"A" for Anticipation

Day 12: One of my first assignments for English was to a response to the foreword of the book we'd been assigned. The book, "Beowulf and Other Old English Poems" had a somewhat lengthy and needlessly complex preamble. I read it twice: once because I had to, and once more because once wasn't enough.

I debated reading it a third time but decided against it, opting instead to write a paper based on the notes I made during my initial reading - notes, I should mention, that were anything but flattering with regard to the text.

I criticized everything; the gaudy writing style, the murky delivery, the lack of context, the needless parentheticals and roundabout allusions to rhetorical questions, the blatantly subjective language, etc. Each time I pointed out one of these things, I emulated it in my response. When I took him to task for needless parentheticals (like this one) I used them myself.

*shrug* Seemed funny at the time.

I was playful (ala references to HE-Man and shots to the genitals) but sincere in my critique, all the while believing that I wasn't pointing out anything that my teacher wouldn't have already noticed herself.

She collected our response papers at the start of class and made a neat pile of them on her desk. Her laptop featured Nyan Cat. Any doubts I had about including a He-Man reference melted away. We began discussing the forward in class, our papers now safely in her possession.

"I hope you guys enjoyed the reading. Tom Shippey [author of the forward] is one of my favorite academics.  You might say I have an academic crush on him. Like... a huge one."

$#&*%.

I tried desperately to remember what I'd written. Suddenly, even the mildest of the jabs that I'd included seemed sinister and personal. I swallowed once and kept my cool. The only way I could weather this was by owning what I wrote. I planned right then and there to reread what I'd written once I got home in case I needed to defend it at some point. It was harsh, true, but I believed in it and wouldn't allow myself to be put into a position where I would have to apologize for it.

I agonized over the paper for a day or so, just long enough for the thought of it to be buried under more present and pressing issues.

Today, unexpectedly, she'd brought the papers with her to class - graded. At the end of the 90 minute class, she casually announced that she was handing them back, pulling them from her bag like a stack of indictments. The other students flocked to her desk, each reaching out to take their paper in turn.

"Sean?" *snatch*

"Dave?" *grab*

"Sarah?" *yoink*

Instead of waiting for my name, I packed my things and prepared to leave. By this point, I'd convinced myself that I wasn't getting anything higher than a "C". My justifications and defenses welled like dragons breath in the back of my throat. I was ready for her. I was ready for anything.

"Drew?"

I walked over to her and casually took the paper from her hand, like a receipt. Like a used newspaper. Like a letter meant for someone else.

I glanced at the top.

Without a word, I walked out of class, casually, as one who had seen it coming.