hideous pair of vomit-colored corduroys, somehow a waist size too big for his rotund figure. Paul did not have the fashion sense to wear a belt, so he relied on his mountainous chest to keep the pants in place.
A Moment of (Very Fleeting) Sympathy
There’s only ever been one student I’ve truly felt sorry for. There have been many others who have been able to elicit fleeting sympathy. Like the kid who picked his arms and face until he bled profusely. Or the kid with caveman posture whose wheeled backpack was constantly kicked over in the hallways. Or the girl named after the atmosphere who looked like a basset hound. Or even the sex-addict pyromaniac whose parents force-fed her birth control pills buried in dinner. These cases were only enough to make me feel a twinge of sorrow. In spite of many deformities, I never could shake the notion that they were somehow masters of their own fate.
Paul, on the other hand, was master of nothing. The dumbness of youth’s exploits is not always intentional or deserved. Sometimes, although humorous, the dumbness is unfortunate, as is the case with this large melon of a manchild. The size of an offensive tackle, but with none of the athletic prowess, Paul thundered when he stomped through the hallways in his generic brand triple-width tennis shoes. During the warm months, he donned collared shirts partially tucked into his mesh athletic shorts. His paste-red thighs launched out of the shorts like mighty oaks, as wide at the top as they were at the bottom. When he arrived at my door each day during second period, the waist of his shorts found itself plastered uncomfortably somewhere between his cavernous belly button and massive manbreasts. Designed baggy for a game of pickup basketball, the shorts clung tightly and unevenly to his skin, protruding into crevices and allowing other parts to protrude out.
Physical appearance and wardrobe were not Paul’s only deficiencies. Socially, he was more out of place than his outfit. His voice was a low and incomprehensible bellowing, like the echo of a vast cave to a drunk, and to decipher anything he voiced was a miracle. The only message I could ever decode from his chesty bawl was some gibberish about “national Chevy Tahoe day,” and the frequent question as to whether or not I had thrown anyone out the window.
I have to give the kid credit. In spite of everything, he was the happiest damn kid that ever stepped foot into my classroom. There was nothing anyone could do to take that away from him. Perhaps he transcended all of the materialness and gossip and meanness of teenagers. Or maybe he just didn’t have a clue what the hell was going on. Either way, he was in a happy place, which is more than I could ever say for myself. Unfortunately, his happiness was not contagious. Whenever Paul entered a room there were certainly chuckles, but always the awkward kind because even a bunch of cruel teens knew that maybe they were going too far with this one.
The most memorable experience with Paul occurred on a day when the temperature just wasn’t quite right for shorts, so in he walked garnished in a hideous pair of vomit-colored corduroys, somehow a waist size too big for his rotund figure. Paul did not have the fashion sense to wear a belt, so he relied on his mountainous chest to keep the pants in place.
When Paul squeezed into his oversized desk that day, something went amiss. The jostling required to maneuver himself within the tight wooden confines loosened his chest’s grip on the pants, the waist sliding drastically downward in the back.
Behind Paul sat a girl who usually didn’t know when to say when. In an act of kindness that day, she did not intentionally avert the public’s attention to Paul’s misfortune.
“I think Paul needs to go to the bathroom,” she whispered to me.
“Paul, do you need to go to the bathroom?” I asked in my talking-to-a-deaf-kindergartener tone.
“No, I’m okay,” the beast shouted, his voice booming around the room, the desk further plunging into his stomach at the rise and fall caused by the utterance.
“Then I think he needs a drink,” the girl pleaded.
At this point, I realized something was wrong. I’m not sure exactly why she didn’t just shout it out, but at that point it was no longer necessary. I think even Paul knew then. The lowering of the pants had created an apparent gap between the pants and the shirt, giving her a perfect view of his ass crack.
I knew I needed to save Paul the best I could. He had never done anything to harm anyone, and although annoying and incomprehensible, he always meant well.
“Paul,” I said, my voice disguised in deep concern, “I think you should get a drink. You look thirsty.”
“Okay,” his voice roared like a wounded steam engine.
In one sweeping motion, Paul rose to his feet, the desk sliding off his belly and crashing to the floor. Down with the desk went the corduroys, and out came an ass that put the full moon to shame. Paul twisted around to escape the clutches of the desk, unaware of the eyes widening at the sight of his enormous tomato-red cheeks. All laughter was contained even as he marched out of the classroom, ass still blinding us. Right before he reached the door, his mammoth hands dropped to the belt loops and gave a mighty tug, covering his ass for good.
