Time Out

"You talk to us at our level," the grumpy, older student tells the Engl 201A class, directing her attention to the English instructor during finals' night.

It's just before the beginning of writers' group, and the English instructor is sitting in what looks like a one person, pink couch. He's a little too big and tall to be seated in the corner of the room, and because of the small space, his knees are drawn up under him like how a horse will gather its legs and bends its joints as it sleeps on its side. He's looking down, and not talking to anyone.

Maybe he's shy? I think. How can he be shy? He stands up to a crowd and spouts a whole range of ideas and principles as his job, joking constantly, and playing with the dynamics of the group and he's never been shy about it. If anything, he is gregarious and extroverted.

I'm making conversation with Harry, but realize that I can't just leave the English instructor sitting in the corner like he's on a time out. I ask, just as another group member asks him something completely different, "How's your morning going, [the English instructor]?"

He turns his head briefly in my direction, but makes no eye contact, and he gives the other member his attention.