Garret Homestead, seven year professor of modern poetry, was a young thirty-three, with understated rimless glasses, and plaid flannel shirts. He always had tea before class and always wore his shoulder-length hair down, constantly flipping it back in class with this fingers as he lectured about syntax and alliteration. His light beard suited him well, working naturally with his smile. Most of his students loved his class, and those who don't dropped out immediately. Professor G-Man, as some if his students playfully named him, was calm and collected, but still passionate. When he read, he read from deep within. And he reached a core with his audience, even if they were just a bunch of college kids. They were moved. And they read some goddamn poetry. Because as fun as the class was, Homestead still didn't fuck around.
But his students didn't mind. They had to study of course, but they were so involved, they knew it back and forth. However, not one of his students had ever been so enamored with the class that they came for every single elective class he taught. Except for Reilly Athamek.
Reilly had a brilliant mind, filled with imagination and a gift for description. She could give you the history of a teacup in a sonnet, and the love of a flower from the view of a bee. A magnificent student and human being, she and Garret had many long conversations over Reilly's four year college career.
And today was her last day as his student. The exam was over, and of course she was the first to turn hers in. With a perky little smile as she waved and sashayed out the door.
Forty-five minutes later, once he called pens down, and asked everyone to give up their exams, he started to pack up for the day, turning out the light for the classroom, and heading to his office. That was when Reilly showed up, still as grinning as she always was. Always so vivacious.
"Hey, I hope you didn't breeze too quickly through it."
She laughed a little. "I didn't I promise. I hope you like the free write. Nice touch by the way. Letting us do our thing. I think it stumped a few others as some weird reverse psychology thing."
This time, he laughed. "Well I look forward to reading it. You have an interesting way of pouring out your mind."
"Well, you're my last exam for the year, and I'm really curious to figure out my average, so if you can give me a call as soon as you're finished grading, I'd really appreciate it."
"Sure. I'll do that."
"Thanks, Professor."
"You can call me Garret now. I'm not your teacher anymore." he said with a grin.
"Garret." was all she said as she walked away. Why did I say that? he thought. Shaking his head, he walked the flight of stairs to his fairly spacious office.
Thankfully the soundproof door and walls kept him from jabbing a letter opener in his eye when the cleaning crew came to buff the floor. He hated that sound.
After almost two hours, he finally got to the last question of his last paper. Reilly's free write poem.
Double, double Lust and trouble Loins burn and Passion bubbles
Something wicked this way comes.
He stared at the page for a while. Oh, what to do now. He could call her, and let her down easily, tell her it wouldn't work out. Or he could just do it. She was more than an adult, and they were more than student and teacher. They had become friends. He'd known other professors to go after even freshman students. But he just didn't think of himself as the type of guy to do it.
A small voice in his mind said, She's technically not your student. And she's not like the other students. She's special. She's special to me.
