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philosophy 342
she walks into class after me. everyday, i sit in the back of the room, and wait until she sits in the front. she wears a thrift store jacket, a black skirt, and black leg warmers. "leg warmers?" i thought. "nice."

our professor rambles on about self-regarding passions and thomas hobbes and david hume, and i lose my train of thought. she raises her hand and asks a question. an intelligent question. i can listen intently again. shortly thereafter, our professor presses on.

in that hour and thirty minutes, i sat and imagined. i imagined, that after class, i'd ask her if she would like to study sometime. i imagine that her message on the e-mail list was for me, that she would like to study with me. we walk out of class and as she holds open the door for me as we walk out, i say thanks, and something else, utterly brilliant and charming, appealing and mysterious. she wants to know more.

we walk towards the library to study, and i forget about the class i have in half an hour. she suggests we get coffee instead, and i concur, wholeheartedly, although i don't drink coffee. we walk a few blocks, get acquainted and then she asks if i have a cigarette. "she smokes," i think. i pull a dave light from my pocket and her face lights up.

"i smoke those too." she says. we pass by a flyer for a show coming up. "that band is good!" she says. i know it, and so does she.

we arrive at the coffee shop, and she orders tea. "tea?" i think.

"i don't drink coffee." she says. "oh. me neither." we sit down and talk about philosophy. she's a philosophy major. time passes and we don't think twice about it. she's loquacious, but listens intently when i do speak. i talk about film.

"you haven't seen rushmore?" i say.

"no, is it good?"

the place is closing. we get up to leave, and i ask her if she'd like to hang out sometime. some more, i mean. she says we should go to that show with that band, or maybe watch a movie. i say yes, yes, yes. . .

i'm drawn back to reality by a voice.

"read butler's sermons II and III for friday." the professor bellows in his nasal tone. i pack up my things, stand up, and follow her out the door of the classroom, down the steps, and outside.

as she pushes the door open, she looks back, and smiles as she holds the door open for me. i smile back.

"thanks." i say.

tim

Monday, February 19, 2001

 
 

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