As I often did, in my mind I saw my harshest critics’ faces frowning at me. This time even Michiko Kakutani for theTimes, who had lovedFolly, was shaking her finger at me.
Yeah, so scrap transcendental.
Her skin was so smooth, her hair so silky…God, it was all crap. All true, of course, but yeah, National Book Award winner Billy Montrose could not put the words together to describe the life-altering event of having sex with a girl.
But, it wasn’t just any girl. It was Syd.
And, maybe life-altering was the best, or at least the most accurate, description to use, if not the most lyrical.
I’d noticed her in my class right away, of course, as the more interesting looking girl who always sat between the other two. One being Jane Winters who certainly made her intentions known right away, and Lily Spaulding who was breathtakingly beautiful.
I’d been given the codes of conduct when I started, and of course any kind of relationship with a student was verboten. And I had kind of scoffed at it. I hadn’t dated a girl that young in…well, since I’dbeenthat age. After Diandra, I had a couple semi-girlfriends, and they’d both been a few years older. A co-ed hook up was the last thing on my mind when I took the gig.
This year was supposed to be about finding my joy of writing again, by teaching it. And finally getting on track with my next book, whichever one that turned out to be.
Until I read Syd’s first paper. The assignment for each freshman was a thousand words on how Bribury was different than what they had expected.
And the words flowed from her with purpose and strength. I could tell she’d probably whipped the thing off in a couple of hours, and yet it was the freshest, most insightful paper I read out of over a hundred students. As was her next one, and the next. And I found myself searching her out each time I entered the room.
Yes, Lily was beautiful, and Jane had this “it” thing going on that was appealing (and at times very annoying), but Syd, while quiet during class, and clearly embarrassed of Jane’s antics, was the one with the still waters running deep essence about her.
And that essence was confirmed with each paper I assigned. I’m not really proud of it, but I did tweak some of the themes of the papers to feed Syd some of the things that I was curious about.
I told myself that it was good for all students to stretch themselves a little bit in their writing—and it was true. But, at some point, I started searching through the pile of turned-in papers to read hers first.
And last. I always read it last to give comments and a grade. But I read it first…just for me, I supposed.
I spent equal time on each student’s paper with comments and feedback. Perhaps more time on the others’ because with Syd’s papers the comments flowed almost as effortlessly as her writing seemed to.
I knew of her guilt at leaving her little brothers behind in Queens. But also of the near desperateness in her to become something more than what she saw every day. There was obviously much more to the family dynamic at home than she disclosed in her writing. I could almost see the point where she would yank her fingers off the keyboard, teetering at the edge of the abyss of her deepest feelings. Then slowly edge herself back to safety.
That safety in her writing was something I wanted, as her instructor, for her to break through.
And as someone interested in her in other ways, I wanted to protect her from going beyond her safety point.
Coming out of your comfort zone was one thing. But I sensed with Syd there was something pretty deep that needed, at least for now, to continue hibernating.
Demons could be fought later on, when you were a bit more removed from them, and not when you were in a new environment, trying (in Syd’s case, desperately) to fly under the radar and blend in.
She turned away from me and I took my hand out of her hair, watching the strands, so black against my winter-white hand, softly fall and drift down to lay against her back.
Her back to my chest, I considered waking her, but I let her sleep on. We’d gone at it hard, and for a long time. And though I had dozed for a little bit after, I was now too energized to snuggle into her without being selfish and rolling her under me for Round Two.
Or Four. Whatever, I’d stopped counting. (Who am I kidding, I’m a guy, we don’t ever stop counting that kind of shit.) It would be Round Four.
Instead, I carefully extricated myself from behind her and swung one leg over those gorgeous, latte-colored thighs, and got up from the couch.
I grabbed my jeans from the floor and slipped them on, leaving the top button undone. (Chicks loved that, right?)
I took my long coat and covered Syd with it. It didn’t quite reach her shoulders, and although I would have loved to see the creamy curves on display, I used the scarf I’d given her to place upon any exposed skin.
It was February after all. And the sweat we’d worked up (a lot) was cooling off now, at least on me.
I pulled my T-shirt from the floor, my hoodie from the chair, and put them on as I made my way around to my desk. I angled my chair so I could see both my laptop screen and Syd as she slept on.
Defenseless, her guard down, she seemed so much…softer. Watching her, I felt a small pang in my chest. I had better be careful here. Yes, Syd was from Queens, and one tough chick, but she was also young and I was in no position to offer anything more than this, what we’d just spent the last few hours engaged in.
For one, there was the student thing. I didn’t think anyone would string me up for sleeping with my assistant after she’d been my student, only because I’d be gone in a few more months. It wouldn’t be worth it to the administration.
