Composition Students Pity Me in English 101

Composition Students Pity Me in English 101

All term, I gimp around, first with wires poking from beneath my sweaters and crutches, then a staid brace and brown cane, now a flexible brace, which is sweaty and itchy.

I try to make light of my plodding, but their smiles hold pity: my injury has made them model students. They even take turns passing handouts and collecting homework unasked.

It’s awkward—like the teddy bear a man from the community theater gave me on Sweetest Day when I was sixteen. I do my best to ignore these little gifts proffered by unsolicited compassion,

and the students act too, as if they’d pick up dropped chalk for any instructor. The most painful days, I take Valium, and they peer at me during writing exercises as if they’ve placed bets on when I’ll topple.

The Monday after spring break, I wait for the students, ready to begin a well-rehearsed discussion of revision. But I’m distracted: I’m in love and the overhead projector whirs.

Highlighting editing marks on the screen, I’m interrupted by Brianna in the front row. “Is that a new ring on your finger?” she asks, loud and enthusiastic as a nervous cheerleader.

My cheeks burn. Flustered. I was instructed not to talk in class about my personal life, but I’m in love and say, “yes.” Immediately, students in the first and second rows nearest the projector

stand and lean, hover like bees admiring the diamonds from Kevin’s grandmother’s wedding ring, ooo-ing and ahh-ing like my mother. “So, what, are you getting married?” Matt asks from the back row.

“Come on. Settle down,” I say, and they settle back into seats. They beg for a magical happy-ever-after story about a young crippled woman who patiently teaches composition until she falls in love.

They’ve paid attention in literature classes and want to believe in a theme of marriage + recovery = happiness, so they can believe everything will turn out well for themselves. And I indulge a little,

joy burning my face, because don’t I want to believe that too, that all my patience and hard work will pay off? Won’t the pain dissipate? I summarize the surprise proposal in a little Appalachian cabin

high in the mountains—they applaud, like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me or to them. I hold up my hand to silence their clapping, ring bright in the projector light, say, “let’s get back to work.”