The dream I had that night was about him. I told myself it was sexual frustration mixed with guilt mixed with why the hell did I do that to him? Because I tried to at least not lie to myself. It had been 6 days, and it brought home to me how much little time I had known him for. 6 days of seeing him everyday. I had asked him today how his head was feeling, and he'd said much better. He then asked me something else,
"You chose Chemistry, Physics, Maths and English. May I ask why?"
"For a bit of variety, and to cater to the heart and mind. My heart says arts while my mind says sciences Sir, and inbetween the two I usually always listen to the mind, as I deem it more important. We grew up with teachers telling us the arts are worthless and lead to unemployment, so the logical thing was sciences, and I enjoy them too. I chose English to nuture my imagination, and to improve my articulation. And my father always said too much of anything is bad. "
Then he'd said, as if he had switched off half way through my speech,
"So you deem the mind more important than the heart?"
And I had replied,
"Of course Sir, I don't think we can do brain transplants yet."
I'm not sure he understood my reasoning, but I didn't expand.
After my melodramatic scene before, I promised to keep on friendly terms with him, while keeping my distance. I had never been in a relationship before, or had found anyone in real life "boyfriend material". Not the kind I wanted anyway. I just didn't have the time to be honest. As a result I have opted for casual sex from time to time. I just haven't started having that yet either. I still have standards yknow? I can't go to bed with a racist, sexist, fascist, prejudiced, narrow-minded transphobic, homophobe, and I can't go to bed not knowing whether they are any of those things or more. Naturally, this limited my reach considerably. So I went and bought a sex toy.
Mel asked me who I think about while masturbating one time. I, of course, didn't reply.
◆◆◆
I had done all my homework for the week except one, the English. I couldn't give any old crap in because
A) that was against my work ethic
B) there was a part of me that wanted to impress him. That part of me was my whole mind, body and soul.
A romantic poem wasn't hard work, as love was the easiest thing to write about. I wondered if anyone knew why. Perhaps because it was something we were surrounded by it 24/7, in true form or in media form, or nearly everyone had some experience of it, or it was our instinct to care most about what we thought would lead to either children (procreation was essential to survival) and/or happiness (supposed meaning of life).
YOU ARE READING
Mr. Cumberbatch (teacherxstudent)
Random"He looked at me, and I was afraid I would see an expression that said he had forgotten all about me." His name was Mr Cumberbatch, although I almost never called him that. ~ A story that contains twists and turns, conflicting emotions, and two peo...
