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“That makes sense to me,” I nod. “I’ve read articles like that before. I’m all for encouraging kids to look deeper than the surface for meaning, but harping on symbolism isn’t always helpful. If they did more theme and character analysis, I think that would entice them to read more.”
“I agree!” Mari replies. “I remember getting so annoyed in my high school English classes. I like the literary theory we do in college a lot more.”
John nods. “I’ve suggested this to many colleagues who are teaching in the high schools. To Kill a Mockingbird is so much more than simply what the mockingbird represents. I hated that book when I was in high school but fell in love with it in college because of how it was taught.”
“Same with The Scarlet Letter for me,” Mari adds. “I liked the book a lot in high school, but the way my teacher discussed it made me dislike it. Reading it for your class brought back the love I had for the book.”
“Maybe you should teach high school then. Try to make a difference.”
But Mari is shaking her head before I can get the words out. “I could never. I’m not cut out for teaching. The idea of being in front of people every day…not for me.”
“Oh, yeah. You mentioned that before.”
“I respect teaching as a profession, but I’d much rather be behind a magazine.”
“I get that.”
“Can you send me that article?” John asks. “It would be nice to share it with my colleagues who don’t believe me.”
Mari chuckles. “Yes, of course. I’ll email it to you. Is your school email okay?”
“For that, definitely. It’s school related.”
“Got it. I’ll send it when I get home.”
“CC me if you would. I’d like to take a look, too,” I request.
“Absolutely!”
We continue to chat about articles we have read relating to English and literature. The conversation flows so easily that I don’t even realize how much time has passed without our food coming until the waitress arrives.
“I am SO sorry for the wait,” Jenna apologizes, setting the food down. “Some celebrity on YouTube mentioned us last week, and we’ve been unexpectedly slammed ever since.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been talking.”
Relief floods her features. She’s probably been yelled at a hundred times already; I’m not about to add to that.
“Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
“Another bottle of wine?” John asks. We finished off the first one while we talked. Since it’s New York and none of us drive, we’re safe to keep going. Not too much more, though. We’ve all got things to do tomorrow. I’ve seen John try to teach class hungover. It’s hilarious for the students but awful for him.
We’re quiet as we start eating our food. Considering the touristy location of the restaurant, it’s surprisingly delicious. I’m impressed with my veal parm. It’s not as good as when I make it – of course – but it’s still really good.
“Do you have a favorite class this semester?” I ask Mari.
She swallows a bite. “I do, actually. And it’s not yours.”
John and I laugh.
“I’m not offended,” John says, still smiling. “What is it, though?”
“I’m taking a writing class that I like. It’s writing about literature, and it’s teaching me a lot about critical theory.”
“I’ve taught that course. It is a lot of fun.”
“I like that it’s a new way of writing I’ve never done before. We write a book review every week, and then we learn theory and how to apply it to all kinds of literature. The professor is cool too.”
“Who teaches your section?”
“Professor Winstead.”
“Oh!” I interject. “She’s great! I TA’d for her last semester. All of her students love her.”
“She’s an amazing teacher. I mean, so are you, but she brings a special energy to the room.”
“Are you calling me boring?” John jokes.
“No!” Mari denies. “I’ve already said you’re not.”
“I’m just teasing. I’ve shadowed a few of Professor Winstead’s classes, so I know what you mean. She engages students in a way I never will. I do okay, though.”
John does better than okay. I’ve read student reviews. He may not be as exciting as Winstead, but he’s still a favorite among students. They adore him, just like I do.
Silence falls over our table again as we finish up our food. When our plates are empty, John pours the rest of the wine into our glasses and glances at me. I guess it’s time.
I swallow nervously. John said he’d do all of the talking. I’m doing all of the hoping and crossing of fingers.
“So, Mari,” he begins. “We talked a lot about travel during our last date. As it happens, there’s a big academic conference for literature professors in Alaska in two weeks. I’ll be attending.”
“Oh,” she says. “That sounds amazing. Will you miss school?”
“There will be a guest teacher in for a week.”
