Profess by Michael DeStefano
“a line’s already been crossed and what comes next is inevitable”
Fiction by Michael DeStefano
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He’s a good man with morals and self-control; he’s professional, respectful of boundaries, nothing like the creeps he’s heard about from colleagues, which is why the first day of class comes and goes as any other day would. Of course he notices her unzipping her sweatshirt, middle row, third seat, distracting everyone during his introductory words, drawing dirty side glances from female classmates and curious, hopeful, predatory full turns from the males, but that’s all it is – noticing.
He notices when she moves her seat to the back. He notices when she highlights her hair. He notices the shimmering piercing in her navel when she comes to class dressed inappropriately. That’s the word flashing at the forefront of his consciousness – inappropriate – though in the areas of his mind where he’s a man and nothing more, animal instinct untainted by reason, he has other thoughts.
Soon, he begins to notice things about himself – that he grades her more generously than she deserves, that he offers follow-up questions more frequently to her comments, that he glances in her direction more often than necessary – and he explains them away innocently. Many students’ grades don’t match what they earn… it’s more about the rarity of her participation than anything… so looking’s a crime now? She’s one of only a handful of students he knows by preferred name, and the rest have conferenced with him multiple times during office hours. But he has an explanation for that, too.
Most of the time, her pink notebook’s closed and her bag’s on her shoulder well before he dismisses class, but one day, long after the group’s been wished a great weekend and the homework’s been re-explained for the confused, there she is, flipping through pages absently at her desk, waiting to have him to herself.
She approaches, talks about falling behind, asks, “Is there anything I can do?” Her voice sounds softer, more innocent, than her participatory voice.
He says he’s noticed she’s missing several assignments and asks the reason, and when he does, tears crystallize in her hazel eyes but don’t fall; he watches them tremble there like lakes after skipped rocks as she discloses things more personal than anything any student’s ever shared with him. He breaks eye contact because he has to. Looking away, at his computer, in his briefcase, at the No Food or Drink in the Room sign, he tells her it’ll be alright, shares some experiences of his own, cracks a joke, and when he reconnects with her eyes and finds the tears safely returned to the depths from which they came, he feels an unfamiliar happiness, followed by an unfamiliar dread.
But she doesn’t show up to the next class, or the one after that, or the three after that. Someone else begins using her seat, and he must convince himself not to be disappointed. He sends several emails the way any attentive, caring teacher would, to reach out, to remind her of course policies, to warn her that she’s nearing a point of no return, to re-offer his full support, to express a willingness to bend said course policies, but she doesn’t respond, and he explains the sleepless nights that follow as you failed, you let one slip through the cracks, you could’ve done more. It hurts for a while, every time he scans faces and can’t find hers, but eventually it moves to the back of his mind where once-painful memories live.
His enthusiasm for his craft, though altered, returns and becomes consistent, and he is more open and patient with those who have fallen behind but stuck with it; he makes it a point to give them more attention, to seek them out, to nag for missing homework, to request and require one-on-one conferencing, the kind of effort and energy needed to change and save lives, and he succeeds, he tells himself, in changing and saving some, and in quiet moments when he reflects on this born-again passion, this newly adopted no-student-left-behind approach, he considers a parable about lost sheep and distracts himself before it goes further.
Then one night, after tucking his children in, he sits to organize his inbox and notices her name, subject line PLEASE HELP! and he’s overrun with confusion, worry, anger, fear for her well-being, but those things only mask something he refuses to identify, something that terrifies him, and though he tries to reassure himself with as long as you don’t act on it, he knows deep down a line’s already been crossed and what comes next is inevitable.
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If you enjoyed reading "Profess" then you might also enjoy "Stranger Needs 1: Michael" by Matty Byloos, which can be read here.
Michael DeStefano received his MFA in 2012 from Fairfield University, where he now teaches first-year writing courses. He also teaches for the City University of New York at LaGuardia, and Queensborough Community colleges. His writing has appeared in Escape Into Life, Spry, Canyon Voices, and decomP magazinE. He currently lives in Queens, NY with his fiancee, Carla.