Howard Anderson was late. Everyone seemed patient, but my anxiety was relentless. He was handing back our papers and it had been awhile since I was this eager for anything--- other than sex. But this was something even more important. I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to see me as a good student, a worthy student, a student who was going somewhere. Or was I kidding myself?

It was hot so he left the door open to let the cool hallway air inside. He was happy as always. "Man, it's hot." He dropped his worn white brown leather briefcase onto the desk and wiped the space between his nose and upper lip with his tan sleeve, absorbing his sweat beads. "All right," he huffed, "Let me hand these back then we'll see who read chapter three."

There's enjoyment in your teacher handing back your paper. I had never known this enjoyment before. It felt right. He slid my stapled ten pages into my hand and smiled at me. He liked it I thought, and he continued handing back the other papers. Quickly I scanned my ten pages for a grade. I finally came to the last page and no grade was written at all, only the comment, "Interesting concept, see me during office hours." Panicked, I looked to papers of other students, "A, B-, A-" They had grades, where was my grade? I looked up at Howard who was now at the front of the class asking questions about Pavlov's dog. What the hell was "Interesting concept?" And why did he want to see me? Perhaps to tell me to drop his class.

*******

I waited outside his door while he finished a conversation with a younger girl student. I couldn't hear everything, but once in a while I heard the term, "Self-fulfilling prophecy." Finally, she left and I rushed in.

"Hey, Mr. Orlando, nice to see you. Come and sit. I just have to make one quick call." I thought about asking if I should wait in the hall to give him privacy, but I was too eager to talk to him.

He pushed the buttons on his black phone, "My wife Laurel's a teacher here too, you know. History department. I don't think I could take it if she were in the Psychology department. We're competitive enough as it is." He left a message regarding pizza for dinner and hung up, then quickly directed his attention to me. "You're quite a writer, aren't you? Seems like you couldn't stop yourself."

"Is that why you didn't give me a grade?"

"Huh, I didn't write your grade? Oh I hate it when I do that. Are you sure?"

I pulled out my paper and showed him the last page where he wrote the innocuous comment without a grade.

He took his pen and my paper and wrote, "A." "Really," I said, "An A."

I felt his eyes on me while I couldn't stop my elation from escaping.

"What did you think?"

I shrugged.

"I haven't seen a student put that much energy into a paper in a long time. You have to learn proper grammar and spelling and such, but do me a favor and keep it up. Makes me think maybe there's possibly a good reason for teaching."

"Is that what you called me in for?"

"No, I just wondered if you considered being a Psychology major. Have you?"

"I hadn't thought of anything."

"Well, let me know, cause if you do, I can tell you what classes to take to get you into a good undergraduate program."

I left in shock, thinking that if this is what a teacher was supposed to be, I had never had one--- a real teacher that is.