“So? What’s that got to do with it?” His tight black tee shirt looked as if it had been painted on, emphasizing every muscle.
“I’ll probably do something like that when both of my kids are in school all day. It’s only four years away,” I said, shocking myself with the reality of how long I had unconsciously decided I had to wait to do anything for myself.
Fathi looked discouraged. “Four years? Who knows what could happen in four years? Terrorists could bomb Los Angeles and we could all be dead. You have to live for now, girl. You need to… ”
“I’m sorry, Fahti, what did you say?”
“I was just saying we need to live in the moment. Believe me, I know that more than anyone.”
So there is a story behind the pain in those eyes, I thought.
“What do you mean, you know that more than anyone?”
He opened his mouth but Shelly jumped in first.
“Would you believe that ten years ago, Fathi weighed over 300 pounds? He went into a diabetic coma when he was only 23 years old. The doctors didn’t expect him to make it. It took him a long time to lose the weight and turn his life around, and look at him now. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
Finally I understood why he could look at me, even into me, despite our obvious physical differences. The few excess pounds I obsessed over were nothing compared to what he had carried around. He knew how it felt to be invisible to the important people, the thin people.
Fahti looked at Shelly with affection. “My family left Tanzania to come to the United States for a better life when I was a boy. With the stress of leaving my country and the abundance of food here, I comforted myself well. In Swahili, Fathi means the bold one. But in English, well you can guess what the kids called me.” I struggled to imagine him as an obese little boy but all my brain could come up with was a ridiculous caricature, Fat Albert with an East African accent. Maybe people can be made new, I thought.
“I’m so glad you survived.” It was all I could come up with.
He smiled, baring his gleaming white teeth. “Me too. And now, I don’t take a single minute for granted. Come on ladies, let’s dance.”
He pulled us both onto the dance floor. The musky colognes and sweet perfumes couldn’t mask the distinct smell of sweat. My feet didn’t know what to do at first but I finally found a basic move that felt good. The song that was playing made me giggle. “I wanna do you baby, I wanna do you in my car, I wanna do you in the yard, I wanna do you so hard, I wanna do you baby.” I had made disparaging remarks about those misogynistic lyrics in a lecture on pop culture. But on that dance floor, the pulsing beat and erotic words were perfect and we all sang along. Shelly and Fathi were careful to include me. We were a laughing, bumping, grinding trio.
After 15 minutes of dancing, I was winded. “I need some water, I’ll be right back.”
I watched with interest as the bartender lined up a martini glass, a beer schooner, a wine goblet and a water glass. He masterfully mixed, blended and poured before spraying water from his little gun into my glass. Being in a bar felt different than it did when I was younger, less intimidating. It was as if blinders had been peeled away and I could see right through everything now. I remembered the meticulous application of black eyeliner, the thrill of being asked for a phone number, naively believing that some scribbled digits on a cocktail napkin could actually lead to a romantic dream date and maybe even true love.
I swayed to the music as I guzzled my water and studied the mass of moving bodies on the dance floor. As I stood up to join Shelly and Fathi again, I felt a tap on the shoulder. I turned around and suddenly I wanted to run away again. This was worse than the shock of Shelly walking into the restaurant minus a good percentage of her former self. His face was only vaguely familiar, but I knew immediately what the connection was. He leaned in close, invading my bubble of personal space as the smell of his hot beer breath flooded my nostrils. As he spoke, a stream of saliva spewed out of his mouth and landed on my cheek. He didn’t seem to notice.
“No way, I knew it was you! I saw you out there dancing and I told them it was you.” As he turned away from me, I wiped the spit from my cheek with my fingertips, trying to make it look as if I were scratching an itch. He headed toward a pool table and about half way there he cupped his hands around his lips and yelled two names I couldn’t make out and then, “Get over here. It is her.” The two young men, who were handing their pool cues over to the next players, squinted in my direction and made their way over.
I recognized Dave and Jimmy right away, but I couldn’t remember the name of the one who had discovered me. My poor memory infuriated me. But I did recall that he was one of those perpetual fraternity boys, loving college so much he was following the ten-year track for graduation. As his friends continued to trudge through the crowd, he was suddenly right back in front of me. He leaned in too close again but this time I was prepared so I leaned back just in time to avoid the spray.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Professor Thomas.”
My facial expression must have revealed my attempt to place him.
“It’s me, Freddie Kruller. I was in your class a few years ago when I was a communication studies major. This is awesome. Dude, you’re like my favorite professor. I can’t believe I just called you dude. I’m sorry, Professor Thomas. Too much beer, I guess.”
I smiled. “Hey, I’ve been called much worse things by students.” Dave and Jimmy finally joined us. They kept a more respectful distance.
“Professor Thomas. How cool to run into you. Do you remember me?”
“Of course I do, Jimmy. How could I forget your speech on quantum physics? I’m still trying to figure it out.” Dave laughed, revealing clean white teeth and a dimple on his left cheek. My eyes remembered being captivated by that dimple before. I glanced at the dance floor to see Shelly and Fathi still dancing. I tried to avoid looking at Dave.
