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I’ve been applying for the Stratford Project since grad school. To live in London, collaborate with some of this generation’s greatest minds, and do nothing but study the classics for months on end…would be a dream come true.
It would catapult my career. No more teaching introductory English courses at a small state university. If I get into this program, I’d be at Oxford. The Oxford. I could be teaching real literature courses. No more idiotic essays on Hamlet or Animal Farm written by communication majors struggling to pass ENG101.
“Don’t start celebrating yet,” my friend replies. “It’s a rigorous vetting process.”
I stop in the quad and adjust my satchel on my shoulder. “Of course. I understand, but, Alan, this is the furthest I’ve gotten—an actual interview.”
“Congratulations, Dr. Goode. Someone from the program will be in touch soon.”
“Thanks, Alan.”
When the phone line goes dead, I stare straight ahead at the bright-purple bougainvillea growing along the green pathways between buildings. This was the boost of confidence I needed. The past few years have been tough.
Finding work in New York was harder than I expected—even with a doctorate. It’s what drove me back to Texas. Accepting this job at Austin State was humbling, but on the bright side, it meant I could be closer to Caleb again. And I could watch my niece grow up.
That’s about the only silver lining I could find to living in Texas again.
Working at this mind-numbing job, watching my expensive education waste away, and seeing all of my potential and dreams of something greater vanish like dust in the wind.
Getting a place in the Stratford Project would change all of that.
With this renewed sense of purpose and possibility, I continue my walk across campus to the Humanities Building. It’s the first day of the semester—the first day of my sixth year teaching here. And hopefully, my last first day at Austin State.
When I reach the room, the lecture hall is raucous and full of fresh-faced students. For many of them, they’ve just sprung out of high school and this is their first foray into university studies. I’ll be lucky if half of them can even piece together an entire essay or read an entire book, let alone Shakespeare.
By now, this process is old hat. I get their attention, introduce myself, explain the coursework and reading list, and pass out the syllabus. Before I can even pick up a weathered copy of Paradise Lost, I’ve lost half of them to their phones.
“This will be our first reading assignment of the semester?—”
Leaning against the desk at the front of the room, I’m interrupted by the door crashing open. All eyes dart to the entrance as a tall redhead busts through, staring wide-eyed at me and the John Milton novel in my hand.
“Shit! Sorry,” she stammers as she tiptoes into the room.
It’s not that she’s late or causing a scene that has me tripping over my words. It’s that…I know her. I’ve met Sadie before. She manages the sex club my brother’s girlfriend owns. I see her from time to time at gatherings or their monthly book club.
For a moment, Sadie and I pause like two deer stuck in the middle of the road.
“Sorry I’m late,” she mutters while backing up toward the steps leading up to the empty seats of the lecture hall. Her eyes are still trained on me.
When I notice the students fidgeting in their seats, I blink my gaze away from Sadie. “That’s all right. Just…uh, have a seat, Miss…”
“Green,” she blurts out, stumbling up the stairs.
“Miss Green.”
As she takes her seat, I struggle to recover my train of thought. What was I just talking about?
I glance down at the book in my hand. Oh yeah.
“Our first reading assignment,” I manage, “will be Paradise Lost. If you have not purchased your copy yet, you need to do so by the end of the week.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I track her movement as she pulls a pen from her back pocket and scribbles something on the palm of her hand. As her eyes dance back up to where I’m standing at the front of the lecture hall, I notice she bites her bottom lip, and her brows lift expectantly.
I clear my throat. “We will have our first essay assignment due at the end of September about Paradise Lost, but you will choose your topic. You should be thinking about this as you read.”
She nods, then scribbles on her hand again.
If I keep going, she’s going to have the entire syllabus scrawled across her forearm.