Class continued awkwardly as we all wondered whether or not we had been flashed or mooned by the gentle ogre. I don’t think there was any intent, nor did I ever share the clothing problem with his parents (who were likely the product of generations of inbreeding and feasting on grease). But I’ll always wonder if maybe Paul had the last laugh on all of us. After all, his parents insisted to the school that he was a “normal” child, whatever the hell that means. Given what I’ve seen, maybe they’re not too far off. Still, I’ve got to feel sorry for the kid.
I do not know why I was wearing a short skirt and nylons in such cold and windy weather. I was putting gas at Petro Canada. A man approached me at the pump. “Have we met before?” – He asked.
I said no. He began to talk. He said his father was half Italian, half French. His mother was half Finnish, half Swedish. His parents were still together, but their marriage had always been rocky. He looked neat, clean and attractive. He had a nice face and a friendly smile.
We exchanged our business cards. In a couple of minutes he called me. He said that after I left the gas station, he realized that his car was parked at a wrong pump. He was so much distracted with my presence that he took the wrong aisle.
The next day he left a message. He asked me if I was available for a drink. He said the next day we could meet after his lecture at the University.
Then he chucked and continued: “And also I will just tell you: a very interesting thing happened to me last night. That was something that did not happen to me for a long time. I had a dream about you. What I mean that has not happened for a long time…I do not usually… I cannot recall having a dream of somebody I have just met.
It was a kind of weird, a kind of different segments. One was a kind of weird, like sitting in a plane and talking in an airplane and something. Another one was sitting at table somewhere. The other one was… a little bit more… X-rated. I do not know if you would like to ask me about it in your message if you are very curious or ask me when I meet you. I will go into details. Anyway, give me a call back.”
Was the message gross? I told my friend Helen about Steve. She said I should not fall for someone not eligible. I did not tell Helen anything about his X-rated dream.
I made a search in Google. His name was mentioned many, many times. I began to read the articles. Steve was described as a talented businessman with extensive knowledge and wide-ranging skill-set, developed during more than fifteen years. He made numerous professional presentations at scientific meetings and was the author of a number of publications. He was successfully engaged in various entrepreneurial enterprises. Outside his teaching practice he established a corporation and worked as a consultant to several projects. He had profound education, honors and recognition. In one of the articles he was called a "thought leader" in various aspects of modern pedagogical science. That was impressive. I went on reading.
And then I found disclosures, orders, decisions and records of the Discipline Committee hearings. Three years before Steve committed acts of professional misconduct. He demonstrated disgraceful, dishonorable or unprofessional behavior. He repeatedly behaved in an inappropriate and sexually suggestive manner to female staff, students and relatives of his students at the educational institutions where he was employed. The Committee revoked all his licenses. They described a number his sexual approaches to women in the previous four years.
Once he asked for a phone number from his student’s mother. She received a voicemail message from him. The message contained inappropriate suggestive comments. A staff member was asked on a number of occasions to meet him for coffee. The woman reported that she found those unwanted advances intimidating and that she took steps to avoid further contact with Steve. Another associate was approached in the coffee shop located near the school. He made inappropriate comments about her marriage. Shortly after returning to her desk, she received an e-mail from him, which included unwelcome advances to her. He stated that he was intrigued with her. She replied, advising she would like to keep the relationship on a professional level. He responded thanking her for her directness and confidentiality. He also made a number of sexual comments to a cleaning lady at the University. At one point, he briefly touched her in the area of the hips or thighs while she was cleaning a classroom windowsill. Many other similar incidents were mostly tiny and insignificant, but numerous.
The next morning Helen and me sat in her store chatting. We often met for coffee with cakes. Helen listened to Steve’s message. She said he was crazy. She asked how old he was. I said he was in his late thirties. I showed her his business. I left the store and forgot to take the business card. Anyway, I did not need it any more.
Steve called in the afternoon. I did not pick up the phone. When I called him back, I whispered: “Do not pick up the phone, do not pick up the phone”, and he did not. I left a message for him, saying that I could not make it today, that my ex-husband, who was still officially my husband, asked me to meet him, he had something very important and urgent for me, I had to meet him, I hoped for Steve’s understanding, I had a strong reason, I was sorry. I think I sounded natural.
