Whiteout

"Whiteout"

Akemi once said that as a painter one color sometimes dominates a day, and for some reason white did mine that morning (of course it isn't a color but coalescence of the whole spectrum). In class a student had raised her hand and complained I was going too fast. I should start with the basics, she said, her eyes riveting mine, as if I might try to escape otherwise. Did I even know how to teach, was the question her attitude suggested, her bold interruption did- showing a lack of respect for me as a professional. That's happened before. I took it in stride, tried to. One thing I've learned in my experience teaching: you have to be ready for anything.  

The fed-up student ("obstreperous" the word?- like a chicken with ruffled feathers)  then proceeded to write on the white board the alphabet, when I wasn't looking, was addressing the rest of the class she went behind me. When I turned around there it was the capital letters and the lower case aligned in a row, like she was the teacher. She seemed to expect her classmates to applaud her. Fortunately, none did. They just looked confused. There was no mutiny against me.  

Let me describe Laura. I realize I sometimes leave out descriptions, expect readers to see the scene as I did, which of course isn't possible without some help, effort on my part.

She was short and energetic, a dynamo, but weary, no doubt from the rough life of a middle-aged South American settled in this country enough finally to think of bettering herself, improving her English. She likely had a nowhere job, kind that wears on you. She might not see a career path ahead (she's a realist) but wanted at least the possibility of one.

I didn't dislike her, at least before the encounter I'm describing- no, even afterward she seemed fine with me. As a teacher, after all, I don't judge harshly, try to exercise some compassion.

Her black (dyed?) hair was tightly curled, stylish but mussed by the course of the busy day, getting the kids off to school etc. A lot had probably happened, full morning worth of exhausting stuff, before she'd managed to get to class, just slightly late.

She wore a white turtleneck sweater, cable-knit that was utilitarian and playfully decorated with flounces (an instance of the white I'm talking about), consistent with her life as a housewife who hadn't lost her sense of fun even as she handled the daily rigors, raising two kids in a foreign country alongside a husband who might not be much help, instead an irresponsible lout, drunk (I'm guessing, ha ha). You sensed Laura was strict with her children, determined they stay on the straight and narrow, get a good education. And that gritty toughness, the fearless she brought to bear with her family showed in her behavior in class, with the crucial difference that the love was missing, ha ha. I'm pretty sure she didn't like me.

The marker she'd used, the one I'd left at the front of the room, was running out of ink, and the row of letters she'd drawn all the way across the white board (more white!) was on the faint side in places but clearly visible.

I said, "That's right" and corrected a mistake in the rendering of the capital G, then got angry in turn. "I'm not going to teach you that." Letting her know she wasn't going to derail my lesson, I had a backbone. "You should have learned that-" alphabet, etc.-"before.. like in first grade." Throwing in an insult to put her in her place.

I'm not rigid as pedants go- and I used the word tongue in cheek; I'm not a pedant, the type who insists on hewing to the lesson plan! I pride myself on staying flexible. The exchange with Laura woke me up some to the needs of the class as a whole. I saw the students' desire for distraction, fun- most but not all were too polite to complain if they felt bored. Some probably thought suffering a necessary component of learning (I didn't and it pained me to see anyone unhappy- not least because that reflected on my performance). Boredom not expressed openly became apparent to a teacher with open eyes. The barely concealed yawn etc. was enough.

And when, during a subsequent give and take, a woman in a middle row, three desks from Laura (who wasn't shy about voicing dissatisfaction!) asked for clarification of a passage in the text, lifting a detail far outside our focus, I didn't dismiss the request (it was about the sound an animal made) or criticize the off-the-subject question. Instead, I welcomed her show of curiosity. She'd wanted the English word and I encouraged her to guess, which is crucial to learning- taking the risk is- and needless to say, I smiled rather than frowned at the wrong answer she came up with.

"That's actually a howl" I corrected gently and from there drew her classmates in, asking "What else howls?" (No, I can't tell you which animal she'd "quoted," don't remember, and it didn't matter).

Students now weren't able to guess or unwilling to, shy as they sometimes become, afraid of looking stupid (the wrong way to learn), so to help I made a picture on the white board of a wolf. My best effort. The class got it. But I saw the tail I'd drawn looked exactly like an erection and so, come to think of it, did one of the forelegs. I was glad to erase the sketch before the students noticed.. and howled with laughter.  

Also needless to say, I'm not an artist like Akemi.

"What else howls?" I asked again, thinking this time of the wind. Wanted to show the word could also be used metaphorically. Still, nobody ventured a response. A man from a small island nation finally mentioned a snake (the erection-like form triggering the association?) and I said, "No, that rattles. Rattlesnake does, anyway" and laughed, finding humor there. Students returned blank stares. You get a lot of those. Stuff goes right past them. No one's fault, but it's my job to keep those breakdowns of communication to a minimum. For one thing, I feel sorry for anyone who looks completely lost. These are not stupid people (for the most part, ha ha).

"What else rattles?" I went on. Here I had nothing in mind but a window, a shutter, then thought of death. There's that expression "death rattle." A terrible thought, which of course I didn't share.  

After class, a student wanted my help making a resume. He was looking for a job, needed money. A lot of the people we work with are poor, immigrants. I obliged even though it's a chore. I would usually have rejected the request but was back on my heels then. As I put the thing together I thought I'd better rework my own resume so I can escape from my teaching job. I like some of the students but the stress gets to be too much.

Speaking of a recording, there was one the phone made of my first conversation with Nelson, who later had an affair with Akemi (unless I'm wrong.. It seems pretty certain that happened). He was my teacher then, had just arrived at the college and showed his films in the art center. Later that night I called him (his number was on the syllabus.. for women students, I realized later. He was out to make as many as possible). And our give and take was recorded by my phone, accidentally. I listened later.  

"I wanted to tell you how much I liked your films."

"Well, thanks." He sounded bored, like he thought me the usual sycophant flattering the famous artist.

I continued, attempting to show I was serious. "Especially how the light captured things."

"I thought you would," Nelson said dully, though he didn't know me at all, was just giving perfunctory answers, was unimpressed. I heard a yawn he didn't try to hide- on the contrary.  

"Like an embeamment, "I said of the light effect used in one of his more celebrated works. Experimental like the rest. It seemed he'd closed his fist in front of the lens so that a circle with blurred edges moved on screen, revealing parts of objects, concealing the whole. The technique brought a sense of mystery. It was like watching a searchlight.

I liked the word I'd invented on the spot, "embeamment." 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I've really got to get some sleep."

But I kept going a while. Amazing, in retrospect, that Nelson and I ended up becoming friends after that unpromising start.  

Only later, listening to the recorded conversation, did I realize how I sounded, like someone currying favor.  

Life and its everyday humiliations. I'm really not a sad sack. I'm pretty positive about most things (as I showed the student, I have a spine). Akemi wouldn't have chosen me otherwise.  

Back to that white. Thinking of the dance top Akemi wore to class, piece of white elastic that would probably contract to fit in your fist, of its brilliance and how that dulled to a sort of fog color where her bust stretched the fabric thin, her nipples darkly visible, squashed beneath it. Funny that someone might call her breasts headlights in a sophomoric joke yet they lowered that white top from high beam.

Funny how things work out. The night Akemi didn't return home the missed recording came to mind, out of the blue, like her disappearance itself- no wonder, really, as I missed her. I wished I had it! Just the sound of her voice- saying pretty much anything- would have been enough to turn me on, probably throw myself on the bed and spray all over the place, which I guess is what I expected it to do to readers.