But Paul Terrance was different. In his philosophy class, he almost encouraged them NOT to take notes, but rather to connect with the ideas and trains of thoughts as he moved from one fascinating topic to another, often pausing to ask a pointed question and solicit student opinion rather than being satisfied with having them simply rephrase what he had just said. His classes were more discussion than lecture and Rhonda came away from each feeling she was truly learning to see broader issues and come to more comprehensive understandings than in any of her previous classes.He was not an imposing man by any means, she thought to herself. Distinguished rather than handsome, his graying temples and glasses certainly betrayed his 55 years. His dress was casual, however, slacks and open shirts as opposed to the suits and ties which most of her male professors wore. His waist was not as slim as it had once been, perhaps, but he was by no means overweight. His smile was easy, his manner. “The fucking elevator is broken,” she said. “Had to use the stairs.” I nodded. Usually comfortable in my own skin, I was really outside my comfort zone here. I didn’t like dealing with death. So I sort of mumbled to her, “Look, I’m really sorry…” She cut me off. “Shut up, just shut up.” “Okay,” I said slowly. “He was a prick and a drunk,” she snapped. “I didn’t want him dead, but I did want him out of my life.” “Really.” I was taken aback at her forward nature. I hadn’t expected her to be so open with me. She stared at me. Finally her shoulders slumped. “Oh, shit,” she slammed out. “I said too much, didn’t I?” “It’s okay. Just between you and me. A little venting is good for the soul.” She leaned back against the wall across from my door, hiked a high-heel foot up so her knee cocked toward me. She scanned my face. “Come to the funeral for me. Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to have you there.” “I don’t know,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “I don’t do too well with that kind of.
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