“Is your assistant there?” he asked.
“No, and like I said before, I don’t need one.”
“Yes, you do. Admit it, already.”
I heaved a long sigh. The dean had insisted, and when I had run it by Jake, he agreed. “We’ll see. If it’s some cocky kid looking for a quick credit, I’m going to be pissed,” I muttered.
“Think about all the free time you’ll have. We can go diving, hang out on the weekends and have fun. You remember what that’s like, right?” Jake joked.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re right, and it will be nice to have someone to fall back on, in case I can’t make it in or something,” I replied.
“Don’t even start making excuses already,” my brother warned.
“I’m not, but you never kn—”
“I do know. I know you will have your ass there every single day, like it or not. Gotta go, I have a client coming in.”
“Talk to you later,” I said, ending the call without another word.
Putting the phone on silent, I slid it into my pocket. Like it or not, this was my problem. The fire that made me passionate about teaching had been squelched. I wasn’t excited about putting in twelve-hour days. I was here to do my time and then go home. There would not be a lot of extra effort involved.
Thankfully, I was teaching at a small university. My job at one of the best universities in the country had been lost weeks after the accident. I had been very fortunate to have landed the job in the first place. I only managed to get it because I had impressed my professors and the stars aligned just right. That was the only way to explain—and I lost it.
It had all been too much, and I was forced to resign. There was no way I could talk to hundreds of students every day when I couldn’t summon the energy to get out of bed, let alone shower or leave the house.
“Good morning.” I greeted the first student to arrive with what I hoped was a welcoming smile.
Another pang of anxiety stabbed at my stomach as more students started to filter through the open door. My heart started to race, and I began to second guess my choice to return to teaching.
One young woman stopped at my desk, extended her hand and introduced herself, “I’m Jennie,” she said with a smile. “I’ll probably be your favorite student.”
Despite my trepidation, I had to laugh at her declaration. “Oh, really. Why’s that?”
“Because I’m smart, punctual, and very serious about my education. Teachers love me,” she said, with a confident smile.
I nodded my head. “Good to know, Jennie. I’ll expect some great work from you.”
She turned on her heel and took a seat in the front row. I didn’t even have to ask. This was her first year. She had probably been one of the smartest in her high school class, but like so many bright young people, finances made it difficult for her to attend a four-year school. I knew the drill; get your pre-reqs out of the way at a cheap university, and then go for the bachelor’s degree they were all eager for. It was a smart move.
In my traditional position, I sat on the edge of my desk, my legs extended in front of me, crossed at the ankles. My arms were folded across my chest as I studied each of the students in the class. I was an excellent judge of character. I was already deciding who was serious and willing to absorb what I taught, and who was just here for the credit. Most people signed up for the class assuming it would be a fun, easy credit. They were in Florida, next to the ocean. Most of the students in the class had grown up around the sea and thought they knew everything there was. They were thinking ‘easy A.’ I smiled, knowing they were very wrong.
“Good morning,” I said, as another female student filed in, pausing for a brief second to check me out.
It was an odd feeling. One I had once been comfortable with, but now, it made me feel weird. I know I had been an attractive man, but that was before. Before grief, pain, and despair had left me an empty shell of a man. Now, the attention made me feel uneasy. I had been out of the game for so long, I didn’t even know how to flirt properly.
Checking my watch again, I shook my head. Class was due to start, and the seat near my desk was still empty. Either the assistant was late, which was a huge pet peeve
for me, or wasn’t going to show up at all. When the steady stream of students slowed and ultimately ceased, I walked to the door, closed it and turned back to face the class.
“Good morning, I’m Professor Dunlap. Who’s excited to learn all about the bottom of the ocean?”
There were a few grunts and the occasional ‘me,’ but overall, the excitement level hovered just above getting teeth pulled. Great. The seats were all filled, which was a good sign, but if I couldn’t hold their interest and they started dropping out, I knew my job could be in danger. Did I care?
Not wasting any more time trying to be the cool, nice professor, I ordered the students to open their books. My style was no-nonsense. I wanted to get the boring stuff out of the way so I could get to what I considered the good stuff. Life under the sea was intriguing. I had always loved the water. I had longed to find a way to marry my two interests; teaching and the water. A career as a marine science professor had been a dream come true when I graduated early at the age of twenty-seven and landed a job almost immediately. I had been living a good life, up until four years ago, when in an instant, everything changed.
“Is this the syllabus?” Jennie asked, holding up the paper I had handed out moments ago.
“Yes. Do you have questions?”