Page 42 of Trust Again

“So, pay attention to: age, gender, and profession,” the dark-haired girl added.

“Thank you, Everly,” said Professor Gates and clapped his hands together. “So, who wants to start?”

There wasn’t time for me to ask Everly why we had to stand on the tables.

The guy to Blake’s right cleared his throat, unfolded his paper and looked quizzically at Professor Gates, who simply clapped again and grinned broadly.

“Today my mommy gave me a peanut butter sandwich to take to school,” the guy began, in a dark, otherwise normal tone.

It seemed we had to guess who it was on the basis of wording and sentence structure alone.

“During recess, I switched my lunch with Kyle’s. He had tuna, which he doesn’t even like. I don’t like it either, but Kyle is so sweet. So I pretended to eat it. But when no one was looking, I threw it into my backpack. Now my bag stinks and Molly called me Fishy. That’s mean. But then when I was doing gymnastics, I got to swing on the high bar and they didn’t. Kyle was watching and he waved at me. I’m feeling better now.” He concluded with a little nod and everyone laughed politely.

His text made me think right away of an eight-year-old girl.

“Good job, Jamie,” Professor Gates beamed. “Your turn, Everly.”

She nodded, opened up her sparkly notebook and read: “I’m tired and not just physically but also mentally. When I turn over I notice how cold the other half of the bed is. I want to tell her about my dream but she’s not there any more. After all these years she’s gone and I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it. I tell everyone I’m fine but it’s not true. I only feel okay when I don’t have time to think. So I fill my time with activities that suddenly seem meaningless. But I’m still stuck on her; I can’t think of anything any else except for following her, wherever she went.”

Wow. Everly’s piece gave me goose bumps. Her language was so simple, but somehow it still managed to get under my skin. I was sure her character must be a widower but it was hard to guess his age. It didn’t sound like someone elderly, more like someone middle-aged.

“That was great, Everly,” Professor Gates said, pointing to the next student.

We listened to all the monologues before Professor Gates let us sit down. The rest of the seminar we spent writing our evaluations and discussing them afterward. We dissected every text and discussed the passages that had hinted at the age or gender of the character. The whole time, Professor Gates sat on top of a table, his legs dangling down. If someone said something he disagreed with, he would jump in and argue until his opponent ran out of responses or until Gates had nothing more to say and nodded supportively. It was a really interesting hour, even if my stomach started knotting every time I thought about how next time, I would have to stand on a table and present my homework like all the others.

When the class was over, I gathered my things and started to follow Everly and the others into the hall, when Professor Gates called me back.

I walked cautiously to his table, where he was still sitting, his red Converse sneakers dangling down.

“Yes, Professor Gates?”

“Nolan,” he corrected me. “How did you like the class?”

“I really liked it,” I said, without missing a beat.

“What course did you transfer from?” he probed.

“Early American Literature up to 1865.”

Professor Gates wrinkled his nose. “Why, may I ask?”

“There was some… friction,” I said, hesitantly.

“Listen, Dawn. In my class there is no beating around the bush. Everyone can say what they think without being criticized for it. Got it?” He waited for me to nod, before continuing. “Good. Okay, so: why did you switch classes?”

I took a deep breath. “I had a difference of opinion with my professor.”

Gates nodded encouragement. “Okay, we’re getting closer. What was this difference of opinion about?”

Again I took a deep breath, remembering how Professor Walden had humiliated me.

“I have trouble speaking in front of a lot of people,” I explained, cautiously.

“And Atticus raked you over the coals. I get it,” Gates muttered and rubbed his chin. “As I already said, this room is a safe place. Everything we learn and discuss remains between us. I’ve had a few students in the past who have transferred into my classes and had to learn the ropes, but I always manage to get them over their shyness. And I’ll help you get over it, too.” He jumped off the table and walked behind it, reaching for his pile of books. He rummaged through them and pulled out a piece of paper for me.

“This is the syllabus and these are the assignments we’ve done up till now. It would be great if you could get one or two writing exercises done by next week. You can send them to me by email if you don’t want to present them in front of the others. At the end, there’s a numbered reading list. You can actually find all the texts in the library. Don’t hesitate to get in touch with me if you have any problems or questions. Anyway, I’m always pleased to have a new face in my classroom.” He held out his hand to me and I took it, shocked. He placed his other hand over mine and kept it there for a moment. “Pretty soon you’re going to forget all about Professor Walden. Believe me.”

Chapter 15

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