Fiction by Paul Dubitsky
My very first class, on my very first day of High School was English. How could I possibly like English class? I didn’t like to read. I didn’t like to write. I expected it to be my least favorite.
My English teacher, Ms. Mac, assigned seats alphabetically. Mine: second row, first desk.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
She asked the class, “What did you read this summer?”
“What did you read?” What a dumb question. It was summer; I didn’t read. Sure, this was the class with the smart kids, but c’mon.
She called on each of us. Up and down the rows. I heard all kinds of answers, The Great Gatsby, Great Expectations, War and Peace.
Are you kidding me? War and Peace?
My turn next. Think man, think.
The teacher stared right at me. “What about you?”
I thought I might impress her with honesty. “It was summer, I didn’t read…wait. I did read the newspaper.”
Was that a smirk? Or hint of a smile? She asked, “What did you read in the newspaper?”
Fair question. Deserves an honest answer.
“The Daily News. The sports pages. I follow the Mets.” That oughta impress her.
Ms. Mac put a hand on her hip, turned away and stared out the window. She seemed lost in thought. She slowly shook her head. It seemed that we shared a common thought, this could be a long year.
Finally, she turned away from the window and looked back at me and asked, “If someone called you the epitome of asinine stupefaction, would you be angry or pleased?”
I shrugged, then decided to give honesty another chance. “I don’t know.”
This couldn’t get any worse. But wait, it could, and it did. In the third row, second desk, diagonally back from me, sat the prettiest girl I had ever seen. I heard her whisper, “What a jerk.”
The teacher walked closer to me. She leaned in, resting her hand on the corner of my desk. She smiled, not a smirk, a warm, caring smile. In a soft gentle voice, meant only for me, she quietly said, “That’s why you need to read.”
Life is funny. Ms. Mac became my favorite teacher. That pretty girl became my wife.
You never know. It turns out, they both valued honesty. As for me? I still read about the Mets. You never know.
Paul Dubitsky is a retired, medical professional who has been encouraged to write by friends who have enjoyed his stories.
