AllFreeNovel
Share Us
was not just my youth’s recklessness, although
I trusted much to impulse, whim, freedom,
a destiny excluding doom. Frankly,
youth can be our insanity. But now I’m cured
of that fever, although the price was high;
and chilly April wind can only sigh
at my regrets, yet sun will brighten wind so,
one knows that soon green stirs, and wild bees hum.
And summer once more will make winter liar,
but I won’t warm. You’re all I’ll ever desire.
Wow, I thought when I had finished reading the poem, Oxford Fellow, inner city teacher, and he could write, too. But maybe that poem was a fluke. I went back to his Google page and found another poem…and then another and another. I read half a dozen. They were all beautiful and all about lost love. Some girl had really done a number on him. I went back to his Facebook page and started to comb through the messages on his wall for any mention of this spectacular girlfriend, but all the messages seemed to be from colleagues or former students. The messages from the students were particularly touching.Thank you for inspiring me to write poetry, Prof, you really helped me believe in myself!Ali from Macalester College had written,I love the book you recommended, Mr. D, you’re right, the Romantics rock!KickinItKT from Baltimore had written.
No wife or girlfriend mentioned anywhere.
His relationship status was still posted as “It’s Complicated.” Like he would have changed it during class, I began to chide myself, but then I noticed the digital time readout on top of the screen and saw that his class had been over for ten minutes.
Yikes! I grabbed my bookbag and hurried out of the library, sprinted across the quad, and arrived at Fraser Hall panting. I paused to catch my breath in the hall outside Phoenix’s old classroom and heard voices coming from inside. Peeking in I saw the broad, tweed-covered back of a large dark-haired man standing in front and a little to the right of Flonia Rugova. Usually shy—I hadn’t ever heard her string more than five words together at a time—Flonia was chattering away, her cheeks glowing pink and her hands waving in the air like songbirds recently freed from a cage. I tried to listen to what she was saying, but quickly realized she wasn’t speaking in English.Neither was Professor Doyle. He said something in what I could only assume was Albanian and Flonia giggled. Then she saw me lurking in the doorway and covered her mouth. Professor Doyle must have realized someone was behind him but before turning around he leaned toward Flonia, touched his hand to her shoulder, and murmured a few soft words. She nodded, serious now, and pressed both her hands together and inclined her head. I didn’t know any Albanian, but I could tell she was thanking him for something. Doyle said something else and she laughed again. She gathered up her books and left quickly, walking past me as if I wasn’t there.
Wow! One class and shy, sober Flonia Rugova was smitten. What must this guy look like?
I didn’t have to wait long to find out. As soon as Flonia was gone he turned around. My first reaction wasOh. I don’t see what the big deal is. Yeah, he had nice broad shoulders and a generous wide mouth, but his thick black hair was too long for my taste and he was wearing those square-rimmed glasses that guys wore to make themselves look intellectual and that made him look a bit like Clark Kent. And a floppy, collarless shirt that looked like something Errol Flynn had worn inCaptain Blood. Sure, I could see why a young inexperienced girl like Flonia would find him attractive, but I personally thought he was a bit affected.
Then he smiled. A dimple appeared on the left side of his mouth and his brown eyes behind the thick-lensed glasses flashed and turned a mellow tawny gold.
“Ah, you must be Professor McFay,” he said in a lilting Irish accent. “My students talked about how generous you’ve been with your time.”
Mystudents? He’d certainly taken possession of them quickly. Okay, he was good-looking, but I was betting he knew it.
“Well, they’re a good group,” I said. “Nicky Ballard especially…”
“…is a remarkable poet. Yes, I saw that right away. It’sodd that Ms. Middlefield was trying to make her write a memoir.”
I agreed entirely, but I didn’t like him kicking Phoenix when she was down—and right now poor Phoenix was probably strapped to a cot in a medicated stupor, which was about as down as a person could get. “Phoenix was under a lot of stress. I’m sure she was only doing what she believed was best for her students. She thought that confronting one’s demons was necessary for a writer.”
His lips twisted as if I’d said something funny. “Is that what she called it—confronting one’s demons? It seems to me she was courting demons. Some of my students said that her breath smelled like alcohol during class and she hadn’t returned a paper since September.”
“Well, yes, thatisbad…”
“It’s worse than that; it’s a crime. These young people were willing to bare their souls for that woman and what did they get for it? A drunken teacher who lied her way to fame and fortune.” He shook his head sadly. “I only hope I can gain their trust after that.”
“You looked like you were well on your way with Flonia Rugova,” I snipped, instantly regretting my tone. The man was right. Phoenix’s behavior had been abysmal, but still it irked me to have him walk in and pass judgment on someone he’d never met after an hour of listening to her students. He was regarding me curiously, his head tilted to one side, his eyes narrowed.
“Miss Rugova was telling me about how her family got out of Albania. She left a sister there whom she hasn’t heard from in three years. I was offering her a contact in Amnesty International to help find her.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling the blood rise to my face. “That was…good of you. Flonia hasn’t written much, but what I’ve read is beautiful. Here.” I handed him the stack of student papers. “You’re completely right, of course. They all deserve abetter teacher than Phoenix was. She got distracted…which reminds me, the only student whose papers aren’t here is Mara Marinca. I can’t find them anywhere. I guess Phoenix lost them.”
I was expecting another diatribe against Phoenix, but instead Doyle sighed. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Mara told me today that she was withdrawing from the class.”
“Oh, really? I’m surprised. We talked yesterday and she didn’t mention she was dropping.”
