I read an article, of which I can't remember where it came from or I would quote it, that said that men sometimes don't hold eye contact out of either embarrassment or guilt--and that women were better at reading social cues (there is an exception for people who are inflicted with depression who interpret facial expressions more negatively than most people--an obvious point).
The English instructor doesn't suffer from embarrassment nor guilt. I've tried this out in the classroom, by bringing up the "pull out method" when interpreting "The Flea." He didn't seem particularly affected by this, and just said, "I don't know." (Why in a pop culture class are we not talking about sex?)
Toward the end of class, the final weeks, I noticed a very small, but potentially powerful change. He started defending my ideas to the rest of the group--very subtle, probably most people wouldn't noticed anything, but he came to my rescue a few times, in the very same way that FB would do in high school. Of course, realizing this while sitting in lecture, I thought I might start to cry (I loved FB dearly even though we never dated because he was my best friend in school--and I regret to this day that I never shared my feelings with him).
Of course, I considered that I might cry during finals night in Engl 201A (this potentially could be the last time I see the English instructor), but I managed to only embarrass myself, and then I left.
"Have you thought about applying at [the University]?" I ask the English instructor on finals night since he has expressed to me multiple times that he doesn't want to teach high school (which is where he's headed, as I'm assuming he can't afford to live on a community college's salary with five kids).
He's putting on his dress jacket, and staring at the table. "No, I haven't."
I found that to be unfortunate, so I continue, "I know [The English Professor] at [the University] English Department only has a Master's, granted he's not tenure, but he's a full time lecturer--and you're a better teacher than he is." Which is true, although I have to admit--after seeing many photos of the English Professor on his Facebook page--he is still oddly beautiful even at fifty (we should all age so gracefully).
The English instructor is busy shuffling around his belongings, and he seems unmoved by my argument.
"Maybe getting published would booster your resume," I say.
"I feel like this is the right thing for me to do at this time in my life," he tells me later, although this is in direct contradiction to his earlier statements. I asked him plainly after class one night while we were standing outside if he wanted to teach high school. He responded, "I think you know the answer to that question." It was too dark to read his face.
My mother, who is deeply unsatisfied with her career choice, told me yesterday to do what I loved, as long as it made me enough money to pay the bills. Money, after a certain point, doesn't make up for hating your life and what you do.
I left class, and then as I was walking in the night to my SUV, I remember that I brought the English instructor a book that I had been saving for him, one of Harry's. I grab the book, and head back to class.
The English instructor is sitting at the table, reading, all alone.
I'm obviously nervous, so I quickly explain that this is Harry's book, and that he would appreciate any feedback he could receive on it. I hand it over.
The English instructor doesn't say anything, and immediately opens it up, and begins to read.
I stand there, mute, and feeling out of place. Should I just leave, and let him read? Or should I stay, if he wants to say anything to me?
I stay, putting my hand over my lips in self-defense.
The English instructor makes a face, the face he makes when he's thinking hard. He comments on the diction, and then puts the book in a box, saying he will read it over break.
I feel like something should be said, but I'm not sure what that is. I was only looking for some evidence of a genuine connection, that superseded the professor-vs-student dynamic.
But that never came.
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