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the english class


i dreamed the other day that i was visiting ranney, looking in on the english class.

as usual, the smart kids--thriving on discussion and participation, quick to raise their hands and not at all shy about voicing their opinions--occupied the front of the room. all the way at the back where i sat, on the subversive fringe of this pseudo-society, remained the questionable constituent, feigning indifference and boredom.

miss van buren was exactly as i remembered her: a petite young pedagogue who preferred to sit on her desk not behind it, flaunting those shapely legs and revealing just a hint of charming, disarming self-doubt.

"would you like to join us?" she asks, "we're discussing 'bartleby the scrivener'."

unable to resist, i smile and reply, "i prefer not to."