peggy’s asked me. I vaguely remembered her name as being Leah and that she had her Masters in French Literature. We’d struck up a conversation once upon a time about Madame Bovary , one of my favorite works of French literature. Troian had scolded me after we’d left the bar that night for being too nerdy.
I nodded. I'd finished off my first pint quickly, but planned on pacing myself with the second. Peggy's was busy tonight, but the bar area was relatively vacant. I'd claimed a barstool without much effort. Most of the other bar patrons were on the dance floor or occupying the tables along the perimeter of the bar.
Leah removed my empty pint glass and placed a fresh cocktail napkin in front of me. As she poured me another pint, I twisted on my stool and glanced around the bar. I wondered if Megan still worked here, but I wasn’t about to ask Leah. I hadn’t been back to Peggy’s since that night, months ago. I’d been absent partly because work had gotten busy, but mostly because I was too embarrassed to show my face. One-night-stands weren’t my typical fare and almost-one-night-stands were altogether embarrassing.
I’d come to Peggy’s tonight though because it was a new semester, and I was frustrated with one of my writing seminars. No matter how many in-class workshops I facilitated, they couldn't seem to figure out how to write a 5-paragraph essay. Normally after a challenging day I'd go home to Sylvia and run myself a warm bath, light a few scented candles, and read a novel in the bathtub. But tonight, after marking up one horrible essay after the next, I needed something a little stronger than a vanilla candle and warm sugar bath scrub. I'd left a message on Troian's voicemail to see if she wanted to meet up so I didn't have to drink by myself, but so far my phone was silent. I vaguely remembered her mentioning a date night with Nikole, but I couldn’t recall if she’d said it was tonight or not. This was one of the drawbacks of being an extra-wheel. I desperately needed to find a wheel to call my own. Or just a girlfriend. That would work, too.
I’d thought about calling Cady to see if she wanted to meet up with me tonight. But I knew from the last time we’d briefly talked on the phone that she’d just started dating someone exclusively. I didn’t want to complicate things and the way I was feeling tonight, lonely and self-depreciating, I was sure to do that. Cady was familiar and comfortable and that was dangerous. I wanted her to move on
What was an appropriate, professional response? How should we meet so she could give me back my book? Troian’s voice popped into my head: “Oh, I know how she can give it to you.”
I thought about Hunter’s offer to drop the book off at my house. It was an unnecessary and out-of-the-way gesture; she could just as easily put the book in my faculty mailbox, and she’d never have to actually see me. It reminded me of other unnecessary acts – taking her jacket off in my faculty office for a 15-minute meeting, checking on Sylvia when she heard a crash in the back of my house, touching and turning my book at the coffee shop. They were all small gestures and I’d unnecessarily fixated on them as meaning something.
I knew what I had to do. I needed to stop this ridiculous, fantasy relationship with a student nearly 10-years my junior, who was most definitely straight. I moved my fingers over the track-pad on my laptop. I watched the little arrow scrawl across the screen, and I clicked Delete.
+++++
CHAPTER SIX
"Another pale ale?" the blonde behind the bar at Peggy’s asked me. I vaguely remembered her name as being Leah and that she had her Masters in French Literature. We’d struck up a conversation once upon a time about Madame Bovary , one of my favorite works of French literature. Troian had scolded me after we’d left the bar that night for being too nerdy.
I nodded. I'd finished off my first pint quickly, but planned on pacing myself with the second. Peggy's was busy tonight, but the bar area was relatively vacant. I'd claimed a barstool without much effort. Most of the other bar patrons were on the dance floor or occupying the tables along the perimeter of the bar.
Leah removed my empty pint glass and placed a fresh cocktail napkin in front of me. As she poured me another pint, I twisted on my stool and glanced around the bar. I wondered if Megan still worked here, but I wasn’t about to ask Leah. I hadn’t been back to Peggy’s since that night, months ago. I’d been absent partly because work had gotten busy, but mostly because I was too embarrassed to show my face. One-night-stands weren’t my typical fare and almost-one-night-stands were altogether embarrassing.
I’d come to Peggy’s tonight though because it was a new semester, and I was frustrated with one of my writing seminars. No matter how many in-class workshops I facilitated, they couldn't seem to figure out how to write a 5-paragraph essay. Normally after a challenging day I'd go home to Sylvia and run myself a warm bath, light a few scented candles, and read a novel in the bathtub. But tonight, after marking up one horrible essay after the next, I needed something a little stronger than a vanilla candle and warm sugar bath scrub. I'd left a message on Troian's voicemail to see if she wanted to meet up so I didn't have to drink by myself, but so far my phone was silent. I vaguely remembered her mentioning a date night with Nikole, but I couldn’t recall if she’d said it was tonight or not. This was one of the drawbacks of being an extra-wheel. I desperately needed to find a wheel to call my own. Or just a girlfriend. That would work, too.
I’d thought about calling Cady to see if she wanted to meet up with me tonight. But I knew from the last time we’d briefly talked on the phone that she’d just started dating someone exclusively. I didn’t want to complicate things and the way I was feeling tonight, lonely and self-depreciating, I was sure to do that. Cady was familiar and comfortable and that was dangerous. I wanted her to move on
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