My Professor(14)

Dartmouth has a lecture series they host for faculty and staff at the university as well as graduate students and invited guests. Each month, a different professor or distinguished speaker takes the stage to speak about a topic of interest within their field. It’s a way to unify Dartmouth, to bridge the gap between disciplines that seem, at least on paper, to be wholly unrelated.

This was my first time attending the series, and well, seeing as how I was the one up on stage, I didn’t see a way of getting out of it.

On top of that, it’s another professor’s bachelor party tonight, a low-key affair for a guy—Garrett—I’m barely acquaintances with. When he caught me off guard outside my office on Thursday and invited me to join, I figured I’d be in Boston and could escape the festivities with some half-assed excuse, but he was quick to remind me I’d be in town.

“We’re going out after your lecture. You should join. It’d be a good way for you to get to know some of the other professors.”

I wasn’t yet persuaded, and then he tacked on the part about it being his bachelor party.

“Nothing wild. We’re just going to have a beer or two down on Main.”

I didn’t see a way of getting out of it.

So even though my lecture wrapped up almost three hours ago and even though I could be back in Boston by now, in the comfort of my own home, I’m listening to the professor beside me drone on about why molecular physics is more interesting than people first assume.

So far, he hasn’t convinced me.

The woman across from me, Tricia, a professor in the mathematics department, meets my gaze and rolls her eyes exaggeratingly.

“Jose, save it. Molecular physics is boring as hell, and so is math,” she says. “Just suck it up and drink.”

I laugh, and her smile widens.

She leans in. “I could use another beer. Do you want one?”

Do I want another one? Yes. Should I have another one? Probably not.

But it’s been a hell of a week. A few weeks, actually, and I’m taking the train home anyway. I’m not ready to end the night.

I push my chair back. “Yeah. I’ll go grab them.”

“I’ll join you,” she says, standing and coming around the table.

It’s an interesting group tonight, a mixture of professors and friends of Garrett’s from outside the world of academia. It was a little awkward at first, trying to mash together a group of people who don’t really know each other all that well, but the drinks have been flowing, and maybe now I’m just too buzzed to care.

“This is a rarity,” Tricia says, looking at me as we walk toward the bar. “Seeing you here on the weekend. Seeing you here at all, really.”

“I live in Boston. My firm’s there. It’s hard to get the time away.”

“I get it. I’m holed up inside the mathematics building most days myself.”

“I’d ask you about your work, but…”

She laughs. “Please don’t. For the love of god, let’s talk about something else.”

The bartender comes over, and I ask for another round for the table. He nods to let me know he understood, but it’ll take him a while to get to it. The place is packed, and he’s the only bartender on duty at the moment.

“So do you have a family? Wife?” she asks, focusing her attention on the bar top, fidgeting nervously with a napkin. She’s tried to make the question seem lighthearted, but I get the impression she’s had to work up the courage to ask it.

“No, neither.”

“Girlfriend?”

I shake my head, realizing for the first time that Tricia is interested in me.

Jesus, am I really that dense? Or am I a little drunk and a whole lot distracted…

Emelia’s been on my mind a lot. Always, in fact.

Our exchange in my office on Tuesday didn’t go how I wanted it to. I’ve replayed every moment, tried to reason with myself about whether or not I did the right thing. When my students came up to me before my lecture and explained the picture they saw, my temper got the best of me. Accusations like that are career-ending. I couldn’t let it slide.

I understand the picture was nothing more than a bad joke. I’m sure, even if it had leaked, Dartmouth’s administration would have given me the benefit of the doubt and written it off as a lapse in judgment on the part of two students, but I can’t be certain.

At the very least, they would have had to look into it. There’s a chance they would have opened an official inquiry as a way to ensure they were seen as doing the most they could to protect a vulnerable student population, and that would have left me at the mercy of the rumor mill. Word would have spread, and accusations like that can never be completely erased from public memory.

Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.

Emelia has to know how dumb that was. She has to know I had no choice when it came to doling out her punishment. It was her friend’s first transgression, but Emelia’s third strike.

However, what Emelia doesn’t realize—and what I’m only now coming to understand—is that even if she’d done absolutely nothing, even if she sat in my lecture every day completely silent, aced every test, and wrote a perfect term paper, even if there was never any fake photo…she was always going to be the girl in the courtyard.