Clocks

The blaring of the alarm clock, the thirteenth text from my “girlfriend” flashing on my phone. Besides an odd number of texts, just a typical Monday morning. I sigh… time to go through the routine. Brush my teeth, fix my hair, straighten my tie. I always finish right before seven. Waddle to my car, fumble the keys into the lock and slide in. Say good morning to paperboy, watch his flyby through the streets. I make it to the school right after eight. A professor late to his own class, typical.

As I move into the lecture hall, the voices begin to hush. Three hundred groggy eyes shift their focus onto me. They’re not interested in what I teach, hell I’m not interested in what I teach. I begin my drone. Fifty minutes of scrapping pencils or the fast-paced typing on thousand dollar MacBooks. My eyes glide across the room. First I check the clock, the freedom both my students and I craze only minutes away. Then I see her, a mistake or blessing, I could never be sure.

I met her during my office hours, always arriving at six, leaving by seven. Her interest in tax law coming from a paper I had written in my early twenties. It was oddly satisfying to know that I had influenced someone’s life in such a way, but for some reason there was more to it. Her wide-eyed stares suggestive, but I played it off as nothing more than innocent curiosity. I mean I could be her father, there was no way.

As time progressed however, the opposite held true. She came to my office hours to discuss everything from class work to her social life. We became more then student and teacher, but that final boundary remained uncrossed. I grew to enjoy her company more and more, eventually becoming physically excited seeing her at my office hours. She was the epitome of everything that I had hoped to have in my life. Beautiful, young, smart, interested in every aspect of my life. Reminding me of my high school sweetheart from all those years ago.

I come back to reality, a final question about exams for the following week catching me from my recollection. The bell rings, Nine-O-five. I watch as the migration towards the doors of the lecture hall begin. But, she fights and shuffles forwards, gliding effortlessly past the horde. As the final student wanders off to their next class, she is here at my desk.

This is the conversation I had been waiting for. Past the questions about state taxes or inquiries concerning income tax laws I knew what she wanted. As her questions zoomed past my head, I knew I had to tell her. It was now or never and in my excitement I blurted out, “I know what you want!” Her questions paused and her face remained blank. Her face slowly turning to grin and a single phrase passes her lips, “Go for it.”

I moved in for a kiss, forgetting the consequences, tenure being my protector. Our passion, ready to reach new peaks but only the creaking noise of lecture hall doors interrupting it’s climb. A pesky student pushing himself back into the hall, looking for a lost pencil or some other meaningless thing. “Sir, what are you doing?” He asked. In my surprise I leaped up, my cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, “I’m sorry you had to see that”. “See, what sir?” he questioned, oblivious to the beautiful girl only feet away from him. I look back at him and then back to the empty seat where she had been. Where did she go? I frantically look towards the doors, no answer. It’s almost nine-eighteen, breakfast time, but I don't I'm hungry.