The Classroom

I stood in front of a group of 18-year-olds in a wrinkled sport coat.  My pants had a patch underneath the back pocket, so you couldn’t see the holes time had made.  I was 28 years old.

I looked at them.  I saw them.  They looked back at me.  But they couldn’t see me.  “So, would anyone like to get us started on John Maynard Keynes?” I said.  I heard a flurry of typing.  “God damn it,” I thought.  “I should have banned laptops on the first day.”

All of a sudden they looked right me.  The typing stop.  “My God…They’ve developed telepathy.”  I couldn’t control my fear.

“Professor Kirven.”

“They can talk!?”  I didn’t even bother to correct them.  My mind raced.  I said the first thing that came to mind.  “Yes. What is it?”

“Will this be on the final?”

I heard the sound a MacBook makes when it sends an email.  Vroosh.  I imagined it was my soul escaping out of the window.  For a second, I was free.

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