Disgust is his word, and he gets there from a narrowed eye and a mutter. That's a big jump. Discomfort was on the table and he crossed it off himself, which says more about how he reads her than about her.
The Scorned
Thought
Thought
Disgust is his word, and he gets there from a narrowed eye and a mutter. That's a big jump. Discomfort was on the table and he crossed it off himself, which says more about how he reads her than about her.
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She is sitting opposite me, focused on the papers she is handling on the table. (I didn’t look up to observe her.) A short while ago, she had arrived cheerful, in her ‘normal’ state, almost as if reborn; but as soon as I felt comfortable enough to look at her, her ‘sparkle’ vanished, her mood shifted, as did her expression, when she realised my audacity. Her eyes narrowed and that same tense look in her left eye (the one from when I commented on her clothes) returned to her face, accompanied by a brief but audible mutter. I can assure you that what I felt were not butterflies in my stomach. (Nor did I feel anything in that area at all). I wasn’t aware that this situation couldn’t simply be summed up as discomfort, but was tantamount to disgust… (I don’t look bad). It’s now clear that I shouldn’t be sitting here. There’s space at the back; next time, that’s where I’ll be.
Having sat down here, I’m not surprised; I just didn’t expect something so explicit: the student is looked down upon by their teacher. I forgot to mention earlier that, if there were no ‘reciprocity’, I wouldn’t even speak to them or exchange glances. Why were there glances? Why was there an interest in talking? Perhaps I was the only one who noticed something? To answer that last question: no, the people around us did notice; they noticed how she responded. Not entirely, of course – she always turned down my offers; ‘innocent’ offers to help her carry her books, which were heavy for her size.
I should also mention that, because of her, I felt offended by the criticism levelled at her by a friend. The one who witnessed everything first-hand and to whom I recounted the details. It wasn’t necessary to call her a ‘child’, of course, given her slightly childish behaviour; but even so, it wasn’t necessary. I’m far away now, but it’s still as if I were right in front of her – not ironically, just from her point of view. I admit it’s a relief; here, I can laugh, chat and not be haunted by… Never mind. I think I’ll have to negotiate for this seat.
I love the rain; I have fond memories of it. Once, in the rain, I was with someone I loved. I’ll talk about them later.
Thoughts
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Once it's clear she's his teacher, the book carrying and the glances read differently. She was easy with the pupils she likes a few chapters back, so this coldness is aimed at one person on purpose.
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Disgust is his word, and he gets there from a narrowed eye and a mutter. That's a big jump. Discomfort was on the table and he crossed it off himself, which says more about how he reads her than about her.
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She is sitting opposite me, focused on the papers she is handling on the table. (I didn’t look up to observe her.) A short while ago, she had arrived cheerful, in her ‘normal’ state, almost as if…