“Yes.” No. He kind of drifted off in a stupor when she began lecturing. He pushed aside the guilt. “You’re not being clear enough.”
“You’re not trying hard enough, Mr. Dunkle. You treat my class like an annoyance and with little respect. I shall treat you the same.”
“I need a C- in this class or I won’t graduate. I’m doing the best I can. Are you seriously going to flunk me and keep me from my degree over a moth?”
She stopped and whirled around. Her saggy sweater caught air, flew up, then settled. Her index finger jabbed the air. “Have you ever wondered what death would feel like, Mr. Dunkle? Debated life versus death? Analyzed your life to see if it was empty or just or worthwhile?”
His head spun. She was like some mad woman, fierce and way too intense over some...words. Yet, that passion connected within him for a few seconds and hit home. “Yes. Don’t we all wonder what we’re doing here?” he muttered.
“Good. In the beginning of the essay, the moth was joyous, even trapped between the glass with a limited view of the world. Have you ever felt happy, even when you don’t know why?”
“Yes.”
“But the author pitied the moth at first. Pitied its existence. The moth is destined to die. What feeling did Woolf try to explain to the reader?”
He tried to shake off his annoyance at getting into a lesson in the middle of a hallway. “The moth doesn’t want to die and neither does she.”
“Wrong. Yes, no one wants to die but that’s not the true point of the essay. There’s one guarantee in this life: death. It’s part of the contract terms we get. We don’t even know how much time we’re going to get when we sign this contract. We’re here trying to make our mark, then we’re gone. Don’t you ever consider what the point is?”
His gut lurched. Her slow pecking at his beliefs bothered him. Why think about all this shit when there was no real answer? Why not keep things easy? Look for happiness in the moment? Like the moth...
“Sure.”
“Enough with the one word answers. ‘Just as life had been strange a few minutes before, so death was not as strange.’ What do you think Woolf was feeling when that last paragraph was written? She watched the moth die in front of her, watched its struggle, watched its failure to win the ultimate battle. What do you think about that, Mr. Dunkle?”
“What do you want me to think?”
She shook her head. “We’re done here.”
Frustration simmered and seeped out. “The moth fought death up to the last moment. Its struggle was strange and almost beautiful to the author because we all face the same obstacles, yet no matter how bad life sucks, we still have the ability to fight to our last dying breath. Kind of like Dylan said about raging against the dying light.”
Surprise flickered across her face. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’m looking for in your papers. You insult both of us by not giving more.” Then she continued down the hallway.
Son-of-a-bitch. No, he wasn’t in one of those lame movies where the teacher suddenly got the student to see the light and then he transformed his failing grade into an A. It didn’t work like that. Connor caught up with her, matching her pace, and heard her deep sigh.
“Do you need something else, Mr. Dunkle?”
“How about an extra credit project? I can’t base my graduation on me understanding the next few assignments.”
Her snort was quite feminine and intriguing. She pushed open the double glass doors and headed upstairs. “Why should I give you such an opportunity? If you work hard enough, you should be able to pass my class.”
“I can’t take any chances. Please. This way, I’ll know I have some cushion for my grade if I keep struggling.”
Annoyance radiated around her. She reached the top of the steps, and turned to say something, but her boot caught on a piece of metal grating and she fell forward.
Connor hurriedly blocked her fall, catching her in his arms and pulling her to the side. Her body was soft and warm, and for one moment, he felt her breasts push against his chest. The clean scent of cucumber and soap drifted up to his nostrils. Low maintenance and simple, like the woman. He took a deeper breath, enjoying the natural fragrance and the way her hands closed around his shoulders for balance.
“You okay?”
Her dark eyes widened. Behind the thick lenses of her glasses, her gaze locked and held his, squeezing him as tight as her nails suddenly digging into his flesh. A bolt of heat struck his dick, and suddenly, he was hard as a rock.
WTH?
“Sorry!” She struggled and he righted her, stepping back. Her skin flushed and she scrambled toward the second level doors. “I’ll think about an appropriate project for extra credit.”