Page 58 of When He Saved Me
“How did you—”
“—know?” she finished for me. She speared a strawberry with her fork and popped it into her mouth, contemplating her words as she chewed. My food sat untouched in front of me. “I didn’t start my college career as an education major. I went for creative writing. I always enjoyed writing as a kid, making up stories and writing them down, but when I was in my teen years, I really fell in love with the art. My teachers always gave me high marks, so I decided to turn my passion into my major with the hopes that someday it would become my career. I wanted to be the next great novelist.” She popped another strawberry into her mouth.
“What happened?” I asked, desperately wanting to know the rest of the story.
“Eat,” she said.
“What?”
“Eat,” she repeated, nodding toward my plate of what were likely now lukewarm pancakes. I sighed but reached for the syrup, knowing she wouldn’t finish her story if I didn’t dig in. She seemed satisfied after I took my first bite and finally continued.
“My first year of school was great. My grades were good, though there were a lot of non-major courses that first year, but still, I really enjoyed the one entry-level English course and made good grades there too.” I shoveled in more pancakes as she continued.
“My second year was like a whole new ballgame. My classes were harder, the course load was more intense, and I had a misogynistic asshole of a professor for two of my required English classes. None of the work I submitted was good enough for him. His grading practices were completely unfair. Women consistently earned lower marks than the men in his classes, and he was known for favoring men when recommending internships with publishing houses and literary agents. I tried to go to the dean of the department but was shrugged off and dismissed from his office.
“By the end of the semester, I was so defeated that I began to look into options for changing my major. The department was small enough that if I kept on the same track, I’d likely have him for at least one more junior-level class, and I just couldn’t stomach dealing with him again. As it turned out, those classes he taught were required coursework for bachelor of arts students, but education students seeking an English endorsement had more flexibility in their course options. And with the coursework I’d already taken, I could change majors and still graduate on time as long as I took a couple of education courses over the summer.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said, outraged. “That asshole should have been dismissed from his position.”
She shrugged as she popped a grape into her mouth. “He had tenure and this was the nineties. Even now, women have an uphill battle when they make any sort of claim against a male professor. Thirty years ago, it was nearly impossible. And as a woman just barely out of her teens, I didn’t have the fortitude or the tools to press the issue.”
“Do you regret it? Changing majors?”
“No. If something like that happened today, I might handle it differently, but as it turned out, I fell in love with teaching. And because I’d had a professor like that, I strove to make sure I treated students fairly and with compassion. I never wanted any of my kids to feel like that in my classroom.” She finished the last piece of her fruit and then started on her toast. I was happy to see her eating.
“What about your dream of becoming a writer?” I polished off my pancakes and started in on my bacon.
“Who says I don’t write? Just because I’m not a published author doesn’t mean I’m not a writer.”
“Would you ever show me something you’ve written?” I asked. I was dying to see some of her work.
“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.” Her eyes twinkled as she spread jam across her second piece of toast.
“Oh, that’s low.” I chuckled. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“You have no idea.”
I shook my head, smiling at her sass. “I appreciate what you’re saying, and up until recently, I hadn’t given any thought to pursuing anything beyond my current job, but maybe I do want something more. I just don’t know what that might be. I still don’t have the money for college, and I have no idea what kind of writer I might be or if that’s even something I’d want to do seriously.” Even contemplating the idea of pursuing a career felt overwhelming. I felt like one of those colorblind people who’d been given special glasses and could now see all the vibrant colors around me. It was amazing and mind-boggling all at the same time. In some ways, it had been easier when everything was dull.
“You don’t have to decide anything today, or even tomorrow, or next week. In fact, nothing ever has to change if you don’t want it to. I’m not trying to pressure you into something you don’t want. Jamie and I will love you no matter what you do.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to how easily she threw out words likelovewhen it came to me. “I just don’t want you to settle because you never gave yourself a chance to think bigger. You deserve that, sweet boy.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I settled with, “Thank you. I’ll, um, I’ll give it some thought.”
“Good. Now, what should we make for dinner to celebrate Jamie’s first day?”
We finished breakfast, talking about dinner ideas for Jamie and speculating about how his first day was going, but the entire time my mind swirled with possibilities.
CHAPTER27
JAMIE
The first dayof my student-teaching assignment was…surreal. After all the coursework, a change in universities, and my mom’s illness, I was finally living my dream.
The day had started with professional development revolving around combing through data and looking at which students needed more support to be successful. My student-teaching assignment was seventh-grade English, so I spent the morning with other seventh-grade teachers who all worked together on the same team.
Mitchell Davis, my cooperating teacher, had been at Swope for the last six years, though he’d been teaching for closer to twenty. I’d met him a few times through my mom, but since he’d come to Swope after I’d been through as a student, I didn’t know him well.
Susan Lakes was the history teacher and was about the same age as my mom. She’d been hired at Swope the same year as Mom, and they’d been friends for just as long. She’d given me a sad smile when I’d walked in, and I’d caught her looking at me with pity a few times when she thought I wasn’t looking.
