teach.
Yesterday she had indulged her anger and sorrow. She had slammed doors and yelled into the empty house. Then she had called her mother and sobbed out her humiliation, just barely finding the strength to resist her parents’ offer that they come East immediately. As much as she needed the support, they were better off in California, geographically spared the brunt of her shame. She hollered out her fury at the media. “Would you be doing this if I were a man and James was a woman?” she had yelled out loud. “Would this be front-page news if our sexes were reversed?”
And although she knew that it was Jill and the media and society’s sexist values that were really at fault, most of her anger was focused on James. She pictured him as he had been last July, right after she had terminated with him. He was waiting for her outside the dry cleaner’s, leaning against the plate-glass window, his arms crossed and his blue eyes flashing defiance. “I’ll just kill myself and save you the trouble of doing it slowly!” he had screamed at her. And when she had ignored him and walked calmly down the street, he had gone home and swallowed a bottle of Seconal, coming extremely close to making good on his threat.
Diana didn’t care that James was now dead, that his threat had been fulfilled and her worst nightmare realized. She didn’t care that she was being immature and unprofessional. She wanted to hurt him. To punish him as he was punishing her. So she brought back every detail of him, until James Hutchins loomed large and three-dimensional in her mind. She breathed life into him and then mentally threw darts into his chest.
Valerie had called a third time to say that Diana had to go out, that if she didn’t continue on her normal schedule, her behavior could be construed as an admission of guilt. “It’s like falling off a horse,” Valerie had told Craig. “Make her get up and go to work tomorrow.”
So she had. She had gotten up, showered, and put on a new purple maternity dress, hoping the feel of the soft wool against her skin would raise her spirits. After checking the sidewalk for reporters and finding none, she had even eaten some breakfast. The Globe sat on the front stoop, unretrieved by anyone; Diana was afraid if she saw the paper she would lose her nerve. Craig wanted to go into work late and drive her to Ticknor, but Diana assured him that she was fine and shooed him out the door. After he left, she had walked down to her office, her steps heavy but resolute, the purple dress doing little for her spirits.
Bipolar disorder with psychotic features, she read yet one more time. Schizoaffective schizophrenia. Mania. She snapped the folder closed and stuffed the notes in her briefcase. It was no use. She glanced at the clock and stood up. It was time anyway.
Then she sat down again, relief flooding her body. There was really no reason that she had to go into the psychology department offices today. If she waited another ten minutes, she could go directly to class and then leave right after the lecture. Perhaps not exactly her normal schedule, but normal enough. She could go to work, as Valerie had ordered, while still avoiding her colleagues. Diana knew she couldn’t do this forever, but for today, she felt it would be acceptable. She would take a lesson from Scarlett O’Hara and not worry about tomorrow until tomorrow.
The lecture hall was filled to capacity. Diana had not seen it this crowded since the first exam. She roughly calculated the number of occupied seats. She knew there were one hundred and fifty-three students enrolled in the class. There had to be well over two hundred people in the room.
She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes focused directly in front of her, and walked to the lectern and began. The room quieted, and Diana was quickly caught up in the concentration necessary to convey complicated information in a clear and interesting way. She became lost in the material, safe for
Yesterday she had indulged her anger and sorrow. She had slammed doors and yelled into the empty house. Then she had called her mother and sobbed out her humiliation, just barely finding the strength to resist her parents’ offer that they come East immediately. As much as she needed the support, they were better off in California, geographically spared the brunt of her shame. She hollered out her fury at the media. “Would you be doing this if I were a man and James was a woman?” she had yelled out loud. “Would this be front-page news if our sexes were reversed?”
And although she knew that it was Jill and the media and society’s sexist values that were really at fault, most of her anger was focused on James. She pictured him as he had been last July, right after she had terminated with him. He was waiting for her outside the dry cleaner’s, leaning against the plate-glass window, his arms crossed and his blue eyes flashing defiance. “I’ll just kill myself and save you the trouble of doing it slowly!” he had screamed at her. And when she had ignored him and walked calmly down the street, he had gone home and swallowed a bottle of Seconal, coming extremely close to making good on his threat.
Diana didn’t care that James was now dead, that his threat had been fulfilled and her worst nightmare realized. She didn’t care that she was being immature and unprofessional. She wanted to hurt him. To punish him as he was punishing her. So she brought back every detail of him, until James Hutchins loomed large and three-dimensional in her mind. She breathed life into him and then mentally threw darts into his chest.
Valerie had called a third time to say that Diana had to go out, that if she didn’t continue on her normal schedule, her behavior could be construed as an admission of guilt. “It’s like falling off a horse,” Valerie had told Craig. “Make her get up and go to work tomorrow.”
So she had. She had gotten up, showered, and put on a new purple maternity dress, hoping the feel of the soft wool against her skin would raise her spirits. After checking the sidewalk for reporters and finding none, she had even eaten some breakfast. The Globe sat on the front stoop, unretrieved by anyone; Diana was afraid if she saw the paper she would lose her nerve. Craig wanted to go into work late and drive her to Ticknor, but Diana assured him that she was fine and shooed him out the door. After he left, she had walked down to her office, her steps heavy but resolute, the purple dress doing little for her spirits.
Bipolar disorder with psychotic features, she read yet one more time. Schizoaffective schizophrenia. Mania. She snapped the folder closed and stuffed the notes in her briefcase. It was no use. She glanced at the clock and stood up. It was time anyway.
Then she sat down again, relief flooding her body. There was really no reason that she had to go into the psychology department offices today. If she waited another ten minutes, she could go directly to class and then leave right after the lecture. Perhaps not exactly her normal schedule, but normal enough. She could go to work, as Valerie had ordered, while still avoiding her colleagues. Diana knew she couldn’t do this forever, but for today, she felt it would be acceptable. She would take a lesson from Scarlett O’Hara and not worry about tomorrow until tomorrow.
The lecture hall was filled to capacity. Diana had not seen it this crowded since the first exam. She roughly calculated the number of occupied seats. She knew there were one hundred and fifty-three students enrolled in the class. There had to be well over two hundred people in the room.
She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes focused directly in front of her, and walked to the lectern and began. The room quieted, and Diana was quickly caught up in the concentration necessary to convey complicated information in a clear and interesting way. She became lost in the material, safe for
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