Memoir in the Making: A May-December Romance

by Adrian J. Smith

She had just gotten to the second type when the door to the classroom opened. Ainsley slinked inside and sat in the front corner, where the only chair left was. Meredith took a deep breath and glanced at the clock above the wall. Ten minutes late. Technically, according to her syllabus, it was an absence. And like always, she would say something to the student.

  Nodding in Ainsley’s direction, Meredith said, “Ainsley, please see me after class before you leave.”

  Before letting Ainsley have the opportunity to say anything else, she continued in her lecture. The memoir due the next week was a childhood memory, one vivid in their minds. Meredith talked through the first thirty minutes and then sat down at her desk.

  “It’s time for a free write. Ten minutes, and then we’ll discuss what we wrote. Your topic is childhood. Go ahead and write now.”

  Each student was scribbling on paper with pens or pencil. She’d asked them not to bring laptops or tablets into the classroom to avoid distractions and to allow them the ability to know what free-form, old-school writing looked and felt like. Meredith got out her own piece of paper and scribbled down on it, not something to do with her childhood but something with childhood in general.

  She glanced at Ainsley a couple times throughout the ten-minute sprint, locking gazes with her once. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she bit her lip, forcing herself to focus back on the paper in front of her. She needed to stop whatever fantasies she had with Ainsley. She took a deep breath and finished her paragraph with a flurry.

  The clock on the wall hit ten until the top of the hour, and Meredith straightened her back. “Finish up your sentences, please.”

  Students either scurried to write the next sentence or they looked up with boredom. Ainsley wrote quickly, scratching down whatever last sentence she had. Meredith gave them each another two minutes and then told them to stop. They needed to move on with the class.

  “Is there anyone who would like to share what they wrote?”

  Silence echoed through the room. For the first round of sharing in a class, Meredith would expect the majored students to volunteer first. The only other one in the class besides Ainsley was out with the flu, and Ainsley did not look to be in a sharing mood.

  Meredith took a deep breath. “Anyone?”

  “Why don’t you share yours?” Ainsley asked.

  Rubbing her eyes under her glasses, Meredith nodded. “All right, then.”

  She had not intended on sharing her work at all. It was far more revealing about herself than she wanted her students to know, but if no one else was going to share, then she would be forced to either share herself or pick a student to read theirs—which was not something she was fond of doing.

  Clearing her throat, Meredith picked up her paper and read.

  “My son dances around to the beat of the radio, his wobbly foot hitting the ground soon followed by his stronger one. I watch with certainty he will fall—he does every time. He spins in circles, hands in the air, his voice echoing through the house as he screams along with the song.

  “There—there it is. His wobbly foot turns, and his knee rolls under. Watching him fall to the ground every single time makes my heart clench. My muscles tense as I resist the urge to jump up and make sure he’s okay, make sure he’s not hurt, make sure mommy can wipe away the tears and make him better. I clench my hands into fists as he turns his head to gaze back at me.

  “I have to bite my lip hard to stop from saying anything. I want to tell him mommy is right there. I want to tell him mommy will never let him get hurt. I want him to know mommy loves him. I want to get on my knees and cradle him in my arms, kissing the top of his head over and over again until I know he won’t ever grow up.

  “He looks up at me and says ‘Mommy, I fell!’ I nod at him, tears in my eyes as he breaks out into a giggle and then a laugh, his high pitched voice ricocheting off the living room walls. He pushes himself back up, his wobbly foot back underneath his body as he hobbles over to me and wraps his arms around my neck. ‘I danced!’ ‘You did, baby. You did dance,’ I whisper in his ear, tears of joy sliding down my cheeks.”

  Meredith set the paper down and took off her glasses, setting them on top of the desk. She looked up at Ainsley with no fear and no trepidation. She wanted to continue staring, but realized all too quickly, she needed to run the class.

  “Thoughts?” she asked. “It’s okay to be honest. If you say something you didn’t like, make sure to say something you enjoyed.”

  She looked around from student to student, hoping one of them would raise their hand. Ainsley looked shocked. Meredith didn’t have to explain it to her, and frankly, she didn’t want to. Her child was absolutely none of Ainsley’s business. Meredith leaned back in her chair, making sure not to cross her arms, and looked at each student in turn.

  “Come on, you guys. This is a dialogue, a conversation. Everyone’s participation points are going to suffer if no one speaks.”

  One lowly student in the back corner of the room raised his hand, his eyes wide as he stared straight at Meredith. She held back her smile and sat straight up, holding her hand out—palm up—in his direction.

  “Go ahead, Alex.”

  “Your son had a wobbly leg, was that because he was too young to really be able to walk?”

  “No, it wasn’t. Good job picking up on that.”

  “Yeah,” Alex continued. “His language didn’t seem young enough for him to just be a toddler. You did a really good job of letting us know his age through his language rather than his actions.”

  “Good observation. Anyone else?”

  Conversation moved quickly after that. Three more students shared what they had written, and Meredith saw promise in each. For a quick write, she didn’t have high expectations. She checked the clock to make sure time was almost up and then stood from the desk.

