― Lionel Shriver
Daunting Students
This morning I need the architecture of routine as a narcotic, an escape from anxiety, a distraction from the tragedy of ending my relationship with Sylvia.
I kept putting off the inevitable until it became unavoidable and the offer of the penthouse condo was more than I could bear. Really, if I could live with that, I could delude myself into accepting anything―spending Daddy's money―honeymooning in Cuba or the Mayan Riviera.
Bewitched by her beauty and bemused by Daddy's money...
Where would it ever end?
I awoke exhausted from the night's drama and grabbed a coffee and croissant at my local Tim Horton's on my way to work.
My first day at Haven―God only knew what surprises the day held in store.
I had my class schedule―-mostly university English and small classes―what more could I hope for or expect? Well, perhaps lunch with Lorraine. That would make my day.
Oh and students who were willing learners...but I was imagining Alp upon Alp of knowledge and likely leaning out too far over my skis.
I Parked in my assigned spot and made sure my parking pass was posted on my front windshield―driver's side, lower-left corner.
As I walked toward the main doors I saw Tom Hughes, the student I spoke to on my first visit, hurrying into the side doors of the school.
Strange guy, I noted to myself, wondering about his family background and the privileged soil from which he sprung.
"Your first day―up to the challenge?"
I turned and looked into the smiling eyes of Tom Turner, the department head.
"Looking forward to the day, actually. Any pearls of wisdom you might care to dispense?"
"Don't lose your edge. If you're bored, you're boring. And don't ask questions you know the answers to―treasure hunt is not a socratic technique."
"Good advice!" I smiled. "But what about class management?"
"That's simple," he laughed, clapping me on my shoulder, "You get what you let."
And with a friendly wave he was off to tilt at windmills. He was a born teacher. I wasn't sure I could measure up to his expectations.
I follow the layout map of the school Lorraine gave me in my orientation package and find the classroom just as the opening bell sounds.
I enter the classroom and find the class already seated with books out, pens and pencils ready, staring at me like Children of the Corn. It's very disconcerting. I can manage chaos―the perfect I find difficult to navigate.
"Good morning," I smile at them. "Ready for Shakespeare?"
The room is silent. "I'll take that as a yes," I chuckle.
"What strikes you as being interesting in the opening scene of Hamlet?"
"Aren't you going to take attendance?" a voice asks.
It's Tom Hughes, the student I met in the parking lot first day.
"Four rows of five―twenty seats―everybody's here. Do you want to waste time on the class roll or learn something about Shakespeare?"
"Stand and unfold yourself," Tom says.
He's answering the question I asked at the beginning of class.
"That's insightful, Tom―the scene starts with uncertainty, with everyone's identity cloaked in mystery."
"Much like this class," a precocious blond in the first row observes.
"So, you're saying the opening scene is a parable of life where we must reveal ourself for who we really are."
"Right," she smiles seductively, and places her open textbook on her head as a veil. "I'm a nun."
"No," I smile, "that would be dissembling."
The class laughs. The ice is broken.
My first two classes flow seamlessly, the students bright and eager, willing to engage. I've forgotten how it feels to teach my subject without the friction of apathy and unwillingness to cooperate.
The morning passes smoothly without struggle or interruption the way school was always meant to be. I'm impressed with the pasta offerings at the cafeteria hot counter and finally settle on the lasagne.
"that would be my choice," a soft voice says behind me. I don't have to look around because I know it's Lorraine, especially the way my heart is beating.
"You have this lunch too?" I ask.
"I checked your schedule and I do now."
We occupy the same table as before.
"We should put a reserve sign on it, " I joke.
"No need. Other people respect your choice. That's the good thing about Haven--never any friction."
I noticed. Why is that?"
"I think everyone's content with their lot. There's only conflict when there's competition."
I nod, then venture a comment. "I saw a bit of conflict between you and Sylvia last night."
"That's only because she was forcing things. She thinks she can keep you by controlling you."
"Well, that's over now."
"Was it because of me?" she asked.
"No, it was me. If I didn't care for her I'd probably stay, but it was best for both of us."
She went quiet. No other words were necessary. I made a decision and pushed back against a boundary. I didn't regret it, only that I should have done it sooner.