“How long have you been dancing?”
“Oh man, since I was legal.” She cut delicately into a piece of broccoli. For as vulgar as she could be, I was astounded at how quickly she learned to mimic the nuances of my movements; the gentle lift of her pinky as she sliced, the delicate cut into her entree. “How long have you been teaching?”
“Since I finished my undergrad. I received my Ph.D. at the Georgia Institute of Technology and then I transferred to the University of Tennessee almost a year ago as an adjunct professor on a research stipend. I’m working toward tenure now, teaching mostly 101 Engineering classes.”
“Oh yeah, you said that. That’s why you want the money.”
“That’s part of it.”
“What does that involve? Tenure?”
“I teach classes, write papers for publication. I’m on thesis review boards. There are a lot of facets. I support requests for the city, but only because I’m the only licensed PE in the area.”
“PE? Like gym?”
“No, sorry. Professional Engineer. It’s a type of certification. I got mine post-grad as a way to make extra income. There was only one other person certified for Green Valley and he moved out of state.”
When I looked up from my food, she was watching me closely. She blinked and refocused on her plate. “Why do all that? What’s so great about tenure?”
“It means security and respect.” My fork scooted into the gravy pouring over the edge of my mashed potatoes and pooling onto my plate. “Then, I can slow down a little. Before tenure you push, push, push trying to get to the next level.”
“It sounds exhausting.”
“It can be. But it should be rewarding. If I can help change the future or make an impact it’ll be worth it. After all the years of working nonstop, I’ll be able to breathe.”
I stopped talking abruptly and looked up. She was staring at me with a face I hadn’t seen yet. Her chin was in her hand, elbow resting on the table. I cleared my throat, abashed at the raw honesty that had leaked out.
“Elbows off the table.”
She obeyed. “It’s okay, you know,” she said without looking up.
“What is?”
“To have a little fire in you.”
I scowled at my plate. I was talking about work. I wasn’t passionate. I wouldn’t let myself be passionate about anything. Control. That’s what I was about. And I didn’t like how she looked at me. Like I was interesting.
“I have to work.” I pushed back from the table abruptly. “I’ll clean up later.”
She stood up when I did. If she spoke, I didn’t hear her, because I was behind the door to the study in record time.
* * *
“Out with it,” I called up from my desk where I was writing yet another grant begging for money as elegantly as possible.
Jack had paced past my office enough times to make track marks in the floor.
“You need to give her a break.” He came into the room and folded himself into one of my chairs.
“She isn’t progressing quickly enough.”
“You know different people learn different ways. She’s a physical person. Sitting there reading from a book isn’t doing anything.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Did you ever take her shopping?”
“Why should she be rewarded for lazy behavior?”
