Is This What I Want? (14 page)

“SO WHAT THEY FOUND
was that employee productivity increased simply because the workers were aware that research was being conducted on how lighting impacted their output.”

Some students nodded. Others seemed confused. Dave had the same look on his face as always, the one that lets me know he’s trying hard to see me as just his professor, concentration fixed on the content of my lecture. I hoped I was the only one who noticed it.

I needed to explain again. Thinking back to the wording of my question about this concept on the upcoming test, I tried to use almost the exact same language.

“You see, in this version of the study, the lighting never changed. But the employees saw lighting experts and researchers in their workspace. That attention alone caused the spike in productivity, not any actual improvement in the lighting.”

I looked out and surveyed facial expressions. More widespread comprehension, but some of them still weren’t getting the broader implications.

“Remember when we talked about the survey revealing that the greatest motivator in job performance is appreciation?”

Heads bobbed up and down.

“This finding is similar. We all want attention and recognition. We want to feel important. We need to know that our contributions are valued. And we like it when we’re asked about whether helpful changes should be made to take care of our needs. At work, we need this from our bosses and the leaders of the organization. At home, it’s family, right?”

More head bobs.

“Or maybe even your roommates. Let’s say you clean up after everyone in the common area in your dorm room and do all the dishes and no one even says ‘thanks.’”

Angry faces confirmed that many had suffered this injustice. Sylvia’s hand popped up. Oh no, I thought. Get ready to bring everyone back from a tangent. I had to call on her though. I had to maintain my image as one of those professors who engages students and creates an informal, interactive environment. She looked so excited to share her story.

“Oh my God, that happened just the other day. I did all their dishes and no one said a thing. Then the toilet was overflowing and I had to be the one to run to get the RA in the middle of the night and they didn’t even thank me. In fact, they don’t even talk to me or invite me to the parties they go to. I think I need to switch roommates. Should I ask the housing director about that?”

A few students muttered snide comments under their breath, one shook her head a little and I wanted to model a better way to respond. In my book, cruelty and inflated egos were greater crimes than a slight lack of self-awareness.

“That’s a good question, Sylvia. Let’s talk about it one-on-one after class. And your example is exactly what I’m talking about. Your roommates didn’t show you any appreciation for the extra effort you made to help them out. You were not acknowledged or recognized, which is what most people crave more than anything, whether they realize it or not. In one study, regular praise from an employee’s direct supervisor ranked higher in improving job satisfaction than a three percent raise, as long as the employee felt his or her current salary was fair.”

I tried not to look at Dave too much. He tried not to look at me too much. Taking excessive notes was one of his strategies. I had overheard other students asking him if they could copy them and if he’d be in their study group. He was, after all, getting the highest grade in the class and not because of any bias on my part. If anything, I was tougher on his papers, presentations and exams than anyone else’s, but they were consistently flawless.

When class was over, Sylvia rushed up to the front desk to tell me more about her roommate drama while I packed up my things. When she finally stopped to take a breath, I jumped in, reminding myself that people are much more receptive to constructive feedback when provided with empathy first.

“That sounds so frustrating, Sylvia. It must be really hard for you when you do so much for your roommates and they never seem to show any gratitude. I know how you feel because I had a similar situation when I was in college.”

She opened her mouth to spew more venom about these evil roommates but I didn’t give her the chance. I looked at my watch as I spoke.

“Here’s what I learned when I was in your shoes: it’s not worth it to constantly do favors for people who don’t appreciate it. Stop cleaning up after them. Stop taking on all the responsibility. And don’t expect your roommates to change and suddenly start thanking you. We teach people how to treat us by showing them what we’re willing to put up with. And honestly, people often do too much in their attempts to gain approval from others, when really it’s self-acceptance and self-confidence they need to work on.”

“But…” I had to cut her off by holding up an index finger and peeking around to see the line of students behind her. She turned to look as well and huffed before she said, “Well, I see you have a lot of other questions to answer so…” Not bothering to finish her sentence, she walked away and I hoped what I said sunk in a little.

I tried to answer each question concisely. Most were about expectations for the upcoming essay or which chapters and articles the next test would cover. The answers were in the syllabus, but they either didn’t read it or felt the information was more reliable coming straight from me. And the students were in more of a hurry than I was, with all sorts of fun evening activities to look forward to, so our exchanges were brief. The goal was always to get all questions answered before the professor for the next class showed up, but this particular Tuesday night, that was not going to be possible. So I ushered the rest of the line out into the hallway to relinquish the space.

It was 7:15 by the time the last student’s inquiry was satisfied and I sighed, thinking about how I used to look forward to a nice glass of red wine when I got home from teaching. But I was on day ten of my self-imposed alcohol ban. I was also on day ten of being a separated woman. Not knowing how long either would last, I was taking it one day at a time.

I went to the restroom and walked to my car at a slow pace, knowing my mother was at the house with the kids so there was no rush. She loved her time with them and with Rick gone, I wouldn’t be getting many breaks, at least not during the week. And I had them to myself for the first weekend of our separation, since Rick was tending to his mother, whose mysterious illness didn’t seem to be improving. I made a mental note to call him the next day to ask how she was doing and felt thankful that we still spoke every other day or so, if only about the mundane stuff of life.

As I moved closer to my minivan at the far end of the faculty parking lot, a figure came into view next to it. Two weeks before, this would have been disastrous. I would have had to reject any attempts at non class-related conversation and to provide a full report on this unwelcome visit to Rick. Now, just fourteen short days later, everything had changed. There were no restrictions and it was all up to me to decide how to handle it.

I slowed my steps even more to consider what to do. I could say I was in a hurry to pick up my kids. I could be cold. I could spill everything and invite his comforting touch. I decided to see what his intentions were and go from there.

