C: My husband and children never pushed me into the ocean.
J: Yeah, that’s what you’re going with?
C: Shut up
J: Lemme know how it goes.
C: You bet
Jumping up with a newer outlook, I ran the shower and started getting ready for my class.
As always, no matter how long I showered or primped or tried to pretty myself, I was neverready. I was never comfortable enough in my skin to beready.
For the third time, I looked at myself in the mirror, and again smoothed down the material of my pencil skirt, erasing the non-existent wrinkles I worried would pop up. I slid my blazer on. Grumbling, I pulled it back off. Looking through my closet I groaned, grabbing the same blazer and shrugging it back on, turning in the mirror. I ripped it off and chucked it across the room. Maybe Bren was right. Professor? Who the Hell was I kidding? What the eff was wrong with me?
The fourth time I looked at my reflection, I threw my toothbrush at it and stuck out my tongue. I was 5’ 1” and I wished…I wished I was one of those characters in a book that was 5’ 8” and beautiful and perfect and tan and skinny and well, I’m justnot. I’m real. I have stretch marks, cellulite, freckles, and I wear glasses; I’m like a frumpy librarian with a dirty imagination. I always have split ends,let’s not even talk about how big my ass is,and as I stared at myself (still sticking out my tongue) I felt a lot like a little insecure kid and not at all like a professor in a college.
I ended up wearing the damned blazer, but leaving it open and letting the soft pink, silky, sleeveless shirt underneath show. Breathlessly, I caught a cab to East 23rdstreet before I could vomit all over myself.
The cab ride was short, just across town, but I sat in the back seat a frenzied, sweaty, nervous bundle of energy. I was excited and terrified. And in my heart, just as I always did when things were hard to deal with, I leaned back against the cool leather of the seats and imagined Joey and Jase on both sides of me.
The cab got there way too quickly.
Stupidcab driver.
I blinked my eyes closed for a few moments and inhaled deeply.
Then, Ijust jumped.
When I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the building, a legion of butterflies proudly swooped deep in my belly. I felt a smile tug at my lips, becauseI could do this. I couldjump. I graduated from here, and they askedmeto teach forthem. Icoulddo this.
Walking through the lobby of the school, the chemical smell of turpentine and thick, rich, oil paint hung faintly in the air. God, Ilovedthat smell.
My heels clicked softly over the floors as I walked the expanse of the main lobby. Bright, white walls were graced with the brilliant oil and acrylic paintings of the most talented fine arts students in the city. I felt like I was home.
After greeting the faculty and mindlessly chatting with the president and others, I finally made my way into a small classroom to set up a projector and my slide presentation. Then nervously, I dimmed the lights down low.
At exactly one o’clock, the last of my fifteen students strolled through the door and quietly took a seat. I breathed in deep at the sight of the handful of students who gazed up at me with eager eyes.
I am not going to throw up.
I’m not going to throw up.
It’s just talking to people.
About art.
My stomach rolled, and I smiled and started talking before I could think any more about throwing up. “I always thought art history was a boring class, unless it was your major, and I know this is just an elective for most of you. I fell asleep so many times in the seats you’re in right now, but I’m hoping to change that a bit…”
Then, I began my presentation. The music started; their eyes widened and smiles grew. AndI knewthat I would be great at this. The fear of throwing up dissipated, and the excitement of the music, the pictures, and discussions, sent me into a wild, passionate high.
By the end of the day, after teaching both of my classes and eating in the lounge with a handful of excited students, the president of the college, Professor Lanes, asked me into his office.
My heart rate sped up, because I was well aware that he had slipped in to watch both of my classes and stayed until the very end. He also watched me eat dinner and discuss a dozen or so things that had to do with the current art world.
After the meeting, I decided to walk back to my apartment, and by the time I reached the corner of 23rdStreet and 3rdAvenue, I had tears in my eyes. Within twenty minutes after the end of my studio class, I was moved to the amphitheater for the remainder of my lectures and the largest studio for my theory and design class. One hundred students had transferred into my class upon hearing about my lecture and who I was. The President of the college had never been so impressed by such a young teacher before. He asked me to think about teaching more classes for the next semester.
When I reached Fourth Avenue, I took out my phone and typed out a text.