  “Would you put your name at the top of your papers and hand them in, please? I’d like to read them over before our next class session. Please come to class with a ten minute sprint already written out with another childhood memory. We’ll share them first thing and then do some more writing.”

  The shuffling of papers started from the back of the classroom and worked its way forward. Meredith stepped in front of the desks and collected the papers from each student in the front row. She stacked them together and set them on her desk, turning back to the rest of the room.

  “Happy early release!”

  The students stuffed their backpacks and left the room. Ainsley stayed right where she was. Good, she remembered, Meredith thought. Crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the desk at the front of the room, Meredith debated how to start the conversation. It could either be a conversation, or it could be a dictatorship.

  “Why were you late?”

  “Got lost.”

  “Ainsley, you did not get lost. Why were you late?” Meredith’s stomach plummeted before jumping back up and spinning circles. She was once again alone in a room with Ainsley, and the urge to touch her wasn’t going away. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the back of her head, and Meredith wanted to pull it out and run her fingers through Ainsley’s hair.

  “I told you. I got lost.”

  “Lost where?”

  “What does it matter?” Ainsley grumbled and packed up her bag.

  Meredith walked over to the desk Ainsley was sitting in and put her hands on top of it, leaning over, her face unreasonably close to Ainsley’s. She took in a few slow, deep breaths.

  “It matters because you were more than ten minutes late, which means if you do not have a reasonable excuse it counts as an absence. And I really don’t want to give you an absence this early in the semester if it can be avoided.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the policy of this classroom. Now please tell me why you were late.”

  “I figured if I snuck it later then I wouldn’t end up in a conversation with you.”

  Meredith jerked back, her shoulders set and
arms crossed back over her chest as she stared down at Ainsley. Clenching her molars, she turned back toward her things and slung her bag over her shoulder.

  “What would make you think I would treat you differently now than I did before?” Meredith asked, turning around one last time to face down Ainsley.

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

  Meredith snorted and shook her head. “Hardly. I would have this conversation with any student. But you wouldn’t know that because you haven’t taken one of my classes before.”

  “Probably a good thing,” Ainsley said sarcastically.

  “You know, if you don’t change the attitude it might affect how I treat you. I treat you with respect, and I deserve respect back. Just because you’re upset doesn’t mean I need to be dragged into it with you.”

  Ainsley said nothing in response. She stood up, with her backpack in tow, and looked up and down Meredith’s body. Meredith shivered under the scrutiny, once again thinking about touching Ainsley’s hair and dragging her fingers through it.

  “I’m—I’m upset with myself, not with you.”

  Meredith deflated. Her defenses dropped, and she once again leaned against the desk. That was certainly it; once she focused on Ainsley’s actions rather than what she wanted to do she could see it. Ainsley was embarrassed.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Meredith said. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen someone intoxicated beyond comprehension.”

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it.”

  “Well, try not to. I just wanted you to be safer.”

  “I will next time.”

  All the tension that had been in the room disappeared. Well, most of the tension, Meredith corrected. Sexual tension still very present. Ainsley stepped around the desk and looked straight at Meredith. Meredith wasn’t sure what to say or do in the situation. If anything, she should just walk out and leave, but she felt there was more to be said.

  “Good. And don’t hesitate to call me if you need a ride home at some random hour in the night because you were ditched by your best friend.”

  Ainsley chuckled, and Meredith grinned. She’s successfully made the rest of the tension disappear. She stood up and headed for the door, ready to go back to her office and grab Sam for a quick lunch before office hours began.

  “I—I don’t have your number,” Ainsley whispered.

  Meredith turned around, giving her an incredulous look, her eyebrow raised and lips quivering. It was very tempting for her to grab a pen and write it down for Ainsley or pull Ainsley’s hand over to write it on her palm like they really were back in high school, but that would be crossing another boundary—besides, Ainsley did actually have her number.

  “Syllabus. It’s on the front page.”

  “Oh.”

  Ainsley looked utterly disappointed. Meredith sucked in a deep breath and left the room and Ainsley behind, wanting nothing else than to be away from the situation entirely. A few hours of fun with Sam would have her back where she should be.

  #

  The sidewalk outside the humanities building was bustling with people when Ainsley got there. The brick walkway made her trip twice before she reached the cement sidewalk leading to the library. Adam was inside, once again, studying for his senior thesis. She pushed open the door, swiped her ID card and searched around for him.

  By the time she made it to the third floor in her search, she was huffing from having to climb so many steps. She paused at the top and looked around as far as she could see. There were desks in the center of the floor, but there were also desks all along the wall. Ainsley heaved a breath when she didn’t see Adam and walked the perimeter, hoping to catch sight of him. She made it around the whole level twice before his head popped through the shelves and he smiled at her.

  “Jesus, Adam,” she whispered. “That’s not cool.”

  “It’s hilarious,” he whispered back.

  Glaring, Ainsley put her foot down. “Lunch now. I need to talk.”

  “Cafeteria?” he said, leading her back to his things.

