#7

there were a lot of misplaced commas. there always were. in fact i am not really sure how he even made it out of freshman english…but he did and there he was, sitting in my class, defiant as hell and practically daring me to fail him. or flirting with me. was he flirting with me? it had been so long since anyone had that i wasn’t sure if that glint in his eye was academically or sexually aggressive.

as time wore on i became less and less sure of what to make of him and more and more sure that what i saw in his eyes was in fact desire and not just for an A. i caught him once looking at my knees. i’d begun to show them off again and i was glad that he’d noticed. i might have been a little too glad as i felt my cheeks stain with embarrassment. or was it arousal?

later, a while later, but i couldn’t say how long he stayed after class. i was sitting at my desk pretending i didn’t know he was there, feigning surprise at his sudden presence across the hard wood top.

“call you explain a comma splice to me?” he said, laying his hand on top of mine.

i choked a little. sputtered out a flustered, “yes…” and tumbled through an vague and incoherent explanation. he didn’t care. i felt his eyes on my knees the whole time. staring at them, desiring them.

“may i?” he said. and before i could answer he knelt down and kissed my knee cap. i waited for more, for a hand or his lips and inch higher and then higher again but they didn’t come. he kissed my knee cap once and stood up.

“thank you” he said and left.

he was in class the next day, and every day after that until the semester was over. he never misplaced a comma again.