“Your speech class rocked,” Jimmy said. “I totally learned that being a good speaker is all about just being yourself… wait, what did you call it? Being authentic, yeah that’s it. Like in that Oprah Winfrey speech you showed us.”
Freddie looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“I mean I’m not an Oprah fan or anything, but that speech was awesome. Seriously, if it wasn’t for your speech class, I would never have been elected president of Associated Students.”
Freddie’s elbow jabbed me in the side as he squirmed closer and began to shout.
“Dude, you think her speech class was great, her intercultural communication class blew my mind. Do you have any idea how ethnocentric we all are? And did you know that some kids in India have to get married when they’re seven?”
The strange tidbits students recalled years after taking one of my classes always amused me. Dave jumped in and my heart started to race as I looked into his eyes, so green.
“I think you missed the whole point there, Freddie. Don’t you remember how she said child marriage is actually illegal and very rare in India? The fact that you twisted the facts to generalize about an entire culture just goes to show… ” Freddie rolled his eyes before cutting Dave off.
“I know. I know. There I go being an asshole again, right?”
I felt the need to try to mediate, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
Dave’s apologetic smile felt like rays of warm sun hitting me. That dimple again. Those bright, intelligent eyes. My heart pounding. As he continued, I took in his disheveled light brown hair, which needed a trim but looked soft and clean.
“Well I know you remember me, the guy who quit coming to class halfway through the semester when my mother had a heart attack.”
I nodded with empathy and noticed the hint of stubble along his jawline and chin. It had happened a couple of times over the years, but my crushes on students usually weren’t as strong as this one had been. I remembered that he was different. More mature, intense and genuine.
“Yeah, you practically lived at the hospital,�
� Jimmy said. Dave nodded and looked straight into my eyes as he continued his story. Those green eyes again, a much deeper green than my own.
“Yeah, well my parents had recently split so I was the only one there for her. Remember the day I dumped all my problems on you?”
A memory of putting on mauve lipstick at my desk two minutes before our appointment.
“Of course I remember, Dave. But you didn’t dump anything on me. I felt terrible for you.” Jimmy and Freddie started whispering something about two girls on the other side of the bar. I thought I heard the words “bra strap” and “easy.”
“You were the only professor who gave me a break. You let me make up some of the assignments I missed so I wouldn’t fail your class.”
I envisioned myself years down the road, lying in a hospital bed with some ghastly illness. I pictured Sam and Jack leaning over the bedrail.
“How is your mother?” I was afraid of the answer but I knew I had to ask.
“She’s doing really well. Thanks to a successful coronary bypass and some major lifestyle changes, she’s like a new person.” His serious face shifted into a furtive grin. “In fact, seeing you reminds me of how much better things are now. How about I get us all some tequila shots and we can drink to health and happiness?” Jimmy and Freddie both gave the thumbs up sign. I raised my eyebrows.
“Not so fast. It’s probably not a good idea for me to drink with students.”
Jimmy laughed, “Come on, Professor Thomas, just one shot. We’re all adults, right? Besides, Professor Harrison was in here last week and he drank with us. Why is it okay for him and not you? Because you’re a woman? And I thought you were a feminist.”
I didn’t hear most of what Jimmy said after that. I was too busy wondering why Dan Harrison was hanging around with students at bars when he had a wife and newborn daughter at home. But then again, Rick seemed to mysteriously disappear on a regular basis when there was an infant in the house.
“Fine, just one,” I said, trying to sound reluctant.
The tequila burned its way down my esophagus. I watched as Dave removed his black leather jacket to reveal a soft cotton polo shirt. Its color was the same exact green as his eyes. A crisp white tee shirt peeked out from under the collar.
Shelly and Fahti finally came looking for me. Shelly gave me a playful inquisitive look and I knew she was dying to make some joke about me picking up young guys at the bar. I introduced Freddie, Dave and Jimmy. “They’re former students,” I said, emphasizing the last word.
We ordered more drinks and the six of us engaged in the animated, uninhibited conversation that comes so easily when alcohol is flowing. Shouting over the music and standing way closer to each other than would be acceptable anywhere else, we talked about politics, sex and religion - subjects I avoided in most social settings. The drinks kept coming and I lost track of who was ordering or paying for them. At one point, I remember running my mouth off about how with all the hours I put in at home, I probably made the equivalent of two dollars an hour as a part time professor, while movie stars were making tens of thousands of dollars per minute. Somehow everyone else’s attention seemed to drift but Dave’s eyes stayed fixed on me as he listened intently and nodded with empathy. “It’s just not right. The work you do is so much more important.” That dimple. Those eyes. His undivided attention.
Later, a spirited debate raged over the validity of the administration’s rationale for the current war, although some of us were too drunk to notice we were all on the same side. But not Dave. He followed each intoxicated train of thought and responded with intelligence and passion, especially when he was talking to me. When he reached past me to grab a pretzel from the bar, I noticed that his hair smelled like apples. Chills ran down the length of my entire body. When there was finally a lull in the conversation, Shelly held up her empty glass and announced that she wanted to dance.
I glanced at the dance floor. It was jam-packed, the music even louder now. The techno beat of a song I didn’t recognize filled the air. Shelly put the glass down and started gyrating her hips. “I love this song! Who’s coming with me?” Fahti leapt up and started to pull her away.
