“This is gay.”
This is the first critique I received from one of my sweet, little angels about my first class assignment. He was on the wrestling team. I received the same thoughtful review from a football player and a sophomore student. I didn’t teach sophomore English, but this particular student loved freshman level English enough to repeat the course, thus earning the title of super freshman. I never met so many people proud of un-accomplishment.
“Really?” I drew back with shock and awe at the harsh critique. “It’s so simple, though. Besides, you get to use water colors paints and it can be anything! It’s all about YOU!”
“Water colors are gay.” They reply.
Coming out of shock, I demonstrated the penalty for using derogatory language in class. It is a weird transition monitoring such lax behavior. Indeed, a sad state of affairs when such abuse of language feels commonplace.
During lunch, my critic dusted the areas of my classroom gone untouched by janitorial staff. He expressed the gay-ness of such a penalty beforehand. Meanwhile, I check my email.
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To: MrJ@webmail.org
From: Mandynificent@gonzaga.net
Subject: Blind Date?
Hey Josh! How was the first week of school? I heard you’re single again? What’s up with that? Although I know it’s soon, I have someone in mind for you to meet. Would you be interested? Let me know and I’ll give you her number! Later Babe,Mandy ;)
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I was interested.
The first time we met, I immediately deemed myself unworthy of her company. Amy wore the demeanor of an unapproachable goddess. Something of myth, imagined from texts of the Greeks. She was a centerfold breathed into life. Her shadowy hair was tamed only by intricate and faint strands of light. The attention of the room was demanded by the curves she purposefully, strategically accented.
“Well…”, I said to no one, “This isn’t going to go anywhere…”
I already announced my demise beforehand, already switching body-language that communicated “No, thanks. I’m already like-a-brother to enough girls”. I’d still remain and have a drink, talk, and politely make my exit. It was the weekend and I couldn’t leave a foul impression on an acquaintance.
“Amy?”
“HI! It’s so nice to meet you!”
“Yeah, likewise…”, the painful first impression phase commences.
“Do you want to grab a table?” she offers.
“Feh! Why waste a perfectly good bar stool? Know what I mean?”
“Oh, okay.”
From this point, we hit the basics of introductions:
She lived in the same town, in the same state most of her life. She was still going to school, but lived on her own. Two bedroom apartment, one roommate. March 14th, 1983 – only a year younger than me! Favorite color is purple. Favorite beer is Shiner. Favorite wine is Red. Not big into sports, but loves writing poetry. Coldplay, Amy Winehouse, and Radiohead. One tattoo, planning for more. One brother and some step sisters.
Pretty level headed so far.
We close the bar and stroll into the parking lot. So much for plan A. Commence the awkward goodbye phase.
“Well…” I commence, “ I guess time flies… and all that good stuff.”
“Yeah, but…” she parries, “I’m not really tired…. are you?”
This isn’t how the Awkward Goodbye phase works! Yes, yes I am tired! I’ve been teaching all week and have a faculty workshop to attend in the morning.
“Yeah, I’m not tired either….”, says me.
“Well… I don’t want to go home… my roommates been bugging me…”
“Huh….”, I’m confused.
We stare at each other. The lights from the bar flicker off, abandoning me. She speaks again before biting her bottom lip.
“Well… what are we gonna do then?”
“Well…”, eloquently I brainstorm. It’s more akin to a brief sprinkle or fog. “I don’t have roommates anymore… but I do have more Red wine at my place if you want come-"
“Sounds good! Let’s go!”
“…sounds good. Let’s go.”, and we do.
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