Page 40 of The Things We Never Say

“Here, sit here,” Artie said, indicating where he had been sitting. Then he said, “Rick, I’ve just told your parents that it was wrong of me to kick you out of class. And I apologize for doing so. But what you said was offensive—” Artie raised a finger and pointed it at him. “Do not forget how offensive it was, and I do not ever want to hear you speak like that again. You should never say that word again. Understood?”

The kid looked up at him; nothing on his face moved.

“Rick,” said his father, and then Rick said to Artie, “Okay.” He said it quietly, sarcastically.

“But it was too much to kick you out for that, and I am sorry. All right then?” Artie looked at both the parents, and at Rick. “Are we okay then?”

Rick stared past Artie’s shoulder as though to let Artie know that he would not look him in the face. Artie said, “But one more thing, Rick. I need an apology from you.”

The kid looked at Artie, and Artie saw color rise in his face. After a moment Rick said, “But you just apologized to me.”

“I did.” Artie nodded. “And now I need an apology from you. That was very offensive stuff you said.”

Rick raised his chin just slightly.

“Rick.” His father said this with a quiet fury. And Rick said, without looking at Artie: “Sorry.”

“Okay then,” Artie said.

The parents looked at each other; the woman stood, and then the man did. “Thanks,” the man said, and he stuck out his hand to shake Artie’s hand. Artie shook his hand and then the wife’s hand, which was not as cold as it had been, and then he said to Rick, “You okay?” And Rick stood up and started out the door. “Rick,” Artie said. “Are we okay?”

And Rick turned and said, “I guess so.”

—

Hoover let out a sigh after they had left the office. “For fuck’s sake, Artie.”

But Artie was watching through the window as the three of them made their way to their car. The lights in the parking lot showed them dimly. They were walking in single file, and they were not walking quickly. They appeared tired. And they did not appear to be speaking to one another.

To Artie—this came to him—they seemed exquisitely lonely.

—

Later that night, Artie got out the first-day essays he’d had his students write, and he found Rick Roper’s. “My dad is my hero,” he had written. “My dad is the greatest man who ever lived.”

6

A few days later, Artie had lunch with Anne Merrill. They ate in her classroom to have some privacy. On the walls were various posters of Shakespeare plays and colorful prints of different classic book covers. They sat in two chairs with a desk between them. Artie asked Anne how she was; he thought she looked tired. Her dark hair showed a tiny slice of white roots, and for the first time he understood that she dyed her hair. She said, “The election, Jesus,” and he nodded at her.

He said, “I know, Anne. I know.” But it seemed to him that something else was bothering her.

She asked how he was. Artie answered, “Except for what this country, this world, is headed for, I’m okay.” He laughed as he said it, but he felt little mirth.

Anne watched him while she opened her mouth and put the corner of a tuna fish sandwich into it. Then she looked around before rearranging a napkin she had laid before her on the desk, and she said, “You have Danny Marino in a class, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Listen to this, Artie. Listen to this.” Anne bent her head forward toward him, her eyes looking up. “He completely amazed me yesterday, just really, really blew me away. We were reading Othello, the scene where Othello decides that Desdemona has been unfaithful to him and he says, ‘Othello’s occupation’s gone.’ Danny was the only person in the class who got it. It was extraordinary. I said to the class, What does he mean by that line, ‘Othello’s occupation’s gone’?, and Danny raised his hand immediately and he said, ‘It means that his occupation was loving Desdemona, and now it’s gone.’ ”

Artie was watching her. “That’s interesting to hear. I like Danny,” he said.

“No, but, Artie, you have to understand this. Scholars say that the line refers to Othello’s military career—but Danny got it. He absolutely got it on the nose, to my way of thinking. That Othello’s occupation was loving Desdemona.”

Artie pondered this, but he did not know the play that well, and so he just said, “That’s great. Good for him, I’m glad to hear this.” After a moment he added, “And good for you for teaching it so well.”

He felt that he was disappointing her. (He was.)

Anne said, “I love Danny. He’s always been unbelievably sharp about Shakespeare, but that just astonished me.” Anne shook her head and bit into her sandwich.