“Come on, Beth,” Shelly said, wiggling her fingers in my direction.
“No way,” Dave said. “She’s staying right here. It’s not every day you run into your favorite professor.” He turned to me. “Can I buy you another drink, Beth?”
My heart skipped a beat. Students rarely called me by my first name.
I smiled at Dave. “Sure, why not?” I said.
As Shelly and Fahti started to walk off hand in hand, I pulled Shelly back. “What’s the deal with you two?” I whispered in her ear. She laughed.
“I know what you think but you’re way off.” I shook my head in confusion.
“Let’s put it this way: he’d rather take your little friend Jimmy home than me.” I released my grip and watched them float away, paradigms shifting in my mind. When I looked up, Dave was smiling at me. We were alone now - Jimmy was talking to a chubby blonde at the other end of the bar and Freddie was nowhere in sight. I smiled back and took a long breath. I’m not doing anything wrong, I told myself. I happened to run into a former acquaintance from work, and I’m having a couple of drinks with him. Rick does that sort of thing all the time.
Chapter 7
“Don’t you want to get back to your friends?” I asked, not really wanting him to leave.
“Oh no, Freddie took off so it’s just me and Jimmy. We come every Friday. Sometimes a few girls from school meet us here, but they mostly come to hang out with him.”
I noticed that two women with cleavage revealing every inch of skin right up to the nipple had joined Jimmy and his friend. He was talking and all three women were rapt. The pudgy blonde kissed Jimmy’s cheek, leaving a smudge of shiny pink lipstick.
Dave looked at the four of them and rolled his eyes.
“Jimmy’s not the commitment type, as you can see.”
“What about you? Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“I haven’t had much luck with women lately.”
“Really? Why do you think that is?”
He brushed some hair off his forehead, but it slid right back into place, the tips almost meeting his long eyelashes.
“Jimmy says I’m too nice. He thinks women want a challenge, that they like bad boys. I guess I don’t play the game like everyone else does.”
“Well women don’t like that game. They want a nice, honest guy.”
“Not my last girlfriend. I gave her everything and she left me for a narcissistic football player. Explain that.” I wondered if he was trying to impress me or if “narcissistic” was actually a word he used regularly.
“She’s young. As women get older, they prefer to be treated well.”
“Is that what you like?”
I felt my cheeks burn. “Yes. Even if I were young and single, I wouldn’t go after the Jimmy-type. I’d be much more interested in someone like you.”
“Really?” he asked with a touch of suggestion. I worried that my face was turning beet red. I needed to cool things down.
“You’ll have another girlfriend soon.”
“Gee, I didn’t know you were a fortune teller.”
“I have many talents.”
“Oh, do you?” A mischievous look in those deep green eyes. That sexy dimple.
“Stop. I didn’t mean it that way.” The heat radiated from my face to the rest of my body. I had to take off my sweater, even though I was self conscious about my bare arms. I tried to do it carefully but Dave was so close that as I slid one arm out, my elbow brushed against his thigh. A bolt of electricity charged through us.
“You have great arms.”
“You must be kidding. I haven’t worked out in ages.”
“No really. Look.”
He ran his fingers along the curve of my bicep and the tiny blond hairs on my forearm stood at attention. I could see what he meant. There was some defin
ition there.
“Yeah, well that’s probably just from carrying my little one around all day.”
“I bet you’re a great mom.”
“I try to be, but… ” I stopped myself.
“What? Tell me, Beth.”
“It’s just hard sometimes, it takes everything out of you. But I love… I mean my kids are… I don’t even know how to explain it to you.”
He just nodded and looked into me with those eyes. The heat was getting worse. But he seemed so cool and calm.
“Enough about me. We were talking about your troubles with women.”
“Actually, I’d love to get your input on my situation. I could use an honest female perspective.”
The noise level was increasing by the moment. I pulled my chair a little closer to his and our knees touched. More electricity. I noticed that he didn’t pull back, so I didn’t either.
“Go on, I’m listening.”
He told me about the similarities between his previous girlfriends – how they drew him in and pushed him away when they felt he really cared.
I envied the way he opened up so easily. I liked to see myself as open but sometimes I felt like a fraud, giving everyone a white-washed version of life with my happy, healthy, thriving family.
I stayed focused on his beautiful face but lost my ability to concentrate on the words at times. I felt so happy to be with him. My mind went back to when he was in my class. He sat in the front row, always participating in class discussions, affirming the points I was trying to make, providing examples, nodding supportively as I spoke. I also remembered when he first stopped coming to class. How I would periodically peek out the little window on the classroom door to see if he was just running late, and I would keep peeking, keep hoping, even when the class was almost over. Being with him again, in such a different setting, I felt alive for the first time in years. It was confusing. What does this mean? What do I really need? I wondered. I tried to come up with an answer. I need excitement. I need new experiences. I need to be creative. I need intensity. I need passion. I need to pee. I laughed out loud and then realized how inappropriate that was because Dave had been talking about how his last girlfriend ended their relationship in an email. He looked perplexed.
Is This All There Is? Page 5
