whose tight black jeans, bare ankles, and faux dance shoes, as well as the diamond shape of her face, provoked me to say, without second-guessing, that she reminded me of Audrey Hepburn. Is that a come-on?
I'm writing because I have been thinking about this encounter since, in fact, because of something she said shortly thereafter the above, which has made me wonder about non-linguistic forms of communication. The communication of those attracted to one another.
For she took that as a compliment, which I said it was meant to be, and I think I said so only innocuously. But perhaps I did not so much. In fact, I've think Audrey Hepburn is beautiful but I do not think I am attracted to her. Yet, I am to this student, who is blessed with a modestly nicer bosom than the former.
We began to talk about her essay assignment, on Aristotlian friendship, on Macintyre's views on the matter and she happened to mention her theory. Which is that girls bond over bad decisions. That I found hilarious, and I couldn't control myself, for some reason, I found it so funny. This is not to say that I laughed uncontrollably, but I did think it was very clever.
Her examples: the girls that decide to do another shot. And then, as she put it, "should I cheat on my boyfriend?" And I know her boyfriend because he is another of my students.
She immediately said, almost under her breath, that she should not have said it and I pretended not to pay it any mind. But I was suddenly struck by the fact that she was hitting on me and suggesting that she cheat on her boyfriend with me.
When I was in grade school it took me quite some time to decipher the signs that women send because I was convinced, as the result of my own poor self-opinion, that no matter what a girl did, it could not have been a sign of her interest.
Yet the certainty of this moment seems clear, unimpeachable. And I wonder why? Because she used the first person singular form. Because students don't speak to their professors about cheating on their boyfriends. Because they don't speak about it unless their professor knows that they have a boyfriend. Because you don't talk about cheating, especially when it comes to yourself, with someone you don't know that well.
Then I was totally distracted and she was distracted. Neither of us knew what we were talking about, but we continued talking. A moment occurred where I knew I could stand up and close the door and lean over and kiss her.
Then I might touch that subtle cleavage that appeared only by the way her hair hung over the curves of her chest.
Nothing happened.
Those moments seem so fragile. They last for a few minutes and the passing of the minutes makes it so that what happens is irreversible. A forbidden clutch passes unclutched and shall never so be. This is good. I am a married man, with gainful employment and a bun in the oven. I wish to risk none of this.
Yet the allure of her flesh, her kiss and her passion is so real. My heart races. I have lived through danger.