I got two messages from Steve. Both were very long…
First message:
“Hi, dear. It’s Steve. It is about 3.30. I hope you are doing well.
As I said, I’ll be finished at 7 o’clock. So, I can meet you at about 7.05.
I’ll be probably OK till about 9.30. There is a place on Bloor Street on the North side. It is just, I think, to the East of Huron and Huron is just to the East of Spadina. So, it is either between Spadina and Huron or between Huron and Avenue Road. It’s on the North side and it’s an English pub and I forget the name of that. We could meet there.
Or if you want to meet somewhere else, you just call me and leave a message. As I have told you, I will be teaching between 5 and 7 p.m. Yes, that’s all.
Funny, because I wanted to ask you and … When we met…
I have this thing for bare legs and, yes, even in the winter when I know it is cold sometimes, I like bare legs. And you look fantastic. I did not know if you were wearing pantyhose or you were with bare legs... Some women wear skirts in the wintertime and just look sexy walking barelegged.
If you are that type of person, then that’s great. Anyway, it’s my little thing. If you haven’t yet realized, I am rather direct and straight-forward.
I left you a message about my dream I had. I didn’t hear from you afterwards.
I hope it wasn’t because you were put off by it. I would like to know if you are actually intrigued and stimulated by it. You know, when I 
communicate that way, that’s the person I am.
So, I hope to see you later. Bye.
Anyway, if you want to call me before 5, I’ll be in and out. After, between 5 and 7, you can leave me a message and I will get it right afterwards.
So, I hope to see you later. Bye.”
His next message was left after I called about canceling the meeting:
“Hi, dear. It’s Steve. OK, yes, I did get your message.
I didn’t even hear my phone ringing, it’s kind of strange. But anyway, thank you for calling me back.
Yes, I do completely understand. I am going through… I have been separated for a few years myself.
And we are going through the same process I think that you are. So, I understand.
I have kids, and they are living with my wife full time, but you know, I see them frequently.
It’s sometimes quite hard; I totally understand your situation, OK?
I look forward for getting together maybe even this weekend. On Saturday night or Sunday night, better on Sunday night, it maybe a possibility, you know, in the evening.
And by the way, you didn’t even… What I was saying…
I am so interested in the type of person you are. And I don’t know even if you got my message the other day about this dream that I had. I did not get very much into detail.
It was very unusual that I actually dreamed about somebody I had just met. Part of it was quite erotic and stimulating for me. I did not know how it is going to affect you.
I am somebody who is very affected by, you know, the way how somebody dresses. As you know, Canadian women look pretty much like Canadian men… You look amazing. Even if you were during the working day, you look very professional and very sexy. And so, I am very intrigued. I love a very sexy look, very revealing top, preferably with no bra, the mini skirt, maybe micro-mini skirt, bare legs for sure… because I hate pantyhose. I think there… I am a very touchy feely person, you know, I use my hands as a way of communicating, you know, when I am caressing your hair, your legs and your thighs, any of those things. I like legs and of course I like...
You are a very interesting person. I look very much forward to getting to know you at many different levels. Anyway, I look forward to your comments about what I am saying.
OK? Speak to you soon. Bye. By the way, I won’t be able to… I’d like you to leave me a message because I won’t be probably be able to answer the phone…I hope to get in touch with you soon. Bye.”
I could have told him what kind of person I was. I know that sometimes I could be as slut as him, but I could do that only with a person close to me, with a person I love, whom I trust and with whom I can share everything. Men would like to have sex with me. They do not even approach me because they know I am not available. Helen said if she were me, she would never answer the phone. She said we were to be strict and old-fashioned, as we had dignity. I said yes, because otherwise we would not respect ourselves.
… Few months passed since then. I was having coffee with one of my friends in one of the coffee shops in my area. It was summer. The day was bright and sunny. Everything around was full of life. People were dressed beautifully. Everyone around smiled.
All of a sudden I saw Steve and Helen passing by. I could see them through the window. They did not see me. They stopped at the entrance and he kissed her. It was a long kiss. He grabbed her butt with one hand and touched her neck with the other. They did not go in. All of a sudden it began raining. They took a taxi and were gone.
In November they got married. They are still married. They are happy and have kids. I am still single.