I was in my chemistry class (lecture #2) and the professor was asking a series of questions. At first, hands were flying up, the answers were easy. But as questions got more complex, and the odds of being right fell off, confidence and raised-hands faltered.

I sit the front row because I film the lectures on my iPad, and there I was, doing my usual bit - taking detailed, color coded notes. If the lecturer mentioned something, I noted it, with my #5 mechanical pencil, but that something could become a heading or a bullet-point in a larger tableau. Those, I would color code with one of several gel pens - tracing carefully over the pencil. Later, in review, I might hi-lite these points with neon, phosphorescent highlighters. (I have a strict color coding system).

I tell you all that because it describes how focused I get on my note taking in classes. I don’t usually interact much due to my filming.

Suddenly, I noticed an unusual hush. I looked up and realized, to my trauma, that the professor had addressed me. He was looking fixedly at me, bent over with his hands on his knees (he’s on a platform).

“Pardon?” I said, meekly.
“Don’t just mouth the answer,” he repeated (apparently), exasperatedly, “say it out loud!”

I thought back to his last question and I offered, “Magnesium nitride,” but he tilted his head like he was waiting for more, “gave off ammonia as it mixed with the water?” I finish the answer like a question.

“Exactly!” he said, standing back up after giving his knees a little slap with his palms. “Thanks for JOINING us,” he says, and after checking his seating chart on his lectern, he added, “MS. Vionet.”

I took a shocked umbrage at this (scolding?), my whole body turning a defensive, atomic pink. What did I do - I thought - why was he being so sassy with me?

I doubt he REALLY wants answers just called out.

It might be a long year.

(last Friday)

My English class just ended and everyone’s packing up (18 students). The class is held outdoors under a tent due to COVID. My professor says, “Ms Vionet, may I speak with you for a moment?”

I froze, Oh, my God, I thought, is he about to tell me to quit - has he already identified some fundamental inadequacy in my work? The world seemed to go silent as I hefted my backpack and approached him.

“Ms Vionet,” he began.
“Anais,” I interjected.
“Anais,” he patiently started again, “We have a small professor’s choice (invitation only) writing group that meets every two weeks, 7 to 8 PM on Wednesdays - would you be interested in joining us?”

It was hard to hold back a pterodactyl screech of delight. “Yes sir, I’ll be there”

“Here”, he said, motioning to the tent classroom “weather permitting.” He had packed up, he turned and headed for some nearby stairs.

I did a twirl of joy.

I felt empowered indeed
And for me you were the source
To the front you always lead
Saying the stage is yours
Though it was hard for me to stand
And to be noticed by all the class
But you made me understand
That courage is needed to progress

You knew exactly the right way
To show the girl who used to hide
I still recall my yesterday
I was your student, you was the guide
You teach, you help, you support too
And here I am passing the test
Of all the professors that I knew
You are definitely the Best!

The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!

Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew

Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts

Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.

Praise me, praise me.

Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?

But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?

Origins unknown

Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.

What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you

Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.

It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.

I egged you on.

I loved you back.

I’m sorry.
#MeToo

Professor,
I know you can't read this anymore
But I still want to tell this

There were times when I almost gave up
There were times when I had breakdowns
But I don't want to disappoint you

Thank you for all these years
Thank you for all your guidance
Thank you for supporting me all this time

Tomorrow,
I will officially graduate
One hundred days after your passing

I'm sorry I can't bring anything as gratitude
But up there, you are proud of me, right?
Please continue to guide me from now on.

Please stop calling me nice.
I am not nice.
I will not be contained to a single word,
When my bones are built from metaphors
And my lips leak similes.
I am a fireball of emotion, splitting trees and men in two with my passion for my art.
I am a slurry of terror, creeping up on you at night that curls your toes right before you fall asleep.
I am not nice, I am anything but
I am alive with the summer heat that burns in my eyes and the sunlight that flows through my ribcage.
I am a warrior, a fighter, a solider in disguise.
I am the moon that hides it face in the day, only to showcase it's purity in the night.
I am the stiff wind that knocks the shallow air out of your lungs on a cold, January morning.
I am the tick, tick, tick of the buzzer right before its majestic song.
I am the obscene, the extraordinary, the menacing things in life.
I am not confined by a single word.
I
am
not
nice.