Social Mutilation

Usually Pizza Friday isn't a problem, but today, apparently, all the grease, all the cheese, all the wonderfully melded tastes disagreed with one of my students.

During a lecture on Past Perfect Tense, the students had numerous questions. Hands shot up left and right regarding time, grammar, and usage. But out of the haphazard shotgun of hands, Beth raised her hand slowly.

“Yes, Beth? Your question?” Silence. Only a desperate look was in her eye, her mouth barely wide enough to sip a straw. She looked like some had just run over her dog with a truck. But in the context of class, I understood this face. And with my recent experiences with “food pressures,” I understood the issue. “It's fine. Go.” I tried to remain as discreet as possible, but with boorish yet astute students, poor Beth was doomed.

She jogged out of class stiffly, like she was holding an orange between her thighs. But she didn't make it. Half way to the door, the entire class was clouded by the smell of half digested pizza, grease, and feces. Beth quickly looked back into the room, praying we didn't notice, but we all did.

The horror and defeat on her face.

She didn't cry on her way out of the room, but she didn't come back either. I took her bag to her after class. She apologized for missing the end of my lecture.

Dazed, Beth sat on the crinkling white paper of the Nurse's table, her head bowed under the weight of her social mutilation. False platitudes were not fitting, but how do you comfort someone in that state? “I'm not going to lie. What happened can be embarrassing.” At that point, my candor wasn't working as she started to cry, tears tracking down her face like the smooth mozzarella cheese off the pizza we had for lunch. “But everyone in life faces these setbacks.”

Between staccato inhales, she whispered, “No one will forget.” She phrased it perfectly. Her tone, thicker than granite. For such a simple event, so much gravity.

“Yeah.” Defeated as well, I sat with her at the crossroads of her social life. “I know life right now is measured by how many friends you have, but in the future, it's the quality of friends that matter. This will show who your real friends are.”

“I guess so. But it still sucks.”

“Yeah.” At least it's a Friday.