He was standing near the driver’s side door. I kept my expression neutral. He smiled a nervous smile. “I’m sorry. Don’t think I’m stalking you or something. I just wanted to talk to you without other students around.”

“What is it, Dave?” I didn’t want to sound too friendly.

“It’s just…” Professor Lance Long walked up out of nowhere and startled us both.

“Hi, Dave, Professor Thomas. You two together again, huh?” he asked with mock accusation.

My heart thumped inside my chest. “Is this young man following you around, Professor Thomas?” he teased, laughing. I wanted him to stop but he went on as my face flushed.

“Dave, I’ve got a crush on her too. We all do, but you know she’s married, right?” He laughed louder, not even realizing that no one was laughing with him. I tried to smile as my body started to feel numb. Dave grunted with fake indignation, which was actually believable.

I summoned all my strength to hold Lance’s gaze and match his sarcasm.

“Very funny, Professor Long,” I said, happy with my relaxed start, “but I can take care of myself. Dave was just asking me to clarify McGregor’s Theory X and Theory Y. Would you like to take over so I can go home?” I figured that would send him running pretty quick.

Dave pulled his phone out to scroll through text messages, another convincing performance.

Lance started to walk away as he responded, “Oh no, I’m off the clock now! No more explaining theories for me. Have fun, you two.” Without another word, he was gone.

“We can’t talk here. Just get in,” I whispered.

Dave hopped into the passenger seat and I peeled out, driving to the same park down the street where we sat together in my car just a few months earlier. It was a surreal shared déjà vu experience as we both sat in silence remembering that moment. I parked in the same spot. But the mood felt different in the dark of night. There were no mothers pushing their toddlers on swings this time.

I am not going to kiss him no matter what
, I thought, forcing images of the lingering kisses we shared in this same place, in this same car, out of my mind. I revisited the words he spoke there. I couldn’t forget how hard I tried to respond to his preposterous proposal with skepticism and willpower. He had offered to take things slow, claiming to just want to get to know me. He made promises of providing me with the fun, attention, and pleasure that my life seemed to be lacking. It would be a harmless little escape from my endless duties and obligations. And before I knew it, we were engulfed in delicious kisses. But it would not happen this time, I assured myself again.

We both sat speechless for too long, staring out the front window.

“So what is it already? What do you want, Dave? Why were you waiting for me by my car?” It came out with more acrimony than I intended.

He turned to face me. His eyes held steady until my own, a lighter, less striking shade of green, were willing to meet them.

“I’m worried about you, that’s why. I’ve been working hard to focus on the class and see you as only my professor all this time. It’s almost halfway through the semester and there haven’t been any problems, right?”

“Right. You’re right,” I said. Everything is okay, I told myself. The two of us have been doing a brilliant acting job.

“But this week and last week I could tell something was wrong. I’m sure no one else could tell, please don’t worry about that. But I, well, I pick up on little changes with people. I hate that I’m like that. My friends make fun of me for it, but I can’t help it.”

I looked away from him and he waited.

Why does he have to be like this? I asked myself. So young, but so sensitive, so intuitive. Such an old soul. Manly in all the ways he’s supposed to be, but with too much tenderness and empathy for his age and gender. He couldn’t be more different from Rick, it occurred to me.

It was clear he wasn’t going to go on until I looked at him, so I gave in. He continued.

“Beth, you seem sad. I can feel it. Did something happen?”

What can I say to him? I wondered. “What makes me seem sad?”

“A lot of things. You don’t smile as much as usual or make jokes in class. I’m sure everyone just thinks it’s because you’re trying to keep up with all the material you need to teach us before the midterm. But you used to give more humorous examples or be quick with a witty comeback to a stupid remark. You seem, I don’t know, more serious.”

He was stirring my insecurities. “Stop. Just stop. If you picked up on all this, everyone else must have. You’re scaring me. Are the students talking about me?”

“No, no I swear. No one has said anything. It’s just me. It’s only because, well, I know you in a different way.”

I closed my eyes and traveled to the memory of the two of us naked in his bed, his athletic body hovering above mine as he kissed my lips exactly the way I wanted him to. His hair brushing against my upper chest as his mouth met my eager nipples for the first time. I saw his exquisite erection, saw myself touching it, wanting to do everything humanly possible to it, with it. But it was all cut short. We never had our chance.

“We’re separated. That’s what it is. I thought I was hiding it well, but I have been sad, because… because Rick and I are separated.” Warm tears burned their way down my cheeks. I had never cried in front of Dave but didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious.

His eyes turned somber and he covered his mouth with his hand for a long time before responding.

“Is it because of me?” He looked down at the floor mat beneath his feet and I knew he was terrified of my answer.

I used my middle finger to wipe beneath my lower lashes.

“No, Dave. It’s not because of you, honestly. Five months ago, I probably would have said yes. But in that time, I’ve been forced to face the truth about my marriage and about myself.”

He stared into me, wanting to know more.

“You came along at the breaking point. You’ve got perfect timing, you know that?”

He looked at me with an unspoken question and I knew what he wanted to hear. I could give it to him and I would mean it.

I ran my hand along his smooth cheek, then pulled it away abruptly.

“No, it wasn’t just the timing. It was you. You’re so different, so special to me. I’ve been married for ten years and it never happened before and hasn’t happened since. You helped me to feel things again, things that I had given up on experiencing. I can’t imagine anyone else who could have done that. Who, really? Cocky Professor Long? I don’t think so.”

We both laughed, that guarded anxious laugh that happens in the middle of a moment fraught with the weight of life-altering decisions hanging in the balance.

“Dave, I can’t tell you what’s going to happen. I don’t know. But I do know that you’re better off without me in your life. You should have a beautiful young girlfriend who treasures how sweet and attentive you are. Who you feel inspired to write your romantic love songs for.”