  “No, somewhere else. I need to get away from here.”

  “Okay. My pick?”

  She narrowed her eyes when he slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Are you driving?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then yes, you can pick.”

  “Denny’s!”

  Ainsley groaned and walked ahead of him to the stairs. At least going down them wasn’t as gruesome as going up. They made it out of the library and down to his car, getting in and driving mostly in silence to the nearest Denny’s.

  They had their food before she said anything. Adam was shoving his face full of breakfast, and Ainsley was just moving hers around the plate. She had no idea how to open the conversation, but she better do it soon otherwise Adam would do it for her.

  “I have a problem.”

  “What is it?” he stopped eating and grabbed her hand, his face so serious.

  She felt guilty for making him worried so quickly. Ainsley shook her head. “Not like that. Remember last week when we were talking about your economics prof?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well…I like…I like one of my profs.”

  “Ainsley! You scoundrel.”

  “It’s not funny,” she said, smiling. “It’s not just this simple crush either. Or at least, it doesn’t seem to be. I can’t get her out of my head.”

  “Who is it?”

  Ainsley narrowed her eyes and looked around the restaurant, hoping to see a student so she wouldn’t have to tell him. When no one was there, she leaned in and whispered, “Meredith Frenz.”

  “Your English prof?”

  “Yeah.”

  He whistled and sat back in the booth, looking at her and shaking his head. “She’s one hard bitch.”

  Ainsley pulled a face, thinning her lips and puffing out her cheeks while narrowing her eyes at him. She knew he’d say that. The rumors about Meredith Frenz as a professor were not of the highest quality. Though learning had never been in question; it was her grading methods and expectations.

  “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “Yeah? Maybe you should…you know…” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Older woman and all.”

  “Really? That’s your advice. Go ahead and do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one she’s my professor. She affects my grade. Two, she’s my professor! I mean really, I couldn’t.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? I think, in all honesty, if it’s something you want to pursue long term then try and do it. But I wouldn’t touch it if this is just a booty call thing. That with profs who aren’t into it can be very dangerous.”

  “Yeah,” Ainsley said and sighed, finally taking a bite of her hash browns. “I just can’t get her out of my head.”

  He snorted. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

  “I know. I’ve done the quick thing, but this…this feels so different. I want to be careful with what I do and say because I just don’t want to mess it up, and I was so afraid I messed it up this weekend.”

  “This weekend? What about this weekend?” He was back to shoveling food into his mouth.

  “Well, you were an asshole so I walked home.”

  “You walked home! By yourself! Ainsley, you know I would have taken you. You shouldn’t do that, not in this neighborhood.”

  “With your tongue down Cody’s throat, I didn’t want to interrupt,” she said, anger seething in the undertones. “So I walked home. Meredith saw me walking and stopped, and I was drunk, so I got in, and it got really awkward really fast. I ended up back at her place—”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You sure?”

  “Promise,” she said. “Nothing major happened. But the next morning was awkward because I was drunk the night before, and then in class today—in class today it got heated. Well, after class really, but I think it’s all fine,
and I just don’t know anymore. It’s hard to figure it out.”

  “Then don’t think about it for a while. You don’t have to meet with her. Just go to class and leave like any other student and let yourself sort it through for a bit. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nodded at her.

  “Yeah, okay,” she said. “I’ll just act normal.”

  “Good idea. Or…”

  “Or what?”

  Adam grinned. “Or I could set you up with someone else. What about that Jenny chick?”

  “I think not,” she answered. “Besides isn’t Jenny with Debbie? Or maybe it was Amanda, I really don’t remember.”

  “She’s not. She’s single. She’s looking. You could go out with her. One date isn’t going to kill you, and it could easily take your mind of the prof-lady.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No.”

  “We’ll see,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Ainsley dropped the conversation, knowing she wouldn’t get anywhere, especially if he had his mind set. She decided just to eat her lunch and go home and do homework, then have a beer to relax. Anything to take her mind off the look in Meredith’s face when she’d studied how finely curved her form was. Ugh, Ainsley thought. Can’t even stop for a few minutes.

  Chapter Six

  Meredith was curled up in the chair in the corner of her office at home. She leaned back with one paper in her hand and a stack to her right. Sipping at a glass of wine, she read through the paper, line by line, impressed with each passing sentence. The story wove through the history of the student’s life with beauty and care. There was a sense of being in the story itself—she could see the child bounding around the house with so much energy she couldn’t contain it.

  Giggling at some of the antics, Meredith flipped the page and read it top to bottom. She finished the whole story, tears slipping down her cheeks a she flipped back around to the second page and avoided the cover sheet. Meredith finished off her wine, and then she picked up a pencil and went through the piece again, this time marking it up.

  She had very few comments to make. It was definitely an A+ paper. She scribbled a few things here or there, and made a few grammatical comments. She wrote the grade on the last sheet along with a quick note. She wanted to meet with this student for certain. The prose were beautiful, and Meredith saw so much potential. There was a contest coming up for memoir, and a little reworking of this piece, and whoever it was could win.